“Aren’t you going to let us go ashore?” questioned Ralph.
“Not to-night. Perhaps we’ll be able to let you go in the morning. You couldn’t do anything, anyhow, in this heavy fog.”
There was no help for it, and so the boys turned in, although none of them undressed. In some bunks not far away several sailors were already snoring lustily, so the boys had to keep quiet for fear of raising a new row.
It was a night long to be remembered. For some time neither Jack nor any of the others could go to sleep. All were cudgeling their brains to think of some way by which they might gain their liberty. But nothing came to their minds that sounded feasible. At last, worn out by their exertions, one after another dropped off to sleep, Fred being the last to close his eyes.
It was early morning when Jack got up. The others were still slumbering, and as there seemed no need to arouse them, he slipped quietly out of the forecastle to the deck. It was still raining, but the fog was clearing away rapidly and a strong wind was blowing from the northeast. All of the sails of the Hildegarde were set, and the auxiliary engine was silent.
The oldest Rover boy found only three hands on deck, one of whom was at the wheel. One of the hands proved to be Ira Small, and the tall, lanky sailor grinned slightly at him as he came up.
“Got a little sleep, I hope?” said Small, blinking his eyes and rubbing his chin vigorously.
“Oh, I slept fairly well after I once got to sleep,” answered Jack. “I was worn out—we had put in such a big day.”
Ira Small looked at him questioningly for several seconds and then looked up and down the deck to make sure that they were not being observed. Then he leaned forward impressively, his long neck extending like that of a duck.
“They ain’t got no right to keep you on board this ship, lad. It’s a blamed shame, that’s what it is! I wish I could help you and your crowd to git away.”