The sound he had heard proved on investigation to be the whistle of a tug and by the time they had reached the seaward side of the island it was evident that the task of getting the Jupiter off was about to begin. Two tugs and a small lighter were lying off The Tombstones and already a boat was putting off from one of the tugs. In the stern of it sat two men whom Hal recognized even at that distance.
“That’s dad and Tom Dickenson,” he said. “They’re going to look things over, I guess.” Hal waved his cap and after awhile the men saw and waved back. “Look here, why can’t we go out there?” asked Hal eagerly.
“Not in the launch,” replied Jack. “We’d be on the rocks in five minutes with that wind and tide. Let’s wait awhile. Maybe by noon the wind will be gone. It’s holding up every minute now.”
So they perched themselves in a partly sheltered corner of the big ledge overlooking The Tombstones and watched operations. The row boat, with four men at the oars, circled around the Jupiter, tossing and rocking on the waves. The two tugs, one having the lighter in tow, wallowed and pitched at a safe distance, drifting in toward shore and then steaming back again, until the row boat returned. Then activity began in earnest. The tugs drifted down to within a rope’s throw of the ledges and dropped anchors. Cables were payed out into rowboats and in a few minutes the bow of the Jupiter was alive with men. The lighter was hauled alongside, cables were made fast, hatches thrown off, wreckage was cleared away and the work of unloading the schooner was begun. The work went merrily in spite of the high seas that still swept now and then across the after deck. The men disappeared under clouds of spray at times, but the baskets were lowered and filled with fish and hauled up again by block and tackle and swung over the side to the lighter, which lay under the bow, with remarkable regularity. The mainmast, floating alongside, was hauled away by two men in a cockleshell of a dory and made fast to one of the tugs. At the end of an hour the wind, always drawing further into the north, was scarcely more than a good blow and the surface of the sea perceptibly calmed.
Bill Glass reappeared just before noon and joined the boys on the hill. The last of the unloading was finished shortly after and it was evident that all was in readiness for an attempt to haul the Jupiter off the ledges; all, that is, save the tide. That would not be at its height until 1:56, Bill Glass announced. The lighter was pulled safely away from the schooner meanwhile and taken around the point and anchored. Then the tug which had towed her lowered a boat and Hal, watching, jumped to his feet.
“That’s dad,” he said. “He’s coming ashore. Come on, fellows.”
Hal hurried around the hill and down to the beach toward which the boat was making, and the others, including Bill Glass, followed more slowly. The boat ran up on to the sand on the crest of a breaker, a tall sailor in rubber boots leaped over the bow and pulled and tugged, another wave helped and Mr. Folsom jumped nimbly ashore. When the others arrived father and son were already walking up the hill toward the tent. Mr. Folsom was a man of medium size, with sharp black eyes, a dark beard and a seamed and weather-tanned face that told of the days when he had been a sailing captain instead of the head of a great business. He wore glasses, had a voice at least one size larger than his frame led you to expect and talked quickly and incisively.
“How are you, Bee?” he greeted, nodding briefly. “Having a good time here? Who’s this, Harry?”
“This is Jack Herrick, dad. Jack, this is—”
“Glad to know you, Jack.” Mr. Folsom shook hands quickly. “I knew your father very well. Hello, Bill Glass? What are you doing here? Keeping an eye on these young Crusoes? How’s your health?”