New England -- Juvenile fiction; Sailing -- Juvenile fiction; Sea stories
"Yes, a red spar buoy."
"What's the depth just inside?"
"Four fathoms, shoaling to one."
"Good enough. We'll drop anchor just around the breakwater and train the
searchlight across the channel. I don't believe, though, they intend to
run out again before morning. All I'm afraid of is that they swung off
when darkness came and are sneaking around the Cape."
"I'll bet anything we'll find her at anchor when daylight comes,"
replied Harry. "She had only enough gas for seventy miles, and she's
gone about sixty at top speed. We've got her, Steve. Don't you worry."
"Hope so. Get your bow anchor ready, Han, and stand by to heave. When
you let go make as little noise as you can. I'm going to turn the
lights out, fellows, so don't go messing about or you may walk
overboard. Switch them all off below, Ossie, will you? If those chaps
have anchored just inside the breakwater there's no sense in letting
them know that this is the _Adventurer_. Got your anchor ready, Han?"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"All right. Don't let your windlass rattle. Keep quiet, fellows."
Suddenly all the lights on deck save that in the binnacle went out,
leaving the boat in darkness. Nearby the red flash of the lighthouse
glowed periodically, while, ahead, shone the white beacon. In silence
the _Adventurer_ drew nearer and nearer to the latter, put it abeam and
then swung to starboard. "Let her go, Han," called Steve softly. Those
on the bridge deck heard the faint splash of the hundred-pound navy
anchor as it struck the water. Han crept back and swung himself down to
the bridge.
"All fast, sir," he reported.
Somewhere in the darkness at the head of the harbour, where tiny
pin-pricks of light twinkled, a town clock struck two.
CHAPTER XII
WHAT STEVE SAW
Waiting was weary work after that. It was two hours and a half to
sunrise and, since two of their number were sufficient to keep watch,
the others presently went below and napped. Steve and Bert Alley
remained on deck. Steve, although he perhaps needed sleep more than
anyone, refused to trust other eyes than his own, and while darkness
lasted he watched the white path cast across the water by the
_Adventurer's_ searchlight. But darkness and silence held until shortly
after four, when the eastern sky began to lighten. The next half-hour
passed more slowly than any that had gone before. Gradually their range
of vision enlarged, and Steve, peering into the greyness, drew Bert's
attention to a darker hulk that lay a few hundred yards up the harbour.
They watched it anxiously as the light increased. That it was a boat of
about the size of the _Follow Me_ and that is was painted dark became
more and more apparent. Then, quite suddenly, a ray of rosy light shot
up beyond Eastern Point and the neighbouring motor-boat lay revealed.
Steve sighed his disappointment. She was not the _Follow Me_ after all,
but a battered, black-hulled power-boat used for gill-netting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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