“What brutes they were, Block, not even to leave us any firearms!”
“They were perfectly right—in their own interests, you understand,” the boatswain replied. “Before we let go I could not have resisted the temptation to shoot at the head of that rascal Borupt—the treacherous hound!”
“Traitors all,” Fritz added; “all of them who stood in with him.”
“Well, they shall pay for their treachery some day!” John Block declared.
“Did you hear anything, bos’un?” Fritz asked suddenly, listening intently.
“No; that sound is only the ripples along the shore. There is nothing to worry about, so far, and although the night is as dark as the bottom of the hold I’ve got good eyes.”
“Well, don’t shut them for a moment, Block; let us be prepared for anything.”
“The hawser is ready to be cast off,” the boatswain answered. “If need be, we shall only have to seize the oars, and with one shove with the boat-hook I’ll guarantee to drive the boat a good twenty yards from the rocks.” More than once, however, during the night, Fritz and the boatswain were set on the alert. They thought they could hear a crawling sound upon the sandy shore.
Deep silence reigned. The breeze had died away; the sea had fallen to a calm. A slight surf breaking at the foot of the rocks was all that could be heard. A few birds, a very few, gulls and sea-mews flying in from the sea, sought their crannies in the cliffs. Nothing disturbed the first night passed upon the shore.
Next morning all were astir at daybreak, and it was with sinking hearts that they examined the coast on which they had found refuge.