“Perhaps I will,” retorted Clyde, shaking his head fiercely. “You have got me into a pretty scrape.”
“You are in the same boat as the rest of us.”
“The squadron isn’t here,” shouted Wilde; for the steamer had by this time arrived within sight of the harbor.
“Can the ship have sailed?” asked Sanford, after the party had satisfied themselves that not one of the vessels of the little fleet was there.
“I suppose she has,” replied Burchmore. “To-day is Friday, and she didn’t intend to lie here all summer.”
“Good!” exclaimed Clyde. “That makes everything all right for me. I’m satisfied now.”
Indeed, he was so delighted with the discovery that the ship had sailed, as to be even willing to forego the pleasure of thrashing his companions. The steamer went up to the wharf, and the party landed. Sanford and his friends appeared to be willing to take a reasonable view of the situation, and to accept it without grumbling, satisfied that they had been beaten with their own weapons. They were not sorry that the squadron had departed, for this circumstance gave them a new respite from the discipline of the ship, and enabled them to prolong “the trip without running away.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Clyde, as they landed.
“We shall follow the ship, and try to join her,” replied Sanford. “That’s what we’ve been trying to do ever since we left Christiansand—isn’t it, Burchmore?”
“Certainly it is,” replied the cashier; “though we were detained one day at Apalstö, and narrowly escaped being carried by accident to the Rjukanfos.”