“Joe,” murmured Tom, his eyes shining as his chum came up from the engine room, “do you remember the ‘great night’ we had off the mouth of the Kennebec?”
“Yes,” nodded Dawson, “but this is going to be easier for us. Instead of one, there are seven officers aboard to-night, and the sea is almost glassy. This won’t be anything but a business trip, so to speak.”
Whether Joe was right in his prediction yet remained to be seen. At Halstead’s suggestion, made to Inspector Lawrence, the “Meteor” was run quietly into a small cove, just north of a bend that, in daylight, would have shut them out of a view of Sanderson’s pier. As the motor boat was carrying no lights Mr. Lawrence felt confident that they had made the cove without having been discovered from lower down the coast.
“We’ll want two guides who know every foot of the way,” decided Mr. Lawrence. “Dawson will know the way to the outbuildings behind the farmhouse, and the lay of the ground about there. Halstead, you can pilot some of us over the ground near the pier. Now that the anchor is overboard the ‘Meteor’ will be safe here. Prentiss can remain aboard. Even if he discovered trouble threatening, he could raise the anchor and slip swiftly out into open water. The ‘Meteor’ can show a vanishing stern to any other boat in these waters.”
“And if you should want to signal us for help, Jed,” said Tom, a moment later, bringing up on deck a box from one of the lockers, “here are the signal rockets and Roman candles. Wait a moment.”
Tom disappeared below once more, to return with a tin-lined trough affair. By means of two hooks he made this device fast at the port rail. This “trough” was intended to rest a rocket in before touching it off and sending it skyward.
“I’ll be snug and safe as anything,” declared Jed, smiling. He felt brave enough, in fact, until the dingey, going ashore for the second time, carried the last of his companions. Then all was still, absolutely quiet, lonely and black. Jed, being highly imaginative, began to fancy he saw figures darting from tree to tree on shore. The bushes had a mysterious look, for it was so nearly dark that he could just make out their outlines.
Prentiss had said of himself that he was a hero, in theory, but that when danger faced him he was likely to forget much of his courage. There are many such boys. They are not cowards, but are imaginative, have highly strung nervous systems, and are without real experience of danger. When that experience does come they often find themselves possessed of far more grit than they had believed.
Time slipped by. Nothing happened to justify the state of Jed’s nerves. He was lonely, and wondering what the others were doing. At last, however, he heard something real. Prentiss sprang up, stepping to the port rail to listen. The sound was unmistakable, that of a marine engine, though as yet the sound was far away.
“Can that be the filibustering steamer?” Jed wondered, thrilling.