"What am I to do, Deck?" demanded Ben, who did not feel at all at home while the craft was in the midst of her gyrations.
"The boat is going head on against the shore; but I don't know what sort of a landing-place it will prove to be. But whatever it is, take the painter in your hand"—
"Who?" cried Ben.
"The painter. The rope made fast at your end of the tender," replied the skipper of the craft impatiently; for the sergeant was entirely ignorant of nautical terms. "Take the end of the rope in your hand, and jump ashore as soon as it touches the land."
"All right; I understand you now," responded Ben, as he seized the painter, and stood up in the fore-sheets as well as the rolling of the boat in the current would permit.
"Now for it!" shouted Deck, as he felt the bottom of the boat strike on its keel.
Ben said nothing, but sprang over the bow of the boat, upon what seemed to be a flat shore, with the rope in his hand.
"Hold on with all your might, or I shall go down stream!" called Deck, as he vigorously plied his paddle in an effort to heave around the stern of the boat so that the current might strike it on the broadside.
The action of the stream helped him, and, assisted by the strength of Ben at the painter, the tender was thrown high and dry on the gentle slope where it had struck. The landing had proved to be a much less difficult task than Deck had anticipated, perhaps because he had skilfully handled the craft so that the current did most of the work.
The leader of the enterprise jumped from the stern-sheets upon the ground, which was a part of the tongue of land formed by the great bend, and extending to the south. Then Deck had a chance to look around him, though it was too dark to make out the situation.