Jerry’s intention of remaining awake was well meant, but nature asserted herself and he was soon slumbering as soundly as his chums.
It was well that Jerry had set his burglar alarm, or, otherwise the sleep-locked eyes of the boys never would have detected the stealthy approach of several dark figures that stole around the camp about midnight. They were figures that crept closer and closer with silent footsteps, figures that whispered now and then among themselves, and, had any one been listening, they would have easily recognized the whispers as those of negro voices.
But the fish lines did not sleep. They did their duty and, when one of the men caught his foot in a cord, and brought down, with a resounding clatter and crash, a pile of tins, the three boys awoke with a start.
“Quick! The guns!” cried Jerry.
He struck a match and lighted a lantern which was ready at hand, no lights having been left burning because they attracted mosquitoes and other insects.
Bob and Ned grabbed their rifles. An instant later the gleam of a lantern shone out, and disclosed several negroes about the Dartaway. Some were in the craft and others appeared to be shoving her off the bank on which her keel rested.
“They’re stealing our boat!” yelled Bob.
An instant later he fired, purposely aiming over the heads of the intruders. Ned followed his example. There was a yell of terror from the black men and, with one accord they seemed to disappear from sight. Jerry ran out with the lantern.
“I think we foiled their plot,” he remarked, as he saw that the boat was still in place, though on the point of floating away.