“Keep silence fore and aft,” commanded Coleman, as he made the dory’s painter fast to the stern and went forward to slip the chain. “Wait until we get under way before you do any talking.”
The boys were careful to obey. With a single exception they were highly elated over the success of their plans, and now that the schooner was moving off with them, they were determined that she should not come back to her berth again until she had taken them on a good long cruise. That exception was, of course, Lester Brigham. He became timid when he found himself at the mercy of the current which was carrying him off through darkness so intense that he could scarcely see the vessel’s length ahead of him, and took himself to task for his foolishness in proposing such an expedition. But when he found that the schooner was seaworthy, and that Enoch knew how to keep her on top of the water and to get a good deal of speed out of her besides, these feelings gradually wore away, and he even told himself that he was seeing lots of fun.
When the current had taken the little vessel so far down the river that there was no longer any danger to be apprehended, Coleman came up to Enoch, whom he recognized as one of the leaders of the band, and inquired:
“Are there any among you who know a halliard from a down-haul?”
Enoch replied that there were.
“Then send a couple of them forward to run up the jib, while I take the wheel,” said Coleman. “I want to throw her head around. No singing, now.”
“What did he mean by that?” asked Lester, speaking before he thought.
“Why, have you never heard sailors sing when they were hoisting the sails?” exclaimed Enoch. “It makes the work easier, you know, and helps them pull together.”
“Why, of course it does,” said Lester. “What was I thinking of?”