“Let’s hope it is,” added his companion drily. “Only just watch and see what sort of country you would have to find your way through.”
They finished their sorry repast in silence.
The midshipman was hungry—very—and that fact alone enabled him to overcome his repugnance at the fish-flavoured rice. And having finished it he still felt the pangs of hunger.
“Now,” thought Raxworthy, glancing at the night-enshrouded deck—for the junk displayed no light—“they’ve freed my arms. I can cast my ankle lashings adrift. What’s to prevent me going over the side? There are bound to be some fishing boats about. I heard oars splashing not so very long ago.”
He bent forward and commenced to tease the knots of the rope that secured his ankles.
Even in the darkness his companion realized what he was doing and sensed his intentions.
“Better not, Raxworthy!”
“Why not?”
“Sharks!”