With Dave as her Palinurus the Merle ran down the wind until she was well outside the western entrance to the Thoroughfare. The headsails were then dropped, the yacht was put into the wind, and the mainsail was hoisted. The foresail was left furled, as the wind had freshened considerably, and the schooner started on a southerly course on the port tack.

How Dave knew where he was or by what subtle instinct he was moved to give the Merle now a spoke or two to starboard or again to port, were mysteries as insoluble as complex. Taberman was lost in wonder at Dave's cool assurance; but to Jack, who knew of old the marvelous way in which the local fishermen handle their craft in the fog, the helmsman's skill, if wonderful, was yet no new thing.

The beat to the Island was not, however, without incident. Twice, as they were tacking about in the thick fog, they ran close to wicked ledges over which the slow seas just rolled without breaking. At another point they came about just in time to avoid going ashore against a precipitous cliff which loomed high in the mist. Near the end of the run they worked into some shoal water where the uneasy heave and thrust of the sea made the schooner reel and stagger madly, while all about them was the thunder of unseen breakers. But in each and every peril Dave kept his head completely and brought the Merle through in safety.

The passage was a busy one. Three times they luffed up in open water, and each time took a boat aboard. It was a difficult—almost a perilous—operation, but the night was flying and the boats dragged heavily. The foresail was made ready for hoisting, a reef being tucked into it without its being raised. The port bower was taken aboard; lanterns were got ready against the work which was to be done at the Island; a careful survey was made of the places available for stowage. Jack and Taberman made a list of the men, assigned watches and berths. They agreed that Gonzague, as cook, steward, and general major-domo, should have to himself the little cabin formerly occupied by the steward. To the men they gave the berths of the old crew; and in general arranged everything for the ocean voyage which had been left for adjustment until they should be actually on board. The personal effects of the President, his guests, the officers and the crew, they made ready to leave at the Island.

"How about clothes for the men?" Taberman asked. "I never thought of that; and we should look like the deuce with a crew in fishermen's rigs. The police of any harbor in the world would be after us."

"The uniforms belong to the yacht," Jack answered. "They are cut for the crew, but the men never own them."

"Do you suppose those poor devils' traps will be safe at the Island?"

"Safe as in a church."

"But how'll they get 'em?"

"Oh, by nine o'clock to-morrow morning the President will be on his way to the Island if he has to buy the Sylvia to go on. Camper'll tell him I ran away with the Merle, and he'll start to the Island to find me or get track."

So they talked until, about two in the morning, the yacht ran past Hardwood Island, hauled her wind, and worked along to the southeast. Suddenly through the fog a dull red gleam showed on the weather bow.

"There's Gonzague's bonfire," Jack cried. "You've brought us through, Dave, about as slick as anything ever was done in this world. 'Twas a tough job, too."

The main-peak was dropped to lessen the yacht's way, and as the red flare became more distinct, the outer jibs were doused. Keeping the shore close aboard on the port side, the Merle ran along toward the ruddy blur of the fire, which was now seen to be burning at the end of a point. As the boat neared this point, Jack seized the megaphone, and putting the big cone to his lips, faced the fire, which was now abeam.

"Hallo!" he roared. "Hallo, there! Gonzague!"

A sudden and confused shouting out of the fog answered him. Then black figures, silhouetted against the red brightness of the fire and waving burning brands, ran to and fro with odd antics and caperings.

"'Bout ship!" cried Dave. "'Ware boom! Douse the heads'ls!"

The Merle came over on the other tack, and the staysail and jibs were run down. The main-sheet was then so started as to spill the wind out of the sail, and the yacht's way was quickly lessened. Having rounded the point, the schooner moved ahead sluggishly, again passing the bonfire on the port hand.

"Stand by the anchor!" sang out Dave, as they ran by the end of the jetty.

"Hooray!" yelled a chorus of voices from the pier. "Hooray, Dave!"

Dave twirled the wheel to starboard, and the Merle came slowly into the eye of the wind, where he kept her until she seemed to be making sternway.

"Well enough!" he shouted. "Let her go!"

And the anchor-chain rattled down in three and a half fathoms.

