“What have you done with the young lady?” asked Allan.
“The proof o’ the pudding—”
Polly was too busy eating to say more. Peter the steward entered just then, overhearing the question as he came.
“That strange girl, sir,” he replied, “went over the side and away in her boat as soon as the ship struck.”
“Well, I call that a pity,” said Allan; “the poor girl comes here to warn us of danger and never stops for thanks. It is wonderful.”
“From this date,” remarked Ralph, “I cease to wonder at anything. Steward, you know we were only half done with supper, and we’re all as hungry as hunters, and—”
But Peter was off, and in a few minutes our boys were supping as quietly and contentedly as if they had been in the Coffee-room of the Queen’s Hotel, Glasgow, instead of being on a lee shore, with the certainty that if it came on to blow not a timber of the good ship Arrandoon that would not be smashed into matchwood.
But hark! the noise on deck recommences, the men are heaving on the winch, the engines are once more at work, and the great screw is revolving. Then there is a shout from the men forward.
“She moves!”
“Hurrah! then, boys, hurrah!” cried McBain; “heave, and she goes.”