“I’d have given something to see the colonel and the squire when they found we had slipped away from them at the very moment they thought they had us,” said young Joe. “Didn’t they look funny, standing up there on the rock, watching us sail away?”
“Captain Sam has my sympathy,” said Henry Burns, dryly, and the very thought of the disappointed trio arguing it out together sent the boys into fits of laughter. They fairly rolled over on the seats and hugged one another.
“It’s the richest joke of the season,” said young Joe.
And so, for the time being, in their elation, the consciousness that they were runaways, fleeing from possible arrest, was forgotten. The stars came out, and a lighthouse far and near gave them their course. The water gleamed with phosphorescence, and the yacht Spray left a wake of gleaming silver and gold and flashing jewels. By and by the moon came up out of the sea and threw a radiant path across the waters, and the islands ahead stood out in huge black shadow.
It was glorious sailing, with the soft summer night air blowing in their faces; and they sang as they sailed, and yo-hoed all the sea choruses they knew, and felt so free and irresponsible that the yacht Spray, as though it absorbed some of their spirit, rolled along in a merry, swinging fashion, rocking gently from billow to billow, dipping and tossing in time to the music.
The still shores of Eagle Island rang with their songs as they rounded to in Cold Harbour somewhere near midnight, and came to anchor close to shore in the deep water, within the shadow of the hemlocks that rose up, tall and black, almost from the water’s edge, where the tide swashed gently against the rocks. High up in the thick branches of the great trees some fish-hawks, startled by the unwonted noise, rose up from their nests and uttered shrill, piercing screams of fright. And this was their only welcome, for on all the island there was no other sign of life.
“It’s fairly certain they won’t pursue us to-night,” said George. “But it won’t do to be caught napping. We’ve got to set watch regularly every night now, and we might as well begin to-night. Somebody’s got to walk out on the point of rocks yonder and look out for sails. Two will be enough till morning. We will split the time from now till six into two three-hour watches.”
“I’ll begin it,” said Bob.
“My next,” said Tom, not to be outdone by his chum.
Bob rowed ashore in the little tender, and set off at once for a point of rocks some half-mile distant, which commanded a view of the bay. The others were sound asleep by the time he was half-way there.