The number of hands selected for the voyage was the very minimum required to work the boat. More would unduly weaken the little garrison ashore; the victualling problem had also to be taken into account.
"I can only let you have a gallon of water, sir," decided the bos'n, "and dry biscuit and salt beef enough for two days. Sure 'tis short rations, but you know, sir, how things go. There are half a dozen lemons, too, sir; some were washed up before they had been in the water very long, so I don't suppose they're brackish. A fine thing to quench the thirst, Mr. Webb."
Having bade his comrades a hearty adieu, the Sub ordered the whaler to be pushed off. Three cheers were given for the voyagers, the compliment being returned in right good earnest by the boat's crew.
"Give way, lads," ordered Webb. "Long easy strokes. We'll soon pick up a breeze."
Steadily the shore receded. Ahead the placid water was ruffled by a dark-blue line that betokened a smart breeze. Sitting bolt upright and holding the yoke-lines, the Sub could not help at frequent intervals turning his head and looking back at the inhospitable sandy shore. So fierce was the sun that the radiating heat made the barren dunes appear to quiver, distorting objects ashore. Everything there seemed quiet. No rifle-shots pulsated on the still air. Beyond a few seamen, patrolling the beach to look out for further jetsam, there were no signs of life. The torrid heat had thrown its languorous spell upon Britons and Senussi alike.
"It's hot enough here, in all conscience," thought Tom. "It must be like a slow oven ashore." For an hour the men toiled at the oars, the sweat pouring from their brick-red faces; yet uncomplainingly they maintained their long swinging strokes, as if they were pulling across a harbour rather than setting out for a 180-mile voyage.
"Here's the breeze, lads," exclaimed Webb as a faint zephyr fanned his face. "Well on the starboard quarter, too. Stand by to make sail."
Thankfully the jaded men boated oars. Willing hands stepped the two masts, and quickly the powerful dipping lugs were bellying to the quartering breeze. The water gurgled pleasantly under the whaler's forefoot, while a long white wake was a silent testimony to the boat's speed through the blue water.
"Five to six knots now, sir, I'll allow," replied the coxswain in reply to his officer's query. "She's footing it fine."
"That's what I estimate," agreed the Sub. "If it holds, another thirty hours ought to bring us within sight of land."