"I'll just camp there till they see me," he thought.
A few strokes brought him alongside the float once more, and he scrambled up its wet sides, not without some difficulty. In fact, when he gained the flat upper surface of the target's support he was breathing heavily.
The sea, too, had risen since they had rowed out, and one of those sudden squalls that are so common in the tropics was whirling in from seaward. Herc did not see this, however—the mighty screen of canvas behind him veiled it from the boy's view.
The men in the boats had, however, spied the approaching bad weather, and orders were given to get up spray hoods in the bows of the craft.
"Well," thought Herc, "I'm being rocked in the cradle of the deep with a vengeance. However, I get a little rest from that eternal wig-wagging. That's one comfort."
Suddenly a thought struck him that sent a cold shiver down his spine.
In his new-found security he had given no thought to a peril that now loomed imminent.
He was seated on the float at which the flagship was firing.
At any moment they might send another shot toward it, and then what would happen?