Peter had been puzzling over the course for some considerable time. Against the westerly breeze he knew that days might elapse before the boat made the Mozambique coast. Being light and not provided with a centre-board, she was unable to sail at all close to the wind. In fact, it was doubtful whether she would make to windward at all. On the other hand, she would run well, and, with the knowledge that the island of Madagascar was somewhere under his lee—it might be anything between two hundred and four hundred miles—Mostyn decided that the best chance lay in making for it. There was, of course, a great possibility of several vessels being in the vicinity. If the boat were sighted, so much the better. If not—well, they would have to "stick it out" on very short rations.
A thorough search in the after locker disclosed the fact that there was an airtight tin containing fourteen pounds of biscuits, another lantern and a pound of tallow candles, a lead-line, some rusty fishing hooks and lines (relics of a long-forgotten fishing expedition), a hatchet, grass rope, and half a dozen signal rockets. Elsewhere in the boat were a small compass, a water-beaker about three-quarters full, spare oars, baler, boat-hook, grapnel, and a jib and mizzen sails, besides the lug that had already been set.
The baler had been nearly filled with rain-water during the night, but the lascars had drunk every drop. Peter, of course, was ignorant of this, and when he served out a small quantity all round the lascars must have congratulated themselves on their astuteness.
The tin of biscuits was then broached, and one biscuit handed to each person in the boat. Preston munched his ravenously, although every movement of his jaw caused him intense agony. He was still lightheaded, muttering incoherently about taking over the middle watch.
Olive was hungry and ate the "hard tack" with zest, but Mrs. Shallop pettishly declined her share as being unfit for a lady to eat. She even began her now well-known speech of self-advertisement, when Peter cut her short.
"I can offer you nothing better," he said curtly. "I would advise you to keep it, because you'll want it badly before long. And please understand there must be no grumbling. It has a bad effect upon the lascars."
"Surely I can talk if I want to?" protested the woman.
"Within limits, yes," replied Mostyn. "But I would point out that it would be far better if you did something useful. There's Preston, for instance, he requires pretty constant attention."
"Oh, Miss Baird can see to him," declared Mrs. Shallop. "She's younger than I am."
"Considering Miss Baird had three cases on her hands during the night—you, Preston, and myself—I think she's done more than her fair share," said Peter, and, filled with disgust, he turned to the helm, which Mahmed had temporarily taken.