“Yes, I guess it is,” admitted the steersman, as he put the boat about. “There’s quite a swell on. Wouldn’t wonder but we’d have a storm by morning, though it’s bright enough overhead. I don’t believe Ponto is a good prophet.”
There were only a few clouds in the sky, and the moon was shining down like a big silver disk, making objects unusually bright, for the southern moonlight is wonderful.
Jerry put the boat over near shore, and steered along the coast, which, at that point was quite rocky, cliffs rising here and there to a considerable height above the water.
“Look out you don’t run her on the rocks again,” cautioned Ned.
“I’ll be careful,” replied Jerry. “Maybe you want to run her a while. I don’t want to be the whole show.”
Ned was glad of the chance to take the wheel, and he and Jerry changed places. They were proceeding at slow speed, the girls occasionally humming the chorus of a song, and the boys joining in when they knew the air. The beauty of the night, the fine boat, and delight of moving along with scarcely a sound, had them all under a sort of magic spell, and they felt they could thus go on forever.
It was when they came opposite a range of low cliffs, close to the water’s edge, that Bob suddenly called out in a low voice:
“Look at the men on the rocks!”
“Where?” asked Jerry.
“Over there,” and Bob pointed. Ned steered the boat nearer to where two black figures, sharply outlined in the moonlight, could be seen in bold relief on the cliff.