It was after two o'clock, and still thick. The wind, however, was hauling around to the southward, and the fog was beginning to thin a little. The main-sheet had hardly been hauled aft when some of the men were alongside in a boat. Jack stood by the steps, which had not been taken aboard during the run, while Tab, standing by his side, held a lantern. The first man aboard was Gonzague. Agile as an ape, for all his years, the old ProvenÇal ran up the steps and touched his cap smartly, man-o'-war fashion.

"I see you leaf in a great hoory, cap'n," he chuckled to Jack. "You 'av' loosed de matting of de step-grating, eh?"

"Yes, rather," laughed Jack. "Pile aboard there," he added, addressing the men in the two boats now alongside.

The new crew made their boats fast to the grating and came on board.

"Now, then, all hands aft here for a minute," Jack ordered, when every one was assembled on deck.

He knew that with such men as he had been able to collect for this expedition it was essential to bind them in some way. He had therefore prepared a paper in which were five articles for them to sign, and he was firmly resolved that unless they agreed to bind themselves, he would not trust the President's schooner to their care. The men were resolute in the face of danger, yet were unused to discipline; they were imbued with a crude sense of loyalty, but were unruly and quick to take offense; and unless they should consent at the outset to submit to his authority, Jack knew that little dependence could be put upon them.

He instinctively assumed an arbitrary air,—almost dropping half consciously into the latent bully which lies hid in all strong characters. Had he reasoned it out, he would have adopted much the same tone as that which he took by instinct. These men, wild followers of the sea, would scorn to be led, and were to be mastered only by one who could browbeat and domineer,—who could, in their own word, "man-handle" them. They responded to the primitive necessity of seeing force in the man who is to command; and in showing his determination at the outset Jack was displaying at least one characteristic of a proper leader of men.

He took from his pocket the list of names, and telling the men to answer to the roll he read it off by the light of Tab's lantern.

"Elihu Coombs?" he read.

"Here," answered a thickset lad with a rugged and weather-beaten face.

"Here, SIR!" said Jack sharply, as he check'd off the name.

"Edward Turner?"

"Here, sir," answered a quiet voice on the outer ring of the men.

"Haskell Dwight?"

"Here, sir."

They were all aboard: ten men, exclusive of Jack, Jerry, and Gonzague. When he had finished the list, Jack handed it to Jerry, and taking from his pocket a second paper,—the simple articles he had written,—he knocked the creases out of it with a back-handed rap, and then made a short speech.

"My men," he began, "I don't want to haul you into any game with your eyes shut, so I've drafted articles for you to sign. Of course this whole business is only a joke, but it's got a serious side to it too. You can all see that plain enough; and it's my interest—and yours—to see to it that we don't have to laugh out of the wrong side of our mouths.

"If you come on this cruise you'll sweat for your wages, now let me tell you! I'm not for grinding any man,—most of you know what I am, for you've seen me growing up from a kid,—but the yacht's got to be kept up, and that means that every man-jack aboard has got to keep as neat as a pin and not slight his job.

"On the other hand, you men'll get a lot of experience in handling a larger vessel than you've been used to; you'll have good grub; and you'll see foreign ports. Top o' that, you draw good pay, and keep what clothes you can save.

"Now then, these are the articles that every man who sails with me has got to put his name to."

He read the whole paper, as distinctly and as impressively as he could.

"Now," he concluded, "if any man here lacks the heart for this business, let him clear out. The rest of you, step up and sign."

Jack laid the paper on the companion-hatch, and produced a fountain-pen, which he put beside it. Jerry was the first, in virtue of his position as mate, to put down his name. He set down his lantern and scrawled his signature at the foot of the articles in a hand that would have dwarfed that of John Hancock. He passed the pen to Gonzague, who, laboriously fisting it, wrote his name in a small, cramped hand, absurdly unlike the characters above it.

For an instant—an appreciable instant—the rest hung back. Jack's brown eyes challenged theirs, and every one was very silent. That Castleport was seconded by those who were obviously attached to him gave the men, rather than confidence, an uneasy feeling of being another party, and this prompted an instinctive caution almost like antagonism. Had things been allowed to rest for a moment, the day might easily have been lost. Discussion might have arisen to beget argument and discord, explanations have been demanded, and the men have asked to be satisfied as to the real grounds on which Castleport was to be justified in appropriating his uncle's yacht and making off with it, a question which could hardly have been answered so as to satisfy everybody. At this unrealized crisis, old Gonzague quietly stepped among the men, passed a jest with one of them in an undertone, and so equilibrium was restored. He at once became one of them, and the vague idea of parties and opposition vanished into thin air before the men had had time even to recognize it. Dave stepped forward and signed, Jim followed him, and the rest of the men came after. Jack had sounded all of them separately before unfolding his plans, and the result was that not one of them drew back now. As the last one laid down the pen, Castleport spoke.

