“We’ll see if we can get a mess of clams at Pingree’s Beach, an’ then we’ll have a chowder for dinner,—­what d’yer say, boys?”

We all said that the Captain’s idea was a good one.  There was a sharp turn in the river just then, and he put the boat about to round a sort of headland, where the banks were eight or ten feet high.

“Hard-a-lee!  Look out for your heads,” he shouted; and when the sail had swung over he continued:  “I come up through here one night two years ago, in a boat that belonged to Dave Rodigrass,—­I was bringing her up from Little Duck Island, for him.  It was thicker’n burgoo, an’ when I got the other side o’ this pint, I heard a feller sing out from this side that he was aground, an’ he warned me off, an’ when I got here I couldn’t see him, an’ pretty soon he begun shoutin’ from the other side.  I tell yer I thought I’d got ’em again, or something, an’ I—­”

The Captain’s recollections stopped that instant, for a voice—­a loud, cheerful voice—­arose only a few feet from us.  It came from the other side of the sail, and that was all we could tell about it.

“Look out there!” it shouted, “look out!  Oh, I mean:  ship ahoy! ship ahoy!”

This hail came so suddenly that it made us jump, and Ed Mason, who was standing up forward, nearly fell overboard.  He grabbed the mast to save himself, and then we all stooped to looked under the sail.  The shouting had begun again, and there was a great racket of “Ship ahoy!  Ship ahoy!”

CHAPTER II

A MAN ON A DESERT ISLAND

“All right, all right!” shouted Captain Bannister, “we hear yer.  You needn’t ahoy so much.”

But the voice continued to shout “Ship ahoy!” at a great rate, until the “Hoppergrass” drew slowly ahead, and we could see what had been hidden by the sail.

A sand-bar stuck out of the water, right in the middle of the river.  Only a few feet of it showed, and the island which it made was very small.  It was so small that the man who was sitting on it had his legs drawn up till his knees came right under his chin, so as to keep his feet from getting wet.  He was a young man, about twenty years old.  He had on white trousers and a pink shirt, and he was slowly waving a white canvas hat.  His hair was sandy, and very much ruffled, and his big, pale blue eyes were wide open, as though he were surprised about something.

“Ship ahoy!” he remarked again, but in an ordinary conversational tone, this time.

Then he climbed to his feet,—­carefully, so as to keep the steep sides of his little, sand island from giving way, and letting him down into the water.  As soon as he was standing up straight he raised one hand in the air, as if he were in a play, and said:  “Rescued at last!”

Then he turned toward us, and remarked:  “Gentlemen, I thank you.”

“You better wait till you’re on board,” said the Captain, “before you begin thankin’ us.  I’ll come about in a minute, an’ then we’ll fetch yer in the tender.”