"For where?" asked Hislop, coming forward.
"Anywhere," replied Lambourne, sulkily.
"Stuff! You must hang on by the island, or it will be the worse for you," responded the wary mate.
"How will it be worse for us?" asked Probart.
"In more ways than one."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. And moreover, it is my orders."
"Lookee, now, Master Hislop," said Henry Warren, our oldest seaman, with great gravity, "in everything that is reasonable, I have obeyed you, and I will still obey you all the same as if the deck of the Eugenie was under our feet, and the blue water round us; but as for living on this here 'chanted island for a longer spell, with a murdering villain like the Spaniard Antonio, who can make ships sail on sea and land alike, for all the world like pictures in a lantern or a penny show, is more than flesh and blood can bear; so I say, mates, let us embark all our provisions, set sail, clap dry nippers on our oars, and make out Gough's Island, or Tristan da Cunha, leaving the devil and Antonio to keep company here as long as they please—and that is likely to be long enough, I can tell you."
"Tristan da Cunha can't be above three hundred miles off," added Probart; and the proposition met with such universal approbation, that Marc Hislop became seriously alarmed.
He begged the crew to listen to him; but they did so with evident reluctance and impatience, muttering the while, and twitching their hats and trousers.