“Ef I was yo’ I wouldn’ be finkin’ ’bout dat at dis hour ob partin’,” Jerusalem remarked.
Before Wilet could defend herself from the implied rebuke the bell rang, and ’Rusalem hastened to answer it.
He found Hanson standing in the hall.
“Go and hoist the signal, so that my sailing master may know where to send out a boat.”
“Young marse, de signal pol’ don been carried ’way long ob de stohm dat night w’en de boats an’ de boat’-ouse went; but ef yo’ can fin’ de f’ag I can put it up lon’ ob a clo’es prop, or sumhows.”
Without a word Hanson turned and fled upstairs, and soon came down again, with the red flag in his hand.
’Rusalem went around to the rear of the house, and brought from the shed one of Wilet’s long clothesline props. Hanson joined him, and together they went down to the broken pier, dug a hole in the sand, planted the pole, and hoisted the signal.
The yacht was now within a quarter of a mile of the island.
After fixing the signal Hanson stood with his small telescope at his eye, watching her. After a while he turned his glass toward Snowden, and started as he saw crossing from that point a large rowboat.
In the eight days that had passed since the storm had carried off the island boats, and made him a prisoner there, no boat had come from the mainland, nor was one expected or hoped for, as there was really nothing to bring the dwellers on the shore to the Isle of Storms at this season of the year.