“Now, let’s be getting off!” called out Jack, after he had washed up, and in some measure removed the fishy smell from his hands.
Since the other boys had taken everything aboard, there was really nothing to detain them; and presently the merry reports from the various engines told that the three motorboats had again resumed their journey down the Mississippi in the direction of Bedloe’s Island.
That was an afternoon not soon to be forgotten by any of them, for the air was just warm enough to make them delight in lying around, and taking a sun bath. No doubt George was having the time of his life with Buster, who must be so chock full of his recent triumph that every little while he would burst out with a new string of questions concerning his battle, and wishing to know what it looked like from every angle ashore.
But the time passed, and as George’s engine gave him no new trouble, the little flotilla made splendid progress while the hours crept on.
At just three-forty-seven Jack gave a blast from his old conch shell horn which he had brought up from Florida with him—in fact, every boat was provided with a similar means for exchanging signals, and the boys had arranged a regular code, so that when separated by a mile or so they could talk with each other after some sort of fashion.
This single blast just now announced that Jack believed he had sighted the island that was to be their destination, away down the river. Judging from their speed, aided by the swift current, they ought to make it inside of another half hour. This would give them plenty of time to hunt a good landing place, where they could put up their tent, and make things at least half way comfortable before night set in.
Although the boys could sleep aboard, and very comfortable too, they preferred being ashore whenever it was possible, all save George, who could seldom be coaxed to desert his beloved Wireless craft, even for a brief time. He acted as though he dreaded lest that engine think up some new trick if he left it alone; eternal watchfulness was the price of victory with George; and his chums often declared that when he was on a cruise George hardly knew what sort of country he passed through, for keeping his nose down so persistently over that motor of his.
Jack’s prediction came true, and when a quarter after four came around, they were running along the shore of a wooded island which he announced was the object of their search.
“Where are we going to land, Jack?” called out Buster, for the three boats were now very close together, and the crews had been exchanging comments on the sombre appearance of the lonely island for some time past.