“Hadn’t we better try to get the Vagrant off whatever we’ve struck?” he said. “I’ve got a plan in my head in that case; but I don’t think this is the healthiest place to discuss it.”
“We can put out a light anchor and try to warp off,” said Captain Andrews.
It was agreed to try this plan for rescuing the Vagrant from her uncomfortable berth. The dinghy was lowered and manned by Jack and Tom, who took with them the light anchor which was attached to two hundred feet of line. A hundred feet down stream they dropped the mud-hook, and then rowed back to the Vagrant.
When they were once more on board the winch was manned and, to their delight, as the rope tightened the Vagrant’s stern began to swing.
“Keep at it, lads,” cried Captain Andrews to the perspiring laborers, “if that anchor will only hold I believe we can get off.”
The anchor did hold, and after ten minutes more of back-breaking work the craft’s bow slid out of the mud bank with a sucking sound, and she was once more free. The anchor was hauled on board, and, without further mishap, the Vagrant was set once more on her down-stream course.
The first attempt of the courageous little band to rescue their comrades had met with a rather ignominious failure. Captain Andrews said as much that evening, as they found themselves anchored near the mouth of the river they had fruitlessly ascended with so much pains.
The skipper voiced this opinion after supper, while they sat on deck casting anxious eyes to seaward now and again, for the recollection of the Tarantula was strong upon them. Above all things, they dreaded the reappearance of that drab-colored craft.
“You said you had a plan, Jack,” said Tom, as the skipper disconsolately drew on his pipe, “Now’s the time to broach it. What is it?”
“Just this,” was the simple reply, “we’ve got the aero-auto. It looks as if the time had come to use her.”