"Listen!" cried Darby Catchpole excitedly. "The ketch is lifting her anchor! She's making sail! Come along—quick! Don't stand jawing here."
The patrol shouldered their rifles and followed the two boys down to the beach. There came to them a curious, spluttering sound, like that of a motor-car being started. Mark Redisham stood still, listening and watching. The Thor's sails were up, but there was very little wind to fill them. Nevertheless, she was moving. There was a commotion of water under her stern.
"She's got petrol engines!" Mark declared. "Look! Look, she's off!"
The corporal, realising the gravity of his former omission, now attempted to repair it. He threw himself forward on a knoll of sand, and levelling his rifle, took aim and fired at the escaping ketch.
CHAPTER XII.
A FLEET IN HIDING.
Standing at the vessel's stern beside the steersman, Max Hilliger saw the flash and heard the sharp report. He laughed. There was a second shot. A bullet whistled over his head and tore through the canvas of the mizzen sail.
"Hard a-starboard!" he ordered; and when she turned with her bow to the north-east, he added: "Steady!"
He glanced astern, taking his bearings by the familiar landmarks.
"Be careful, my friend," said Lieutenant Körner, at his side. "There is the sandbank."