CHAPTER XX
THE COUNCIL OF WAR
IT was Saturday morning when the “Rocket’s” crew boarded the schooner out on the high seas. Late Sunday evening the motor boat moved in through the Narrows of lower New York Bay. The cruise had been at racing speed, without a single hitch after Engineer Joe had fitted that new valve.
On the way Francis Delavan, who had thoroughly recovered, formed his plans in case his fortunes had not gone entirely to smash in Wall Street. But it was still needful to consult Broker Coggswell and others, in order to learn just how far the plans were likely to succeed.
As the “Rocket” was intended, in ordinary times, to be a “one-man” boat—that is, to be handled from the bridge by the helmsman, the three members of the crew had managed to divide up the watches so that all had had plenty of sleep.
As Captain Tom dropped anchor at ten o’clock that August Sunday night, near Bedloe’s Island, and Hank hung out the anchor light, all three of the boys were wide awake and eager to see what was to follow.
Hank was to row Mr. Delavan ashore in the same little port boat that had figured in the Shinnecock Bay affair. The owner intended going to one of the cheapest of the downtown hotels, whence he would telephone Broker Coggswell and some others.
“Expect a party of us back by midnight,” was the last word the owner left with the young skipper. “We’ll want a little cruise out to sea, to-night, where we can talk things over with no danger of any eavesdroppers about.”
Mr. Moddridge and the two remaining members of the crew stretched themselves out comfortably in arm-chairs on the bridge deck.
“It’s hard to realize that we can rest,” sighed Captain Tom. “It seems to me that I still hear the throb-throb-throb of the engine and hear the continual turning of the propeller shaft. Still, we really are having a brief rest.”