At first the figure on the raft did not stir, but as the lumber came closer the man sat up and gazed around wildly.
On catching sight of the two boys he gave a faint cry in a language that was strange to them.
“He must be a castaway like ourselves,” said Mark.
“See, he is motioning to us with a rope,” said Frank. “He is going to throw us one end.”
The end of the rope was thrown not once, but three times before they could catch it. Then they drew the other raft toward them and lashed the two heaps of lumber together. Thus united, the piles made a raft of considerable size.
The man who had thus strangely joined them was evidently a sailor and he was suffering from an ugly wound on the shoulder. At first he said but little, but at last they made out that his name was Sven Orlaff and that he was a Norwegian.
“I be on da Dutch boat, Christiana,” he said, in broken English. “Da boat strike da steamer an’ I got by da vater in. So you go, too?”
“Yes, we were on the steamer,” answered Mark. “Have you any idea where the steamer or the Dutch boat is?”
At this question Sven Orlaff shook his head. “Lose da boat—so dark,” he said. “My shouler much hurt—I sick, fall da vater in and must swim to da lumber. No see da boat vonce more.”
“We’re in a tough situation,” put in Frank, and heaved a sigh. “Are we anywhere near to land?”