“That's no fisherman!” muttered Somers, watching, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
Presently the sloop's hull was lost to Eph's sight beyond the gunboat. Then the boy heard a voice from the “Hudson's” deck roar out:
“Look alive, you lubber! Do you want to foul our anchor chain?”
“No, sir,” came from the sloop's deck. “We'll clear you all right.”
“See that you do, then!”
Then the sloop's hull came into view again, as the craft headed out toward the open water beyond.
“That's the kind of a craft Jack would give a heap to be on,” thought Eph. “Queer that he should spend all his time on gasoline peanut-roasters [pg 181] when he's so fond of whistling for a breeze behind canvas.”
As the sloop neared the mouth of the little bay, and her lines became rather indistinct in the darkness, Eph Somers turned to resume his pacing of the deck.
“Hullo,” muttered the submarine boy, two or three minutes later. “Here's the shore boat coming on its regular trip. I wonder if Jack and Hal are in it? It's about time for them to be coming on board.”
But the shore boat, instead of coming out to the submarine, lay in at the side gangway of the gunboat opposite, and Eph discovered that his two comrades were not in the boat.