He was straining his eyes on the look out for the wooden landing-stage, when suddenly, on climbing a ridge somewhat higher than the rest, he saw the white fringe of the waves glimmering close under his feet and the inky shadow of a boat, in which sat a couple of dark forms.

One of them, hearing the low whistle uttered by Captain Salt, scrambled forward to the bows and held out a hand.
Tristram looked at his father, who nodded.

They entered the boat in silence, and within a minute were being rowed rapidly across the tide.

It struck our hero that the oars made remarkably little noise, in spite of the energy with which they were plied.

He was about to speak, but checked himself on seeing his father raise a finger to his lips.