CHAPTER XX.
"WHAT THEIR FATE WAS TO BE THEY COULD NOT EVEN GUESS."
After the boat left the San Salvador, with little Cassia-bud steering, and the great Newfoundland, Hurricane Bob, lying at his feet by way of balancing her, and keeping her well down by the stern, "Steer right away for the island," cried Fred. "We are going to row and sing, and never look behind us."
But when they had rowed for fully half an hour, and the ship looked very far away indeed, Frank, who was stroke, lay on his oar, and the others followed suit.
"Why," he said, peeping round, "we ought to be there by now."
"Dear me!" cried Fred, "how deceiving! The island looks as far away as ever!"
"Yes, and it has altered in appearance somehow, hasn't it?"
"Well, of course; but then we are low down in the water, you know. Anyhow, I'm hungry and thirsty both. Happy thought, to have a rest and some lunch."
The good things were brought out accordingly, and everybody, even Hurricane Bob, shared and shared alike. Then Quambo lit a huge pipe, and Magilvray, the sailor—a stout young fellow with a merry-looking face of his own—bit a huge quid off a stick of niggerhead, and began to look very contented indeed.
After another half-hour's pulling catspaws began to creep over the water, and a sail was hoisted.
"We'll soon be there now," said Fred.