But the vessel was evidently heading for the island, for gradually sail after sail rose above the tossing sea and each minute the ship became more and more distinct, until the watching boys could see that it was a bark with every sail set.
“It must be the Hector!” insisted Jim. “Come on, Tom, let’s go down and tell the men.”
But by the time they had reached the shore, Cap’n Pem had already sighted the oncoming vessel and both he and Mike were studying her through their glasses.
“Is it the Hector?” cried Tom. “Oh, do hurry up and tell us!”
“Looks like her,” admitted Cap’n Pem, “but can’t say yit awhile. Comin’ dead head-on and can’t make her out.”
“Shure an’ ’tis the barrk all right, all right,” declared Mike, decisively. “Oi kin say thot patch on her foretorpsail phwat Oi put there mesilf.”
“Derned ef ye kin, ye old liar!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem. “Reckon my eyes is better’n yourn, an’ I can’t see it.”
“Thin ye’re oisight’s a-failin’ yez,” replied Mike, with a chuckle, “as well as yer manners, Misther Potter, sor.”
But here further argument ceased, for at the moment the bark altered her course a little disclosing her hull and spars and old Pem slapped his thigh.
“Blow me if ’tain’t!” he cried. “Comin’ a sky-hookin’, too! Git busy, lads, the Hector’s a-comin’! Work lively an’ we’ll be home’ard boun’ this time to-morrer!”