As soon as the stew was off the fire, Captain Romano made coffee. While it was brewing, each boy was given a heaped dish of meat and potatoes, half a loaf of bread, and the banquet was on. The only sweet was the sugar that came in the coffee. With a second helping of the savory concoction, the supper came to an end, the brazier fire was extinguished, and Captain Joe’s pipe glowed again.
It was now wholly dark, fairly cool, and the breeze had risen until sheets and stays were cracking occasionally. Bob turned up his collar, and rather wished for his sweater. Only a few stars were to be seen, and shoreward, a distant swishing moan told where the swell was breaking on the low, sandy gulf beach.
Bob was just trying to figure out where he might steal a few hours’ sleep on the schooner when a smash of water on the stern of the Three Sisters startled him. An instant later, the little craft heeled over before a gust of wind and then, righting herself, rushed upward on the yellow crest of yeasty water.
“We’re headin’ in for the bay,” explained Tom, noticing Bob’s surprise, “and it’s time. The wind has changed and it may blow a bit. But I reckon we’ll make the pass befoah trouble begins.”
And Captain Romano barely did it. Feeling his way cautiously landward in the dark, using his ears more than his eyes to locate the narrow pass into the bay, it was nearly eight o’clock when the Three Sisters struck the outflowing Perdido River current and began tacking through the narrow entrance. The wind was fair, but strong, and just before attempting the pass, Captain Romano, Tom and Hal double reefed both sails, leaving Bob and Jerry at the wheel.
It was all very wet and dark and far from warm. There was a succession of sharp commands from Captain Joe to Tom at the jib and Hal at the center board; a great deal of slatting of canvas and quick hauling of jib sheets before the imperturbable skipper called “all free,” and the Three Sisters slid into calmer water.
“What’s doing?” asked Bob, at last, as the schooner came up in the wind and its sails flattened.
“It don’t look like a pleasure sail on the bay to-night,” responded Tom, panting from his exertion, “and Captain Joe’s goin’ to drop anchor back of the island till day.”
“Bad as that?” continued Bob.
“The wind’s boxin’ the compass,” said Tom, “an’ it’ll be stirrin’ up the bay in a little while. It’s safah here in smooth watah.”