“Come on board—this way!” called Captain Zim; and once more the hoarse whistle of the steamer boomed out into the fog.
Needless to say, the three boys now were on deck, and they leaned over the rail as there appeared at the foot of the rope-ladder a big dory with two native oarsmen, and a stout, grizzled man, whom the ship’s company announced to be Pete Piamon, the pilot for that coast.
“How are you, Pete?” said Captain Zim. “Can we take her in? I’m late and in an awful hurry.”
Pete grinned. “All the time you ban in awful hurry, Captain Zim. Dis fog awful tick. Yas, we shall take her in if you say so—and maybe so pile her up on de rock. You don’ min’ dat, eh?”
“Where’s the revenue-cutter Bennington lying, Pete?” asked Uncle Dick.
“Inside, beyond de town.” Pete jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, captain,” said Uncle Dick. “I’m in a big hurry to report to my commanding officer on the Bennington, for he’s no doubt been lying here two or three days waiting for us. You keep Pete here, and let me and the boys take his dory and pull in—they’ll take us through the tide-rips all right, if it gets bad. I won’t ask you to put down one of the ship’s boats.”
Pete looked at Captain Zim, who answered: “Oh, all right, if you’re in such a hurry; though you might wait and let us all go in together. How are you going to get all of your hand luggage and all four of you into that dory, though?”
“You couldn’t spare us a ship’s boat?”
“Sure I can,” answered obliging Captain Zim. “I’ll tell you—put the boys in the dory, and I’ll send you and the luggage over in the long-boat.”