"Carry on," he said, and acknowledged the salute of the Chief of Police and the Sergeant of Marines.
The men filed over the side and took their places in the boats waiting alongside, and as they sheered off from the ship in tow of the launch and followed in the wake of the distant picket-boat, the closely packed men suddenly broke into a tempest of cheering.
The Captain was walking up and down the quarterdeck talking to the
Commander. He smiled as the tumult of sound floated across the water.
"I wonder they managed to bottle it up as long as they have," he said. "Bless 'em! They've earned their drop of leave if ever men did." They took a few turns in silence. "I hope to get away to-night," continued the Captain, "if they put us in dock this afternoon. When are you going for your leave, Hornby?"
The Commander ran his eye over the superstructure and rigging of the foremast. "Oh, I don't know, sir," he said. "I hadn't thought about it much…. I think I'll get that new purchase for the fore-derrick rove to-morrow…."
The colour had gone out of the sunset, and in the pale green sky at the head of the valley a single star appeared.
With the approach of dusk the noises of the river multiplied; a score of liquid voices seemed to blend into the sleepy murmur of sounds that babbled drowsily among the rocks and boulders, and was swallowed beneath the overhanging branches of the trees.
The India-rubber Man moved quietly down stream, scarcely distinguishable from the gathering shadows by the riverside; he carried a light fly-rod, and once or twice he stopped, puffing the briar pipe between his teeth, to stare intently at the olive-hued water eddying past.
"Coo-ee!"
A faint call floated up the valley, clear and musical above the voices of the stream. The India-rubber Man raised his head abruptly and a little smile flitted across his face. Then he raised his hand to his mouth and sent the answer ringing down-stream: