The thought made me exclaim
with exasperation. Had it been possible to abandon Kinney, I would have
dropped overboard and made for shore. The night was warm and foggy, and
the short journey to land, to one who had been brought up like a duck,
meant nothing more than a wetting. But I did not see how I could desert
Kinney.
"Can you swim?" I asked.
"Of course not!" he answered gloomily; "and, besides," he added, "our
names are on our suitcases. We couldn't take them with us, and they'd
find out who we are. If we could only steal a boat!" he exclaimed
eagerly--"one of those on the davits," he urged--"we could put our
suitcases in it and then, after every one is asleep, we could lower it
into the water."
The smallest boat on board was certified to hold twenty-five persons,
and without waking the entire ship's company we could as easily have
moved the chart-room. This I pointed out.
"Don't make objections!" Kinney cried petulantly. He was rapidly
recovering his spirits. The imminence of danger seemed to inspire him.
"Think!" he commanded. "Think of some way by which we can get off this
boat before she reaches New Bedford.
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