“Well, I’m very sorry, sir; but yes, I do. The brig’s lying careened right over, just as she was when we started on our trip.”
“But look here, Morny,” cried the doctor; “that may mean nothing more than that she is not finished yet. Remember, to those we left we are missing, and in their anxiety about our lengthened stay they may have started up-stream to find us.”
“You are saying this to comfort me,” cried Morny passionately. “No, doctor; we have got to face the worst. It is not so.”
It seemed cruelty to prolong the conversation, and soon after the order was given to lower the sail and unstep the mast, for the wind had pretty well dropped as they swept in towards where the vessels were anchored, and the distance being short, the men took to their oars once more, while, with no impediment to their view, the doctor took out his glass and offered it to Morny. But the lad made a quick gesture, and sat back looking straight before him, while the doctor used the glass himself, gazing with it first at the brig, about whose hull no one was visible, while all seemed still on board the three schooners.
“Take a look, Rodney,” said the doctor aloud, as he handed the glass. “I can see nothing wrong.”
Rodd eagerly took the glass, raised it to his eyes, and said quietly—
“Why, I can’t see a soul on board the Sally, uncle, and the people on the other schooners must be asleep. They haven’t seen us yet— Yes, they have!” he cried. “The men are hurrying up on our vessel from below, but—”
“But what, my boy?”
“I—I don’t quite know, uncle. Something isn’t right. Oh, Morny, what have I said?”
As the boy spoke he let the glass drop to the full length of his arm, and in all probability it would have fallen to the bottom of the boat had not Joe Cross caught it in his hand.