The first faint light of the coming day was beginning to show, and the stars were fading before the coming dawn. Away off to the right of the yacht as she swung at her anchor on the incoming tide the shore loomed heavy and black, a thick blot in the inky darkness. There was almost an unnatural stillness over the harbor, the only sound to break the quiet being the soft lap, lap, of the ever restless waves beating against the side of the vessel.
Their voices sounded so unnaturally loud when they spoke to one another that they all unconsciously dropped their tone to a whisper.
Despite his protests that he was in fit condition to accompany the others, it was decided that Juarez should remain on the yacht.
“You are really not able to travel,” insisted Tom.
“And you will be in shape to-morrow when we will need you more,” added Jo in an effort at consolation.
“Beside,” explained the professor, “you may possibly be of more service here than if you went along. The captain might need your aid, for we cannot tell what may happen, and you are the only one beside Mr. Berwick who knows anything about the engine.”
“If you really think so,” reluctantly acquiesced Juarez.
“Most decidedly,” affirmed the professor. “I would advise that you get up enough steam in the boiler to sound the whistle if necessary. I don’t know that there will be any occasion for it, but if, for any reason, you should want to call us, you can give three blasts upon the whistle, and we will act accordingly.”
During this time the boys had been silently taking their positions in the small boat; Tom, by direction of the professor, in the bow, while Jo and Berwick took the oars.