“I've nothing more to say. I don't like it; but he's your man.”
“One thing more, Captain. It won't hardly be necessary to send an officer with me.”
“But—”
“You see Wilson and myself, and about four husky sailors, a couple of
'em to run the launch, will be enough, Why not just leave it that way?
You might tell your men they're to take my orders.”
His meaning was obvious to the Captain; but he hesitated. This man Beveridge was young and bumptious. Irregular things had sometimes to be done, but it were best that they should be done by a seasoned officer. Still, it was Beveridge's case. They walked together toward the prisoners.
“Smiley,” said Beveridge, “I'm going to take you along. I guess there isn't much doubt you could tell your schooner in the dark?”
“Tell her in the dark!” exclaimed Pink. “Why, he knows the squeak of every block!”
So Dick went. The Captain added a fifth sailor for safety, and took time to give him a few quiet instructions before he joined the launch. Then they pushed off and slipped away into the night. For four hours after that, the only sound heard aboard the Foote, where Pink, sleepless, hung over the rail, guarded by a deep-chested sailor, was the occasional puff-puff of one of the launches as it changed its post. A dozen pairs of eyes were searching the dark, looking for any craft that might be coming from Michigan.
As Captain Sullivan suspected, Beveridge's launch was over the Canadian boundary half an hour after she lost sight of the ship. Then Beveridge drew Dick back near the boiler. “Tell me this, Smiley. Do you think those fellows could possibly have got through before now?”
“I haven't much doubt of it.”