"Not later than midnight."
"Well, you've got nearly four hours. Your man had better sleep, too. I'll see to the engine."
"Roddy won't allow that. I see that he has got help. He'll be finished in half-an-hour. By all means put him to bed then, if you'll promise to wake us both in good time."
"I'll do that. I won't spoil sport. Go to the further end of the camp, and I'll tuck you up in the tarpaulin, put some food on board, and see that everything is shipshape."
Smith was glad enough to avail himself of the opportunity of three or four hours' continuous sleep on land. Rodier showed more reluctance, declaring that he was as fit as a fiddle; but Captain Warren bore him away from the crowd of admirers, and stood over him until he, like his master, was sleeping soundly.
A quarter of an hour before midnight the two airmen were awakened. Farewells were said, hands were shaken all round, every one wish them good luck, and precisely at twelve they took their seats and set forth on the two thousand miles flight to Samoa.
CHAPTER XV
HERR SCHWANKMACHER'S CABBAGES
A little before twelve on Monday, Herr Rudolph Schwankmacher, one of the most respected residents of Apia, capital of Samoa, was reclining under the shade of a plantain in his garden beyond the promontory of Mulinuu, enjoying the conversation of a friend and the refreshing bitterness of a bottle of light lager beer. The garden rose a few feet above the level of the ground in front of it, and afforded an excellent view over the sea. Hither Herr Schwankmacher was wont to retire for a brief spell of rest and meditation in the heat of the day, and on this occasion he had been accompanied by a compatriot newly arrived from Germany, to whom he was expatiating on the pleasures of colonial life in general, and in particular on the delights of rearing cabbages in so rich and prolific a soil.