Only once Captain John had thought he had seen one of the Amazons moving in the heather on the promontory. But he could not be sure without the telescope. It might have been a sheep. The wait all through the afternoon and early evening had been long and tiring, and though there had been plenty to look at in the steamers and motor boats and rowing skiffs of the natives, they had seen no sails except those of large yachts far away up the lake. For the first time in their lives all three of them had wished to hurry the sinking sun upon its way.
Now, at last, the sun had set. Twilight was coming on. There was no wind, for the wind had gone with the sun as it so often does, and they were beginning to be afraid that the dark would come too soon for them. All was astir in the Swallow .
The mast was unstepped, and laid on the thwarts so that it stuck out over the bows. There was room for it in the ship, for it was a few inches shorter than Swallow was long. But to stow it all inside it had to lie straight down the middle, so that it was very uncomfortable for anybody who was rowing.
“Anyway, why shouldn’t she have a bowsprit?” said John. “Besides, it’s only for a short time.”
Roger rowed. John was looking at the chart in the guide book. Susan steered.
“Pull with your back,” she said, “don’t bend your arms till the end of the stroke.”
“I’m pulling with all of me,” said Roger, “but I’ve got too many clothes on.”
“He’s making a fair lot of noise and splash,” said the captain.
“He’ll be tired before we get near enough for it to matter,” said the mate.