“And then we shall be in luck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They must surrender to our armed boat.”
Fitz Burnett had had little experience of the sea, but none as connected with an excursion in a boat on a dark night, to board a vessel whose sailing light could be seen in the distance.
They had not gone far before the lieutenant tabooed all talking.
“Still as you can, my lads,” he said. “Sound travels far over the sea, and lights are very deceptive.”
The midshipman had already been thinking the same thing. He had often read of Will-o’-the-Wisps, but never seen one, and this light seemed to answer the description exactly, for there it was, dimly-seen for a few moments, then brightening, and slowly going up and down. But the great peculiarity was that now it seemed quite close at hand, now far distant, and for the life of him he could not make out that they got any nearer. He wanted to draw his companion’s attention to that fact, but on turning sharply to the lieutenant as if to speak, he was met by a low “Hist!” which silenced him directly, while the men rowed steadily on for quite a quarter of an hour longer, when all at once the lieutenant uttered in an angry whisper—
“What are you doing, you clumsy scoundrel?”
For there was a sudden movement behind where they sat in the stern-sheets, as if the man in charge of the lantern had slipped, with the result that a dull gleam of light shone out for a few moments, before its guardian scuffled the piece of sail-cloth by which it had been covered, back into its place, and all was dark once more.
“Why, what were you about?” whispered the lieutenant angrily.