But when Nat had drawn quite close the blaze was still burning fiercely. The flames were shooting up skyward, dimming the stars and making a grand spectacle. Fountains of sparks soared heavenward as every now and then some beam subsided with a crash. Nat could hear the hissing of the water as charred embers fell overboard.
What rig the vessel had been was, of course, impossible for the boy to make out, for when he arrived within a short distance of her she was already burned down to a mere hulk. Her masts and upper works had vanished some time before, a prey to the savage flames.
All at once a hail came across the waters.
"Boat ahoy!"
To Nat it seemed that he must be in a dream. It could not be possible that the voice he heard was Joe Hartley's, and yet it was mighty familiar.
Again came the hail. This time there was no question about it. It was Joe, though how he happened to be there Nat had no idea. Half stunned by astonishment, he hailed back:
"Joe—old fellow—is it really you!"
"Sure enough, Nat," cried the voice, while a cheer, given in hearty American style, rang out over the crimsoned waters.
At the same instant, from the midst of the intense glare, which had hitherto prevented Nat from seeing any distance, glided the well-known form of the "Nomad." Nat came near fainting a second time from sheer surprise as he saw her, for the power-craft was not under sail, but came gliding swiftly on, evidently running under motor power.
Ten minutes later he was on board and after a perfect tempest of congratulations, handshakings and questions had been bandied about, Joe explained it all.