They had now come out of the brush upon a second miniature harbor where a small boat was drawn up on the smooth beach.
With Sam helping, Rawlins shoved off the boat as the others climbed in.
“We might have come around by the launch, I suppose,” Rawlins remarked, “but it’s safer over at the dock and this boat’s handier.”
Sam at the oars and Rawlins steering, the boat swept away from the beach and headed for a jutting point.
As they drew near and the boys were watching the circling seabirds and admiring the beautifully colored water, Rawlins spoke to Sam and ordered him to stop rowing.
“See anything of the sub?” he asked as the boat lost headway.
Every one gazed about, expecting to see the undersea boat just awash or just emerging from the surface, but not a ripple broke the glassy water. Along the shore they were approaching was a dense belt of green trees—mangroves and sea grape—with a few ragged coconut palms above all, but not a sign of anything remotely resembling a submarine.
“No, I give up,” said Mr. Pauling at last.
“So do I,” added Mr. Henderson.
“Me too,” said Tom.