“Haven’t you saved all our lives,” cried the doctor, “by your clever management of the boat?”
“Oh, that’s what you mean, sir! But you must play fair, sir. You mustn’t blame me for that. Part on it’s my being on board a man-of-war; part on it’s due to Captain Chubb. So you must thank him.”
The doctor smiled, and noting this absence of anxiety, Rodd broke out with—
“I say, uncle, Morny’s starving. Isn’t it time we had something to eat?”
“Oh, Rodd!” cried Morny.
“Yes, of course,” replied the doctor. “See what you can do, cook, at once. But surely, Cross, some of the men might lay in their oars?”
“Yes, sir, and if it goes on like this I don’t see that we need let this flood keep on carrying us farther away. There’s a nice wind, and not so much washed-out wood afloat. I am thinking I might have the sail hoisted and begin to sail back. But my word, look here: how we are widening out, sir! Look ahead yonder. It’s getting ’most like a lake. Perhaps it is one.”
“No,” cried Rodd; “it’s the river still. Look yonder at the forest right along the bank.”
“Yes, sir, but I was looking at the forest on both sides here where we are. Why, we are running into another river. It aren’t a lake, but it’s ten times as big as this one that we’ve been spinning along, and— Well! it’s a rum ’un! No; it’s unpossible.”
“What’s impossible?” cried Rodd sharply, and all gazed at the sailor, who sat looking forward, holding on by one ear and scratching the other.