His suppressed excitement communicated itself to his companions and they fidgeted about, impatient for dark to come.
It came at last and they lost no time in getting away from the launch.
For perhaps a mile they rowed on in silence, then Charley ceased rowing and thrust an oar down deep into the water. He viewed the result with dissatisfaction. "For some reason the water does not fire to-night," he announced. "It happens that way very often. I am sorry for we'll have to fish by sound, and that is much more difficult. Now whenever I stop rowing both of you stop also. That will give me a better chance to listen."
Resuming his oars, he continued his cautious advance, pausing every little while and straining his ears for the faintest sound from the water.
At last, he stopped suddenly. His quick ear had caught the sound for which he had been waiting.
"Listen!" he cried, excitedly.
From far ahead came a faint rippling murmur frequently broken by soft pats upon the water.
"That's the school," he declared, eagerly. "It's a big one and they are working this way. All we have to do is to hold our boats in position and wait. They are coming straight for us."
"If those are mullet, they don't sound as though they amounted to much," said Captain Westfield, doubtfully. "I've heard mullet jump when they made a splash like you'd thrown an anchor overboard."