"We can't make anything by it," said Monroe. "I move you we back out, and get a drink of water. All hands will be called at eight bells, I think, to put on more sail."
"No, no! Don't back out," interposed Howe. "We haven't made ourselves felt yet."
"That's so," groaned Herman. "No one takes any notice of us. Even those fellows that went up last won't speak to us, not even to answer a civil question. The principal evidently regards us with perfect contempt. I go in for doing something, or backing out. As it is, we are making a milk-and-water affair of it. We are starved and choked. That's all we have to show for what we have done."
"Why don't you preach, and say, 'The way of the transgressor is hard,' or something of that sort, which is original," snarled Howe.
"I should judge from your talk that you did not feel very good," added Herman.
"I don't; I'm as dry as any of you, but I have no idea of backing out."
"What are you going to do? What's to be the end of this?" demanded Ibbotson. "I've got enough of it."
"That seems to be the general opinion," continued Herman.
"Where's Little?" demanded Howe, who could not help realizing that the fortunes of the last of the mutineers were becoming desperate, and that it was not an easy thing to contend against such enemies as hunger and thirst. "I shall not give it up so. Let us do something. Let us make ourselves felt, even if we are hanged for it."
"What can we do?" inquired Herman, earnestly. "We are caged here like a lot of donkeys, and I have had enough of it."