“So it is,” said Bart. “Phil, you’ve got a good pair of eyes in your head.”
“It’s a sail-boat,” said Bruce.
“And heading this way,” said Bart.
“Hurrah!” cried Tom. “They’ve come for us at last.”
“Come, now, boys,” said Arthur, “don’t let us get excited again. I tell you that boat is some fisherman, and it is passing by here. Those on board won’t see us, and there’s no use doing anything. Let’s sit down and finish the toss-up, and send Phil to the top of the bank to watch, and make what signals he can.”
“Not a bit of it!” cried Bart; and springing forward, he dashed into the water toward the schooner with his clothes on. The water had fallen so far, however, that he did not get wet much above his knees. Clambering on board, he lowered the flag of the “B. O. W. C.,”—which had waved there through all their vicissitudes,—and tearing off his red flannel shirt, he fastened it close beneath the flag. Then he pulled it up and then kept lowering and hoisting, with the utmost rapidity, the extraordinary signal. Nor was this all. He had not yet lost confidence in his pistol, in spite of its signal failure in the case of the schooner some time before, but drew it forth now with a certain solemn decision. By this time all the others had come on board, and were waving all sorts of quilts and blankets from the stern. In the midst of all this agitation Bart fired his pistol. The smart pop! rang out bravely enough; but as the sail-boat was at least three miles away, it cannot be said to have produced any very extraordinary result. Bart, however, was satisfied. He had already given charge of the “ensign” to Tom, and, standing on the starboard quarter, he fired again. After this he rested for a while, and waited for the boat to come nearer.
Nearer she was certainly coming, in spite of the scepticism of Arthur. To guard against the pain of disappointment, Arthur was trying, with all his might, not to hope, and to prevent any of the others from hoping. Yet he could not help being as sanguine as the others, in spite of his efforts.
“Boys,” he cried, “be careful now. Remember this boat don’t see us, and don’t intend to. She’s a fishing-boat, out after sturgeon. She’s sailing straight across, past us, to—Hurrah! here she comes straight down to us.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Hurrah! She sees us! Up and down with the flag, Tom! Fire away, Bart! Bring up that fog-horn, somebody, and blow till you burst. I’ll content myself with a sociable yell.”
Whereupon a yell, so loud, so harsh, so penetrating, burst forth from Bruce, that it seemed to penetrate even to the boat. White signals certainly were waving from those on board, and a tall figure in black stood upright in the bows waving a hat.