“But they’re sure to be on the look-out for us when we get back to-night.”
“Let them. It’ll be dark at six, and we can land in Rocket Bay, you know, and dodge them that way.”
Bowler was evidently so well up in the arrangements, and had made such a careful study of all the pros and cons of the venture, that every one felt satisfied, and even the somewhat doubtful Wallas desisted from throwing more cold water on the expedition.
It was a raw morning with a little bit of a fog, and a cool breeze right off the land. This last point, however, gave great satisfaction to the leaders of the party. Once out in the open they would be able to hoist sail, and without the exertion of rowing make a straight track for the Long Stork—much indeed as would be the case when, with a southerly wind at their backs, they would before long plough the ocean from Sinnamary to New Swishford.
The fog also was decidedly in their favour, for it would help to screen them from the observation of any wakeful and inquisitive coastguard. In fact, the unusual combination of wind and fog seemed like a special sign of good omen to their adventure.
“Hope it’s not wough outside,” said Braintree, as the boat, now nearly out of the creek, began to dance a little at the prospect of meeting the open sea.
“Can’t be rough with the wind off the land, you duffer,” said Crashford.
“Can’t it, though?” said Wester, as a wave lifted the prow of the boat and nearly sent it back on the rocks.
“I call that vewy wough,” said Braintree, looking and feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Oh, it’s only the ground swell,” said Gayford; “we shall soon get out of that. Here, Bowler, old man, take an oar with Tubbs, and keep way on while I stick up the sail. Look alive!”