“What shall we do, then, next?—go west?”
“No, sir, I think north,” replied Gregory. “There isn’t a breath of air, so we cannot have gone far. What say, Morgan?”
“The tide may have taken her many miles,” said the second-mate, speaking painfully; “but try north.”
The first-mate was about to whisper to the men to easy on the port side when all at once there was a flash at a distance, followed by a sharp report.
“From the ship,” said Gregory. “A signal.”
“No, no,” said Morgan peevishly. “That is from the shore.”
“Oh, impossible!” said the major. “That shot was fired from the ship.”
Another flash, evidently from half-a-mile away in quite a different direction.
“That is from the ship,” whispered Morgan as the report of the gun went vibrating through the dark night air.
“No, no, man; from the shore,” said the major pettishly.