“I don’t like it,” said Burgess gruffly.
“You don’t like it!” cried the skipper. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Why, from here to Velova close in it’s all rock-shoal and wild current. It’s almost madness to try and hug the coast.”
“Oh, I see. But it’s got to be done, Burgess. You didn’t take soundings and bearings miles each way for nothing last year.”
“Tchah!” growled the mate. “One wants an apprenticeship to this coast. I’ll do what you want, of course, but I won’t be answerable for taking the Teal safely into that next port.”
“Oh yes, you will,” said the skipper quietly. “If I didn’t think you would I should try to do it myself. Now then, there’s no time to waste. Look yonder. There’s something coming out of the port now—a steamer, I believe, from the way she moves, and most likely it’s in reply to our signals, and they’re coming out to give us a surprise.” The mate stood for a few moments peering over the black waters in the direction of the indicated lights.
“Yes,” he growled, “that’s a steamer; one of their gunboats, I should say, and they are coming straight for here.”
“How does he know that?” whispered Fitz, as the skipper and the mate now moved away.
“The lights were some distance apart,” replied Poole, “and they’ve swung round till one’s close behind the other. Now look, whatever the steamer is she is coming straight for here. Fortunately there is a nice pleasant breeze, but I hope we shall not get upon any of these fang-like rocks.”
“Yes, I hope so too,” said Fitz excitedly; and then Poole left him, and he stood listening to the clicking of the capstan as the anchor was raised, while some of the crew busily hoisted sail, so that in a few minutes’ time the schooner began to heel over from the pressure of the wind and glide away, showing that the anchor was clear of the soft ooze in which it had lain.