All the way down to the beach they had laggedbehind together, though he bade them ‘Walk up,walk up,’ without speaking. Their heads were bentdown, their heads were pressed down by some re-morseless gale. Speak to him they could not. Theymust come; they must follow. They must walk be-hind him carrying brown paper parcels. But theyvowed, in silence, as they walked, to stand by eachother and carry out the great compact—to resisttyranny to the death. So there they would sit, oneat one end of the boat, one at the other, in silence.They would say nothing, only look at him now andthen where he sat with his legs twisted, frowning andfidgeting, and pishing and pshawing and mutteringthings to himself, and waiting impatiently for abreeze. And they hoped it would be calm. Theyhoped he would be thwarted. They hoped the wholeexpedition would fail, and they would have to putback, with their parcels, to the beach.
But now, when Macalister’s boy had rowed a littleway out, the sails slowly swung round, the boat