"Before we fall to work I don't think anybody'd mind a good glass of grog; and while Gonzague's getting it, I just want to add one word to my say. I know this gentleman, Mr. Jerrold Taberman, to be a good navigator, and I've chosen him as my mate. Gonzague'll be cook and steward, and A1 you'll find him. I'm bound to make things go as easy as may be, and I will. I'm sure you'll do your duties, and you may bank on my doing mine."

The grog being brought, Tab proposed the captain's health, and the crew drank it with enthusiasm. Jack emptied his glass to the "crew and a good cruise;" and then the entire company went to work, loading and stowing.

Under Jerry's orders part of the crew began to carry provisions from the boathouse to the yacht, while under Jack's surveillance Gonzague and two of the crew stored what the others brought out. Gun-tackle purchases were rigged by the foremast to take the heavier cases aboard. The men worked feverishly, and almost without sound, as if subdued by the fear of being heard. At the end of a couple of hours the Merle had only to fill her water-tanks and she would be ready for sea. The fog was by this time so thin that in the dim light of the yet unrisen sun Jack, as he stood in the rigging, could discern vaguely the form of the house on the Island. As he was considering the weather, Gonzague, his face red with exertion and his usually immaculate clothes stained and torn, came up hastily.

"Mistair Castleport, sair," he said, "I don' fin' any beeg funnel for de watter-tank. Dey mus' always feel dem from de watter-boat 'ose,—stick de en' into de deck-plate, I t'ink."

"How's that?" exclaimed Jack. "No funnel?"

The tender containing the first installments of the water-supply had already left the jetty, and Jack fell hastily to considering how the water was to be got out of the big unheaded casks into the tanks without its being dribbled in by the dipperful.

"Did you look everywhere?" he demanded.

"I look in de peak and go all de way aft to de run," replied the steward, "and all I find was de funnel in de kerosene-barrel. It ees too small, and it do fair reek wid de pairfume of de oil, sair."

"Is there any piping aboard? any hose?" Jack asked. "We might siphon it."

Gonzague shook his head, and at that moment the boat laden with water came alongside. Jack leaned over the rail.

"I say, Jerry," he called out, "there's no funnel to fill the tanks with. How the deuce can we make water-stowage?"

"Search me," returned Jerry with cheerful inelegance. "How should I know? Might use the megaphone."

"You're a genius!" roared Jack. "It'll do to a T!"

The keys were found, the caps unscrewed from the deck-plates, and the large papier-machÉ cone of the megaphone was set big-end-up over the orifice. Two men held it by the rim, while others kept it brimming with buckets of water bailed out of the casks. At the end of another hour both tanks were filled and the caps screwed down.

The Merle was ready for her long cruise. Jack was well satisfied with the sufficiency of her stores, as in addition to the plain provisions which he and Taberman had provided, the yacht had been most abundantly victualed by the President for her summer's cruising.

"Think of anything we've left, Jerry?" Jack asked.

"The President?" Tab suggested.

Jack's official seriousness went entirely to pieces at this suggestion, but he turned to the steward with an air of business.

"Have you got everything, Gonzague?"

"Yes, sair. I t'ink de leest is feel," the old man responded, closely regarding the dirty paper on which he had made his inventory and checked off each article as it came on board. Each item in the list had a black scratch beside it.

"Well, then," the captain said, with a spark in his eye, "we're off!"

He gave the word to clear the decks and to get under weigh.

The wind had come around to the west, and was blowing fresh. They made all sail, however, chancing the gusty squalls which they were likely to meet off the high land of Isle au Haut, which they meant to leave on the starboard. The fog had gone entirely, except for long ghostly wreaths clinging to the dark green gullies of the Haut or encircling the distant mountain-tops of Mt. Desert; and when the sun rose clear and fair, all auspices seemed most cheeringly propitious.

Jack took his departure from the Eastern Ear of the Haut, when it bore west-northwest three miles. At four that afternoon, when he and Jerry came on deck for time-sights, no land was to be seen.