For a day or two, however, following their arrival at the entrance to the river, there was little change from the life they had been leading, save that the fog had been blown out to sea, and the bitter cold had abated. They dredged southward from the lower entrance to the river, along an inward sweep of the shore, returning to the river at night for anchorage.
Then there came a day, overcast but yet favourable, during all of which, to Harvey’s surprise, they did no work, but lay at anchor in the river. Also, the craft that had accompanied them likewise rested, alongside, and the two captains visited and drank together in the cabin of the Brandt.
What was coming? Haley was not the man to lie idle to no purpose. There was mystery in the air, and in the manner of the men and the mate. Once, Jim Adams had looked in at the forecastle, where the crew had been suffered to remain at ease, and said, grinning broadly, “Youse gentlemen of leisure, ain’t you? Well, you get something to keep you busy bimeby. So don’t none of you please go ashore.”
“Go ashore!” It was no joke to them. Harvey and Tom Edwards had gazed longingly at the banks, with their houses here and there—a tantalizing sight, so near and yet so hopelessly far away.
“What’s the matter? What’s up?” Harvey inquired once of Sam Black.
The other winked an eye, knowingly.
“I reckon the captain’s going to try to change the luck,” he said. “There’s easy dredging up yonder, if you don’t get caught at it.”
“How’s that?” continued Harvey.
“Why, running the river, that’s what I guess,” replied the sailor. “It’s jail, if the law gets you; but he’s done it before and got clear. Take it easy while you can, that’s my advice. There’ll be no turning in to-night, I reckon.”
Sam Black thereupon set the example, by stretching out in his bunk and falling soundly to sleep.