All that night and the whole of the following day we plied our paddles in almost total silence and without a halt, save twice to recruit our failing energies with a mouthful of food and a draught of water. Jack had taken the bearing of the island just after starting, and laying a small pocket-compass before him, kept the head of the canoe due south, for our chance of hitting the island depended very much on the faithfulness of our steersman in keeping our tiny bark exactly and constantly on its proper course. Peterkin and I paddled in the bow, and Avatea worked untiringly in the middle.
As the sun’s lower limb dipped on the gilded edge of the sea Jack ceased working, threw down his paddle, and called a halt.
“There!” he cried, heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh; “we’ve put a considerable breadth of water between us and these black rascals, so now we’ll have a hearty supper and a sound sleep.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Peterkin. “Nobly spoken, Jack!—Hand me a drop of water, Ralph.—Why, girl, what’s wrong with you? You look just like a black owl blinking in the sunshine!”
Avatea smiled. “I sleepy,” she said; and as if to prove the truth of this, she laid her head on the edge of the canoe and fell fast asleep.
“That’s uncommon sharp practice,” said Peterkin with a broad grin. “Don’t you think we should awake her to make her eat something first? Or perhaps,” he added with a grave, meditative look—“perhaps we might put some food in her mouth, which is so elegantly open at the present moment, and see if she’d swallow it while asleep.—If so, Ralph, you might come round to the front here and feed her quietly, while Jack and I are tucking into the victuals. It would be a monstrous economy of time.”
I could not help smiling at Peterkin’s idea, which indeed, when I pondered it, seemed remarkably good in theory; nevertheless, I declined to put it in practice, being fearful of the result should the victuals chance to go down the wrong throat. But on suggesting this to Peterkin, he exclaimed:
“Down the wrong throat, man! Why, a fellow with half-an-eye might see that if it went down Avatea’s throat it could not go down the wrong throat!—unless, indeed, you have all of a sudden become inordinately selfish, and think that all the throats in the world are wrong ones except your own. However, don’t talk so much, and hand me the pork before Jack finishes it. I feel myself entitled to at least one minute morsel.”
“Peterkin, you’re a villain—a paltry little villain!” said Jack quietly as he tossed the hind legs (including the tail) of a cold roast pig to his comrade; “and I must again express my regret that unavoidable circumstances have thrust your society upon me, and that necessity has compelled me to cultivate your acquaintance. Were it not that you are incapable of walking upon the water, I would order you, sir, out of the canoe!”
“There! you’ve awakened Avatea with your long tongue,” retorted Peterkin, with a frown, as the girl gave vent to a deep sigh. “No,” he continued, “it was only a snore. Perchance she dreameth of her black Apollo.—I say, Ralph, do leave just one little slice of that yam! Between you and Jack I run a chance of being put on short allowance, if not—yei-a-a-ow!”