“Where did this come from?” queried Frank. “Do you suppose they threw it overboard for us?”
“Perhaps, although I never saw such a life raft on the Vendee—if it is a life raft. It looks more to me like some washed-away lumber. Perhaps we struck another ship—in fact, I am almost sure we did. If she was a lumber craft, this must be from her.”
Another spell of silence ensued, during which both strained their eyes to see through the driving storm. Nothing but the waves met their gaze, carrying them upward at one moment as if to the top of a high hill, and then letting them sink and sink into a hollow until it looked as if they should never rise again.
It was a time never to be forgotten, and each boy breathed a silent prayer that he might be brought through this great peril in safety. Thus the minutes slipped by, until suddenly Mark gave a cry.
“A light! A sky-rocket!”
He was right, from a great distance they saw the rocket from the lumber vessel flare out through the storm. Then followed a brightness lower down, but this Bengal light was not so distinct.
“Can it be the steamer in distress?” they asked each other.
“Looks as if something was on fire,” said Mark. He tried to stand up on the lumber, Frank in the meantime holding him fast by the ankles. But now the raft went into a hollow, and when it came up again the light was gone.
Slowly the hours went by and the storm gradually subsided. The boys found that the chain was fastened tightly around the lumber and they clung to this and waited for daybreak. They did not mind being wet to the skin, for the night was warm, but each was thoroughly exhausted by his struggles.
At last came the light, low down in the east, and gradually the day came over the rim of the sea—dull and heavy and bringing little of cheer. Both stood up and gazed around eagerly.