"Yes," he said.
"Why, then, do you advise us to seek our own destruction?"
He bowed. His manner was almost humble.
"It is the easier way," he murmured.
"Is there no other?"
"None—unless we attack two hundred soldiers with sticks, and stones, and three revolvers, and a sword."
Hozier came back. He had merely stepped a pace or two into the sunlight. Through the northerly dip of the gulley he had seen the ship's boat whirled past an islet by the fierce current. Macfarlane was not visible. Perhaps that was better so. At any rate, the sight of the small craft vanishing behind one of the island barriers brought home with telling force the predicament of those who remained. Now that the sheer frenzy of the wreck had relaxed, Philip's head was like to split with the throbbing anguish of the blow he had received. But his mind was clearer. De Sylva's words, amplifying his own vague recollection of the scene on board the Andromeda, enabled him to construct a picture of events as they were. And his blood boiled when he thought of Iris, snatched many times from death, only to face it once more in the ravening form of starvation and thirst.
"Attack!" he said hoarsely. "How is that possible? A deep and wide channel separates us from the main island."
The Brazilian, who seemed to have argued himself into a state of stoic despair, gave a startling answer.
"We have a boat, a sort of boat," he said quietly.