He stood up. The tide was in and the dinghy only waiting to be launched. Not a sail or speck upon the sea.
Rum Cay had prophesied right,—the fine weather held,—but the water was nearly gone, and the “grub” was finished. There was no breakfast till they boarded the Sarah again.
He turned to where the starboard watch was lying, clinging still to Morpheus, and stirred it gently with his foot. Jude moved, turned, grumbled to herself, and then, as if electrified, sat up digging her fists into her eyes and yawning. Then she sat gazing at the sea as if stunned.
“Come on,” said Ratcliffe, “we’ve got to be starting. All the grub’s gone and nearly all the water. How did you sleep?”
“Oh, Lord!” said Jude. “I’ve been chasin’ round the hull night with a hatful of eggs. I’m near dead beat. Which way’s the wind? Sou’east. Must a changed in the night. It’ll take us back in two ticks.”
She collapsed again comfortably.
“Remember,” said he, “the current is against us.”
“Oh, it ain’t no distance,” said Jude, “and a few minutes more or less don’t count. Wonder what Satan’s doing?”
Knowing that it was hopeless to bother till the spirit moved her, he sat down on the sand beside her and began picking up little shells and casting them into the sea.
“Goodness knows!” said he. “I’m wondering what he’ll say when we get back.”