The men having embarked, the steam cutter took the two boats in tow and steered solely on a compass course shaped in the direction of the invisible Akhissareli. An hour later, for progress was slow, the loom of the land became visible, while shortly afterwards the rugged outlines of the mountains could be discerned silhouetted against the starlit sky.
"Stop her," ordered Osborne.
Still carrying way the two pulling boats ran close alongside, while their crews silently dropped the heavy ash oars into the muffled rowlocks. For the time being the steamboat was to "stand by", ready to proceed to the assistance of her consorts, should aid be necessary. It was upon the cutter and the whaler that the brunt of the operations was to fall.
Armed with a pair of powerful night-glasses Osborne took up his post on the cabin top and swept the distant shore. Everything appeared to be quiet. Not a sound was to be heard save the distant roar of the surf on a ledge of rocks well to windward of the inlet. Not a light was visible on shore. The place seemed as deserted as the polar regions.
"Sir," whispered a petty officer; "here's this dog of yours."
"How came he on board?" asked Osborne sternly.
"Dunno, sir; he's just come out of the cabin."
Osborne realized that he was on the horns of a dilemma. Unwittingly he had disobeyed an indirect order from his skipper, since he was responsible for the dog. Should Laddie bark or make a sound the success of the enterprise would be jeopardized. Briefly, the situation was this: everything depended upon the animal's behaviour. In one scale of the balance were the lives and liberties of, perhaps, fifty men; in the other the life of a dog.
Quickly the Lieutenant decided how to act.
"Now, Laddie," he said earnestly, "lie down and don't make a sound until I give you permission. Be a good dog."