“Is she alive?” inquired I.
“You’re a fool,” said the man; “come and help me to pile up this wood, that we may make a signal to her. Go and fetch some water and throw on it, that there may be plenty of smoke. Thank God, I may leave this cursed hole at last!”
I hardly understood him, but I went for the water and brought it in the mess kid.
“I want more wood yet,” said he. “Her head is this way, and she will come nearer.”
“Then she is alive,” said I.
“Away, fool!” said he, giving me a cuff on the head; “get some more water and throw on the wood.”
He then went into the cabin to strike a light, which he obtained by a piece of iron and flint, with some fine dry moss for tinder. While he was so employed, my eyes were fixed on the vessel, wondering what it could be. It moved through the water, turned this way and that. “It must be alive,” thought I; “is it a fish or a bird?” As I watched the vessel, the sun was going down, and there was not more than an hour’s daylight. The wind was very light and variable, which accounted for the vessel so often altering her course. My companion came out with his hands full of smoking tinder, and putting it under the wood, was busy blowing it into a flame. The wood was soon set fire to, and the smoke ascended several feet into the air.
“They’ll see that,” said he.
“What then, it has eyes? It must be alive. Does it mind the wind?” inquired I, having no answer to my first remark, “for look there, the little clouds are coming up fast,” and I pointed to the horizon, where some small clouds were rising up, and which were, as I knew from experience and constantly watching the sky, a sign of a short but violent gale, or tornado, of which we usually had one, if not two, at this season of the year.
“Yes; confound it,” replied my companion, grinding his teeth, “it will blow her off! That’s my luck.”