“All right,” laughed George, and setting the compass on the bottom of the boat between the negro’s feet he directed him to steer a little south of east. This was the direction in which John had seen his phantom island.
“I have a plan,” said Fred. “I say we all row steadily for an hour without looking around. At the end of that time we’ll all stand up and I feel sure we’ll see land not far away.”
“How are you going to tell when the hour is up?” inquired John. “There isn’t a watch in the whole crowd that will run. I’m afraid it’s too warm for even the sun to be on time.”
“Then we’ll have to guess at it. Is everybody agreeable?”
“Suppose a boat appears ahead of us,” suggested George. “We might never see it.”
“Sam is facing that way,” said Fred. “He will see it and can tell us. Unless he sees a boat, though, he is not to say a word.”
“That’s a go,” said Grant. “Is everybody ready?”
The word was given and the life-boat shot forward on its course. The game being played served to cheer up the members of the little party and as a matter of fact no one had remained greatly worried about their condition for any length of time. Youth is always hopeful and every one on board had always had the feeling deep in his heart that they would be rescued before long. Lack of food and water had not assailed them as yet.
“The hour must be nearly up,” remarked George at last.
“Huh,” snorted Fred. “I don’t believe we’ve been going over twenty minutes.”