Chapter Thirty Four.
But the time seemed terribly tedious upon that parched rock, where not a single green thing grew. The heat was terrific, and the men sat and lay about panting, and glad of the relief afforded by the tobacco they chewed. It was impossible to hide the fact from them that they were using the last drops of the water; but there were no murmurs, not a mutinous voice was heard against the tiny portion that was served out so as to make what was left last for another forty-eight hours. After that?
Yes; no one dared try to answer that question. A man was always on the watch by the flagstaff. But he swept the offing with the glass in vain. There was no ship in sight that could be signalled for help, and no sign of movement in the direction of the town.
“It’s seems horribly lowering to one’s dignity,” said Roylance, “coming here to occupy a rock and set the enemy at defiance, and then be regularly obliged to give up and say, ‘Take us prisoners, please,’ all for want of a drop of water.”
“If it would only rain!” cried Syd, as he thought of how bitter all this would be to his father.
“Never will when you want it.”
“It is degrading,” said Syd. “But we must wait. What does Terry say?”
“Nothing. He has taken to chewing tobacco like the men, and I don’t want to be hard upon him, but he seems on the whole to be pleased that we are in such a scrape.”