“I say,” he continued, “couldn’t something be done with the ship herself? Couldn’t we put to sea again and try to make some land, somewhere? She seems trustworthy now.”
“You are no sailor, Mr. Fitzroy. We are shorthanded, and the ship once strained by a heavy sea would certainly sink. No; I myself think something should be done, else we’ll get as cowardly as rats in a hole. I’ll think it over and let you know. Are you ready to follow my advice?” he added.
“Yes!” cried Fitzroy and Johnnie both in one breath. And even Gourmie wakened up out of his lethargy and smiled a ten-inch smile. “I’m on for anything, from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter,” he cried, rubbing his hands; “and if it comes to a fair stand-up fight Gourmie’ll do two men’s share at least.”
The giant rubbed his hands again. The skipper lit his pipe and threw himself down on the deck to think. And Johnnie ran forward to see Willie.
“Willie, Willie; don’t sit and mope there like a baby owl. Something is going to be done. Father and the captain said so. We’re going to get out of this hole by hook or by crook.”
“Wowff—wow—ow—ow!” bayed Ralph, and Willie jumped joyfully up, and five minutes afterwards he and Peggy and Johnnie were having a concert together in the saloon.
Everybody had more appetite for dinner that day, and after it Stransom said, carelessly—
“I’m going on shore to-night with Tootaker. Don’t worry if I don’t come back till sunrise.”
Johnnie liked that speech, and couldn’t help admiring the captain for his coolness.
“I couldn’t have made a better speech myself,” he told Willie, in confidence.