“Not a mite,” said Captain Corbet. “You can’t signalize to a vessel so far away; at least I never heard of such a thing.”
“O, well, captain,” objected Bruce, “you see they have glasses. We could see any signals if they were to hoist them, and they can see us as well as we can see them, of course.”
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, thoughtfully, “perhaps they can; and if so, I’m sure I don’t see why we mayn’t try. So you may as well hist that thar flag o’ yourn, boys. It can’t do any harm, at any rate.”
This proposal was at once acted upon. Several of the boys sprang aft, and seizing the lines, began to lower and elevate, incessantly, the proud, yet somewhat battered banner of the B. O. W. C.—the banner whose pictured face had so often grinned at them through many an adventure, in storm and in calm. It gave them an occupation; it also served to excite hope; and so, for several hours, the flag never ceased to rise and fall,—the boys taking turns at it, and one relieving the other, so as to keep a fresh hand always at the work. This continued till midday; but at length they gave it up in disgust.
They gave it up because it had not produced the slightest result, nor excited the smallest attention; nor had the circumstances of their situation changed in any respect whatever. Far away lay the ship, and no more of her was visible. Nothing but her masts appeared to their eyes; not a particle of her hull could be seen. She seemed somewhat longer now, and some of them accounted for this on the ground that she had changed her position somewhat, and presented her broadside more than she had done in the morning.
The weather had not changed, nor were there any signs whatever of a change. The sky was still as cloudless as ever, and not the faintest fleck disturbed the expanse of blue that hung above them. The sea was unruffled, nor was there any puff of wind to agitate its surface.
Early in the morning, when that strange ship first appeared, they had hoped that a wind might arise before long to bring them together; or, if a wind did not come, that at least the currents of the sea might drift them into closer proximity; but now there began to arise a dark fear that, instead of drifting nearer together, they might be carried farther asunder, and that this strange ship, which had thus been borne so mysteriously to their sight during the darkness, might, on the advent of another day, be borne as mysteriously out of their sight. With anxious eyes they watched her form, testing it in every possible way, to discover whether the intervening space had increased or lessened. Some of the more desponding ones were convinced that they were drifting asunder; others, more hopeful, maintained that they were nearer; while others, again, asserted that their respective positions had not changed. And, in fact, it was evident from the very dispute itself, that the position of the two vessels had not very greatly altered.
Half of the day had passed. Another half remained; and after that, what? Night and darkness, and then how easily could they drift away from this stranger, on which they had been placing such hopes! How could they expect that the rest of the day would be any different from the beginning?
Midday had come, and this was the time for their single daily meal. Moreover, this meal was the last,—the last of the three portions which they had set aside for the consumption of three days.
Here arose a solemn question.