And Harvey kept vigil till eleven o’clock, muffled in a greatcoat, outside, until he nearly fell over asleep in the cockpit. Then he rolled in below, and was sound asleep before he could get his boots off.
The Viking was not molested through the night, though so wearied were the yachtsmen with their day’s sailing that a man might have come aboard blowing a fog-horn and not have aroused them from their deep slumber.
CHAPTER VII.
NEAR THE REEFS
The sound of voices calling cheerily over the water and the creaking of blocks awoke the boys a little after four o’clock the next morning. Henry Burns dragged himself drowsily to one of the cabin ports and looked out. It was a picturesque sight, for a small fleet of fishing-craft, of all sorts and shapes and sizes, was passing out of the thoroughfare, on its way to the fishing-grounds, with a light morning breeze that just filled the sails.
Back of the harbour the land went up gradually for a way, dotted here and there with the snug, tidy homes of the fishermen, until it rose in the centre of the island, forming hills of some considerable height—the first landfall for ships coming in from sea at that point. Now the tops of the hills glinted with the rays of the morning sun, which soon streamed down the slopes and made the whole island glow with warmth and brightness.
The pleasing landscape had at that moment, however, no particular attraction for Henry Burns. He gave a groan of self-commiseration, tumbled back into his warm blanket, and remarked:
“Oh, but these fishermen do begin the day early! Say, we don’t have to, do we, Jack? I vote for another hour’s sleep.”
“Make it four,” said Bob, who had been eying Henry Burns with apprehension.
Harvey and Tom muttered an assent that was not distinguishable.
By five o’clock, however, the sounds of men and boats had them awake again; and by another half-hour they were breakfasting on their way out of the harbour, beating against a light southerly.