They had pulled a few strokes, and the schooner was melting into the haze astern when one of the men looked round.
"Who've we got there in the bows?" he asked.
Appleby, who had hoped to escape their notice for a while, told him. "I fancied my place was in this boat," he said.
"Well," said Stickine dryly, "if I'd seen you before you'd have gone right back with a run. Hello! have you got the other lad, Montreal?"
"Sure!" came back the answer, and Donegal laughed.
"There was no keeping them out," he said. "It would not take a minute to pitch them over."
"We'll try it next time," said Stickine. "Pull in along our wake, Montreal. It's not a nice beach to land on."
After that nobody said anything for a while, and only the splash of oars marked the passage of the boats. Appleby crouched aft on the floorings where he could see the men sway through the dimness above him, while another sound grew louder than the hoarse growl of the seas that seethed about the reefs. It was scarcely like anything he had heard before, though once it faintly resembled the whistling of scores of engines and then swelled into a roar. He surmised it was made by the seals.
"The rookery's just thick with the bulls," said somebody.
"Hold on," said Stickine. "I guess you're here to row, and any talking that's wanted will be done by me."