“And if you _should_ want to signal us for help, Jed,” said Tom, a moment later, bringing up on deck a box from one of the lockers, “here are the signal rockets and Roman candles. Wait a moment.”
Tom disappeared below once more, to return with a tin-lined trough affair. By means of two hooks he made this device fast at the port rail. This “trough” was intended to rest a rocket in before touching it off and sending it skyward.
“I’ll be snug and safe as anything,” declared Jed, smiling. He felt brave enough, in fact, until the dingey, going ashore for the second time, carried the last of his companions. Then all was still, absolutely quiet, lonely and black. Jed, being highly imaginative, began to fancy he saw figures darting from tree to tree on shore. The bushes had a mysterious look, for it was so nearly dark that he could just make out their outlines.
Prentiss had said of himself that he was a hero, in theory, but that when danger faced him he was likely to forget much of his courage. There are many such boys. They are not cowards, but are imaginative, have highly strung nervous systems, and are without real experience of danger. When that experience does come they often find themselves possessed of far more grit than they had believed.
Time slipped by. Nothing happened to justify the state of Jed’s nerves. He was lonely, and wondering what the others were doing. At last, however, he heard something real. Prentiss sprang up, stepping to the port rail to listen. The sound was unmistakable, that of a marine engine, though as yet the sound was far away.
“Can that be the filibustering steamer?” Jed wondered, thrilling.
Nearer and nearer came the sound. Prentiss was enough of a salt-water boy to know that the craft must be a more than usually fast one. The strange craft was evidently keeping in close to shore. At last, the keen-eyed boy grimly made out a sea-going tug. Then she came nearer, and Jed knew that she was going to pass within an eighth of a mile.
“It must be the filibustering steamer,” throbbed the boy. “She’s not a Government boat, yet she’s showing no lights. That boat _must_ be making for Sanderson’s pier!”
Then, all of a sudden, a single light _did_ show. An electric searchlight blazed out, sweeping its ray along the coast. It was hardly a moment before that ray of light fell across the “Meteor” and remained there.