"How--how deep is the water inside the bar?" said chattering Jimmy Davis. He felt the cold night-air, and he shook as if he had an ague fit.
"Pretty deep," solemnly remarked Dab Richards.
The musical hum by the famous soloist, Dick Pray, ceased; only the breakers on the bar made their music.
Dick began to doubt seriously the advisability of dropping into that deep gulf reputed to be inside the bar. It was now not very far to the lighthouse, and the surf on the bar whitened in the moonlight and fell in a hushed, drowsy monotone. People by the shore may be hushed by this lullaby of the ocean, but to those boys there was nothing drowsy in its sound; it was very startling.
Jimmy did feel like wishing aloud that he could be at home, but he concluded to say nothing about it. Steadily did the _Relentless_ drift toward that snow-line in the dark sea.
Yes, nearer, nearer, nearer, came the _Relentless_ to that foaming bar. The boat had already arrived there, and Dave saw it resting quietly on its sandy bed. Did he notice a glistening strip of sand beyond the surf? He had heard some one in Shipton say that at very low tide there was no water on portions of the bar. This fact set him to thinking about his possible action. It now seemed to him as if the distance between the stern of the vessel and the bar could not be more than a hundred feet. The bow of the vessel pointed up river. She was going "stern on." How would it strike--forcibly, easily?
[Illustration: "Nearer and nearer came the ’_Relentless_’ to that foaming bar." _Page 43_]]
"Ninety feet now!" thought Dave. "Will the shock upset her, pitch us out, or what?"
"The bar looks sort of ugly!" remarked Johnny Richards.
"Wish I was in bed!" thought Jimmy Davis.
Had the schooner halted? The boys clustered in the bow and looked anxiously over to the bar.
"Boys, she holds, I do believe," said Dave.
"All right!" shouted Dick--"all right! The anchor holds!"
It did seem an innocent, all-right situation: just the quiet sea, the musically-rolling surf along the bar, the stately lighthouse at the left, and that schooner quietly halting in the harbour.
"I thought you were going to swim to the lighthouse?" observed Dab.
"Oh, that won’t be necessary now," replied Dick. "We are just masters of the situation. The moment the tide turns we can weigh anchor and drift back again just as easy! Be in our old quarters by morning, and nobody know the difference. Old Sylvester himself might come down the river, and he would find everything all right. Ha! ha!"