Ruth told her.
“Oh, oh!” Betty barely suppressed a gasp.
“But they can’t be!” she said the next moment.
“They are,” said Ruth. “And they are going to man the Black Gull and sail her away. The wind is rising. There’s plenty of sail. A sail boat makes no noise. What’s to hinder?”
“What could they want with her?”
“Don’t know; for exhibition, sea pageant, moving pictures, or something. Captain Munson, the owner, has been offered ten thousand dollars for her. Moving picture company wants her. She’s the last six-master in the world.”
“Betty,” she whispered, impressively, after there had been time for thought, “we’ve got to do something. We can’t let the Black Gull go like this. The Black Gull doesn’t belong just to Captain Munson. She belongs to all us Maine folks. That’s why he won’t sell her. She stands for something, for a grand and glorious past, the past of our coast and of the most wonderful state in the Union.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she whispered. “They’re all on board now. We’ll scull around and get their boat. We’ll tow it ashore so they can’t escape, then spread the alarm. Even if they get out to sea, the fast cutter will catch them and bring them back.”
“I h-hope,” chattered Betty, half beside herself with fear, “that they don’t catch us. I wouldn’t like to walk the plank.”
“They won’t,” said Ruth. There was an air of conviction in her tone. Alas for conviction.