At last, when they had, after two postponements, fixed a day of
departure, a storm that tied up shipping all along the North Atlantic
Coast for four days caused a final delay, and consequently it was well
toward the last of August when they said good-bye and set forth for
Squirrel Island. No one particularly cared to visit Squirrel Island save
Han, who had friends there, but as there was still a full week at their
disposal they were in no great hurry and one port was as good as
another. They remained there a day and then made Portland. At Portland
supplies were put in, and one Wednesday morning they picked up the
anchor at a little after six o'clock and started for Provincetown with
the fine determination to cover the distance of approximately a hundred
and twenty-five miles before they sat down to supper. That they didn't
do so was no fault of either the _Adventurer_ or the _Follow Me_.
It was about half-past eight that Phil, sitting on the forward cabin
roof with his back braced against the smokestack, called Steve's
attention to an object far off to port. They had then put some thirty
miles between them and Portland and were twenty miles off Cape Neddick.
The morning was lowery, with occasional spatters of rain, and the storm,
which had blown off to the northward the day before, had left a heavy
sea running.
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