“And any ’mount o’ water?”
“Yes.”
“And the only thing you want is wood for cooking?”
“Yes.”
“Then that boat, which seems to ha’ been sent o’ purpose, has to be got ashore somehow to be broke up. Now, if you’ll take my advice you’ll just go down to the rocks there and think that job out. I can’t help you much, sir, ’cause here I am on my beam-ends. Go and think it out, lad, and then come and tell me.”
“Strake’s right,” said the lieutenant, who had been lying in the shade outside the hut. “Captain Belton will either be back himself or send help before long. You must hold the place till he comes.”
Those words were comfortable to Sydney. They were like definite orders from his superiors, and he could obey them with more satisfaction to himself than any he thought out for himself. So he went down to the pier, meeting Roylance on his way, who had just been his rounds, and had a few words with the men on duty by the upper and lower guns, and at the flagstaff.
“My orders are to go and see to getting the wreck ashore for firewood, Roylance.”
“Orders?” said the midshipman, laughing. “Well, it does seem a pity after the trouble we took.”
“And risk,” interpolated Syd.