Instantly he recalled his position. But the sounds, the rushing, the subdued voices, these were startling.
“There were no voices,” he told himself. “No people at all except—”
Perhaps it was Doris and Nieta. They might have awakened and gone out on deck.
But no, as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light he made out their forms close beside him. They were still asleep.
Then, of a sudden, he realized that a part of his dream was true. The boat was pitching about.
“We are on the sea,” he told himself as his heart leaped painfully. “They have launched the boat, whoever they are. We are on our way out to sea.
“Oh well,” he endeavored to reassure himself, “they will be going to Cape Haitian. When we get there, we will give them a grand surprise. We’ll crawl out and thank them for the ride. What sport to be stowaways.
“But were they going to Cape Haitian?” This question troubled him more and more as time went on. The size of the waves they rode, the break of spray over the canvas, the creaking of masts seemed to tell him that they were not hugging the shore but striking boldly out to sea.
“And if we are?” Once more he caught his breath. Where would they be going? What was to be done when they got there? He had never been on a tropical island save Haiti. What the people were like on other islands he had not the faintest notions. He had heard that some were cannibals.
He thought of going on deck, of trying to hire the skipper to carry them back to land. He dared not. Perhaps these very people were cannibals or pirates. Who could tell? All he could do was to sit tight and see what happened. He feared more for his recently found friends than for himself.