While doing so he involuntarily glanced toward the ocean once more, and noted the fact that it was nearly high water.
“We shall have to haul in on the hawsers pretty soon, an’ I hope that groanin’ will stop before then, or else it will be impossible to persuade Vance into lending us a hand.”
With this thought in his mind he walked toward the yacht, and was standing within thirty feet of her when the noise was repeated, and this time he distinctly saw the little craft move seaward several inches.
The mystery was explained.
“Hurrah!” he cried with a shout of triumph, and immediately afterward burst into a loud fit of laughter.
“What is the matter?” Roy asked as he ventured out of the tent once more, his face several shades whiter than it had been, for this last groan fully convinced him they were to be haunted by the ghosts of those who had scuttled the Evening Star.
“I’ve found your spirits, an’ only hope they’ll keep on groanin’, for then we shall have the yacht afloat just so much the sooner!”
“What do you mean?” and Roy gathered sufficient courage to admit of his taking a few steps toward where Ned was standing.
“Watch the yacht, an’ you’ll soon find out what the trouble is. It’s high tide, or will be in half an hour. The hawsers are strainin’ hard, an’ as she has to slip off the shore there comes a sound as if something was pulled out of the mud.”
“But there’s no mud here.”