About three-quarters of a mile out at sea were the two gunboats riding at anchor, and resting as gracefully upon the water as if they had been birds. Directly before them was the supply boat, about a quarter of a mile from the shore, and not more than that distance in advance. They could see that four men were on board, and they were still striving desperately to push her off from the bar on which she had grounded.
Not a word was spoken on the whaleboat now, and the men were all rowing with long and steady strokes. The ocean was unusually calm, but every lift of the heavy groundswell disclosed to them more clearly the outlines of the boat they were seeking. Their purpose had not yet been discovered by the men on the other boat, or if it had been discovered no token was displayed. It was more than possible that they were regarded as friends coming to the aid of the unlucky boat.
In this manner several minutes passed, the whaleboat, meanwhile, making rapid progress over the water, driven forward by the efforts of the determined men. The long, sandy shore stretched away in the distance, the masses of clouds in the sky seemed to be lined with silver as the rays of the sun shone through them, and not a sound could be heard except the heavy breathing of the men and the regular clicks of the oars in the row-locks.
In spite of the peacefulness of the scene, however, all the men in the whaleboat fully realized the desperate nature of their undertaking, and the likelihood that in a moment everything might be changed. Still, there were no evidences of action on the gunboats, and the men on the grounded boat betrayed no signs of alarm.
"There are some men on the shore up yonder," said the leader, as he saw a group standing on the beach directly opposite the boat they were seeking. "They don't seem to be able to help them," he added. "I don't believe we've anything to fear from them. Give way, men! Give way!"
The band responded with a will, and the whaleboat darted forward with increasing speed. The other boat lay only a few yards away, and the end had almost come. The excitement on board was intense now, and, although no one spoke, the expression on every face betrayed the feelings of the men. They could see that the others were watching them, but still they manifested no alarm at the approach of the whaleboat.
As the latter ran in alongside, and the men quickly backed water, one of the sailors on the stranded boat—for such their uniforms disclosed them to be—called out, "You're just in time, men! We thought we'd never get this tub off the bar. The tide's coming in, but we're stuck fast."
"That's just what we came for," replied the leader, as he threw a rope to the other boat. "Now make fast and we'll yank you off before you know it."
One of the sailors caught the rope and made it fast, but evidently a change came over his feelings then, for, glancing suspiciously at the men before him, the one who had acted as the leader said, "You're from Refugee Town, aren't you? You're strangers to me, but I take it for granted you're all right!"
"No, sir; we're militia from Old Monmouth. We've come out here to get you and your boat, too. Here, none of that!" he quickly added, as he saw the men turn to grasp their guns. "We'll send you to the bottom before you can tell your names if you try any of your games on us."