CHAPTER XXIV.
MAUM SALLY.
Daylight came about five o'clock, and Ned made use of the earliest light for looking about him and determining his position. So buried was the boat in the tall marsh grass, that he had to stand upon the highest part of the bow in order to see at all. At first he could make out very little, but as it grew lighter—for, the rain having ceased, the light gained rapidly toward six o'clock—he was able to make out the bearings pretty well.
"I say, fellows," he said, turning to his companions, "we made a centre shot. If we had tried, in the broadest light of the clearest day, we couldn't have put the Aphrodite more exactly in the middle of this marsh bank."
Further inspection showed that this judgment was accurate. The boat lay precisely in the middle of the little island, which stretched away two or three hundred yards on each side.
The tide had risen enough by half-past six for the water to lick the sides of the boat, but it would be a full hour or more before the Aphrodite would float up out of the mud, and even then it would be necessary to wait awhile longer for deeper water, before trying to push her great bulk through the rank marsh grass.
"Why not hurry matters by getting out and pushing the empty boat?" asked impatient Charley, who had already declared himself to be in a state of actual starvation.
"Just take one of the oars, Charley," said Ned, "and feel of the bottom we should have to walk on."
Charley took the oar, pushed it through the roots of the grass, and then, with scarcely an effort, plunged its whole length straight downward through the soft mud.