"It's true! Look for yourself!"
They did look—their eyes staring almost from their sockets. Walter was right; the Central had pulled up her anchors, and now the transport was moving slowly out into the broad ocean.
"They are going to desert us!" groaned Walter. "Si, what shall we do?"
"We must try to signal 'em," answered the Yankee lad, and again he started to use his white shirt as a signal; but the ship kept to her course, and in half an hour disappeared around a distant headland.
The feelings of the young sailors can be better imagined than described. Deserted! It was the one word to use. Left to their fate on that wild, rocky shore where the natives were known to be their enemies. With blanched faces, each looked at the other—with a heart so full that no words could do justice to the feelings.
The natives followed the transport for a short distance only, then, seeing the folly of trying to catch up with the ship, they let out a ringing yell of defiance and returned to the shore. Soon their long canoes were hauled back up the little river, and the Negritos disappeared from view.
