“Where is the opening, then?” cried Roberts shortly.
“I don’t know,” replied his companion coolly; “but there must be one, and the captain of the schooner must be quite at home here and know his way.”
“I wish my young officers would learn to know their way about this horrible shore instead of spending their time in talking,” cried an angry voice, and the two midshipmen started apart as they awoke to the fact that the captain had approached them unheard while they were intently sweeping the shore.
“Higher, my lad—higher up,” cried the captain. “The cross-trees, and be smart about it.—Yes, Mr Murray, you’re right; there’s a narrow river somewhere about, or perhaps it’s a wide one. Take your glass, sir—the opening is waiting to be found. What do you think of it, Mr Anderson?”
“I don’t think, sir. I feel sure the schooner has come out of some river along here, caught sight of us, and taken advantage of the mist to make her way back, and for aught we know she is lying snugly enough, waiting till we are gone.”
“Thank you, Mr Anderson,” said the captain, with studied politeness, “but unfortunately I knew all this before you spoke. What I want to know is where our friend is lying so snugly. What do you say to that?”
“Only this, sir—that we must run in as far as we can and sail along close inshore till we come to the opening of the river.”
“And while we sail south we shall be leaving the mouth behind, Mr Anderson, eh?”
“If it proves to be so, sir,” replied the first lieutenant gravely, “we must sail north again and again too, until we find the entrance.”
“Humph! Yes, sir; but hang it all, are my officers asleep, that we are sailing up and down here month after month without doing anything? Here, Mr Murray, what are you thinking about, sir?”