"All right! Now, then, gently. Help me to shove off the canoe,"
whispered Jack to the teacher; "and, Peterkin, do you shove these
blankets aboard--we may want them before long. Avatea, step into the
middle--that's right."
"Is all ready?" whispered the teacher.
"Not quite," replied Peterkin.--"Here, Ralph, lay hold o' this pair of
oars, and stow them away if you can. I don't like paddles. After we're
safe away I'll try to rig up rollicks for them."
"Now, then, in with you and shove off."
One more earnest squeeze of the kind teacher's hand, and with his
whispered blessing yet sounding in our ears, we shot like an arrow from
the shore, sped over the still waters of the lagoon, and paddled as
swiftly as strong arms and willing hearts could urge us over the long
swell of the open sea.
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.
Pages:
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349