Two o'clock. Long ere this Jim and Budge must have returned from trawling and realized that the pea-pod and its occupants were lost. They were probably searching for them now, perhaps miles away on the other side of the island, wherever it might be.
A gruff bark startled them. A round, black, whiskered head suddenly thrust up out of the water close to the port gunwale. Filippo cried out in alarm, but Percy reassured him.
"Only a seal!"
Abruptly the sea grew rough. All around them tossed and streamed and writhed long, black aprons of kelp. They were passing over a sunken ledge. Soon it lay behind them; the kelp vanished and the waves grew lower.
Three o'clock went by; then four. The afternoon was waning. The thick, woolly gray that surrounded them assumed a more somber shade. Night was coming, pitchy and starless, doubly so for the two lost boys, adrift on the open ocean.
Hark! What was that? They both heard it, far distant, off the port bow! Percy leaped up in excitement.
"The shot-gun!" he cried. "They're signaling!"
Heading the boat toward the sound, he rowed his hardest, while Filippo strained forward, listening. Ten minutes dragged by, and once again—pouf!—slightly louder, and slightly to starboard. Percy corrected his course and again threw his whole heart into his rowing.
So it went for an hour, the signals sounding at ten-minute intervals, each louder and nearer than the one before. At last Percy thought it possible that their voices might be heard against the wind. He stopped rowing.
"Now shout, Filippo!"