“We can sail with a bow light when we have no mast,” Tom retorted, doggedly. “And in twenty minutes we won’t have a mast. Down with the masthead light.”
Wondering, Hank Butts obeyed.
“Trim the side-lights down to just as little as the law will stand for,” was Tom’s next order. “Just at present they’re too bright—for our purpose.”
This, too, Hank obeyed, though he was plainly enough of a seaman to be disturbed.
“Shall I turn the searchlight on, to pick up the inlet?” Butts next inquired.
“Blazes, no!” the young skipper ejaculated. “I don’t want to show the glimmer of a glow that I don’t have to.”
“How are you going to pick up the inlet in this dark, nasty weather?” Hank inquired.
“Feel for it,” Captain Tom retorted, dryly. “Get up forward, Hank, and pass the word back.”
A native of this section, Hank was a competent pilot. Thus they got out through the inlet from Shinnecock Bay, heading southwest for Henderson’s Cove, ten miles away. As soon as they were safely in deep water Halstead summoned Joe and Hank, sending them forward to unstep the mast. Moddridge looked on in silent wonder at these unusual proceedings. They were going at slow speed after a little, as it was no part of the young skipper’s purpose to show his own boat to those whom he intended to watch and follow.