woods to the
wind-whipped river, and though the moon was still obscured, the river
held a pallid sheen of its own that gave a little light. There was not
a sound to be heard but the hurried lap of water against the shore,
the suck and pull of Chris's and Mr. Wicker's boots in the mud, and
sharp, hair-raising rustles, from time to time, in the reeds. Chris's
heart thudded in his throat at these furtive noises, for they could
only be made by rats or watersnakes, and Chris liked neither of these,
especially by night.

Pushing along the marsh edge and feeling their way, the two figures at
last came in sight of their goal. The high dark hull of the _Venture_
rose above the water, an amber lantern hanging at her stern. The wind
swung the ship, and the tide, still flowing up the Potomac, showed
that the bow, held by the anchor, was pointed somewhat downstream.

"The anchor may have dragged," Chris whispered to Mr. Wicker. "Now for
our boat!"

The rope seemed to uncoil from about his waist almost of itself, and
with the gestures he had been taught, Chris formed a very adequate
craft; a trifle lopsided, it must be admitted, as he had had small
practice, but seaworthy nevertheless.

"I shall see that the men sleep soundly," Mr. Wicker murmured. "You do
the rest."

"I shall, sir!" Chris agreed, and then the moon showed an edge for a
moment in the clouds. "Look sir--the _Mirabelle_!"

Toward sleeping Georgetown, for it was nearly midnight now, a
whiteness showed itself, close against the distant wharfs. The
_Mirabelle_ was edging out, and Chris knew that Ned, Bowie, Abner
Cloud, and others were pulling her by the ship's boats into the main
flow of the river. Once turned, she would float noiselessly down the
Potomac past the _Venture_, and once he was aboard, would hoist her
sails and set her course to sea.

"Then quick!" bade Mr. Wicker. "We took too long! It seems we are a
trifle late!"

[Illustration]

They stepped into the boat, each taking an oar, and with only a few
strong pulls came alongside the silent _Venture_. They moored their
boat to the anchor rope. Mr. Wicker touched Chris by way of wishing
him luck, and disappeared. For half a second more Chris waited. No
sound came from the ship but a light showed in the Captain's cabin.

In a twinkling, a monkey with a pouch about its neck ran up the anchor
rope and pausing on the gunwale, sniffed at the pungent flower smell
that it now knew meant sleep for all the sa