“I stake my life, sir, it is from the ship,” said Morgan, straining his eyes in the direction from which the last signal had been made.
“Morgan’s right, major,” said Gregory firmly.
“Yes; that there last shot was from seaward,” whispered the boatswain. “I haven’t not no doubt about that.”
“Steady, my lads, and give way now,” whispered Gregory; and the boat was turned and rowed steadily for quite a quarter of an hour as nearly as they could tell in the direction from which the last shot had come.
At the end of that time, though, they were as badly off, it seemed, as ever, for they ceased rowing, to find that the darkness was more dense, for a soft mist was gathering overhead and blotting out the stars.
“If we only dared hail,” muttered Gregory. “Major, this is horrible. Pst!”
This was consequent upon a faint flash of light appearing not twenty yards away; then it seemed as if there was a tiny flame burning, and directly after complete darkness.
“The Petrel or a prau,” said Mr Gregory in a low voice, and with his lips to the major’s ear.
“The ship,” said Mark excitedly, striking in.
“How do you know, lad?”