“The boat’s gone!”
This should cause them apprehension; and would, if they but knew the consequences. Ignorant of these, they make light of it, one saying:
“Let her go, and be damned! We want no boats now.”
“A horse would be more to our purpose,” suggests a second; “or, for that matter, a dozen.”
“A dozen donkeys would do,” adds a third, accompanying his remark with a horse-laugh. “It’ll take about that many to pack our possibles.”
“What’s become of the old pinnace, anyhow?” asks one in sober strain; as, having passed through the rock-portal, they stand scanning the strand. All remember the place where they left the boat; and see it is not there.
“Has any one made away with it?”
The question is asked, and instantly answered, several saying, no. Striker, the man who first missed it, vouchsafes the explanation:
“The return tide’s taken it out; an’ I dar say, it’s broke to bits on them theer breakers.”
They now remember it was not properly moored, but left with painter loose; and do not wonder it went adrift. They care little, indeed nothing, and think of it no longer; but, stripping, plunge into the surf.