The men’s response of “Amen” was deep and solemn. Half a minute of dead silence, then all rose from their knees.
“Now, Pebbles!” roared Captain Blunt, “bustle about. Load up the dinghy and the jolly-boat. Put in everything we’re likely to want—arms, ammunition, water, food. Mr. Talisker, you’ll go in the dinghy with Ginger Brandy and Smith.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Well, see after your own affairs. Don’t forget lights, for keep together we must.”
There were no signs of weakness about Tom now. He appeared to have grown suddenly strong and well.
Smith was a sort of hobble-de-hoy sailor—a lad of seventeen, with plenty of strength, but not much brains to command action. Ginger Brandy, the other half of Tom’s crew, was far more useful; so he gave the nigger charge of the white man. This was reversing the order of nature some might think, but it worked very well indeed on the present occasion.
Tom showed good generalship. He first had a run below to see how fast the water was gaining. It certainly was coming in at a very rapid rate. But she would last an hour, Tom thought; so he at once set to work to provision his boat.
The dinghy was not over twelve feet long, but she was broad in beam and with a good free-board. So Tom had her lowered, and swung a lantern over the side where she was that its light might shine right into her. Then under his directions the lads began to load up.
“You’ll have her too deep, I reckon,” said Captain Blunt as he passed.
“Thank you,” replied Tom, “but I do not think so; for you see if it comes on to blow we can lighten her by pitching the least necessary things overboard.”