“Right you are, Bob,” said Joe Slag. (“As he always is,” said Nellie, sotto voce.) “So I second the move—if that’s the reg’lar way to do it.”
“Hear, hear!” said every one with right good will, and a gleam of pride flashed from Eva’s pretty brown eyes as her husband was thus unanimously appointed leader of the shipwrecked band.
Like a sensible man, knowing his capacity, he at once accepted the command without any display of undue modesty, and proved his fitness by at once going to work.
“The first thing, then, is to thank God for our deliverance, which we all do, I am sure, most heartily.”
This was received with a responsive “Amen” from every one—not even excepting Black Ned.
“Next, we must find fresh water and boil a bit of pork—”
“Ah, then, we haven’t a kittle!” exclaimed O’Connor.
“Haven’t we a big baling-dish, Terrence?” said Hayward.
“Sure we have, sor, an’ it’s a tin wan as’ll stand fire,” returned Terrence with a reproved look.
“Well, then, you go fetch it; wash it well out and get the pork ready. Jarring and Tomlin will gather as much dead wood as they can find and pile it beside the fire. Mitford will search for fresh water—there must be a spring or brook not far off—and Massey and I will rig up some sort of shelter for the night.”