“I spent two years in a lumber camp,” he explained. “My muscles may be a bit flabby, but I’ll make a show, I think.”
He did; using the axe with his uninjured arm in a workmanlike manner, until by the time Raxworthy called “spell-ho!” the hole had been enlarged almost sufficiently for them to squeeze through.
Then Raxworthy resumed the task and in a few minutes more the way to escape lay open; but would escape mean freedom?
“A wetting for each of us, it seems,” remarked his companion.
“If that’s all it means I’m not grousing,” replied the midshipman. “Will you lead on?”
The doctor squeezed through the gap and dropped into the water. A few strokes and his feet touched the underside of the deck. There he had to duck to avoid hitting his head, for there was only a mean distance of six inches between the water level and the extremities of the jagged, blackened planks.
“All O.K.!” he shouted.
“Right! I’ll be with you,” rejoined Raxworthy.
They clambered upon the curved, teredobored planks until they were astride the keel. It was the highest point of vantage. Seaward there was nothing in sight, but the land looked too near to be pleasant. It was perhaps four miles away, and in all probability inhabited by Chinese depending chiefly upon piracy.
Now that they were free, for the time being at least, the pangs of thirst and hunger assailed them. Raxworthy would cheerfully have eaten of the mess of fish and rice similar to the dish of which he had partaken so reluctantly on the previous day. Quite likely there were provisions and water stowed under the poop; but these were almost as remote as the poles, as far as the two survivors were concerned, since the poop was ten or fifteen feet under water.