“Look for a red light or a green one—her larboard or starboard light.”
“I see neither a red nor a green light, all is pitch dark,” replied Paganel, his eyes involuntarily beginning to close.
For half an hour he followed his impatient friend, mechanically letting his head frequently drop on his chest, and raising it again with a start. At last he neither answered nor spoke, and he reeled about like a drunken man. Glenarvan looked at him, and found he was sound asleep!
Without attempting to wake him, he took his arm, led him back to his hole, and buried him again comfortably.
At dawn next morning, all the slumberers started to their feet and rushed to the shore, shouting “Hurrah, hurrah!” as Lord Glenarvan’s loud cry, “The DUNCAN, the DUNCAN!” broke upon his ear.
There she was, five miles out, her courses carefully reefed, and her steam half up. Her smoke was lost in the morning mist. The sea was so violent that a vessel of her tonnage could not have ventured safely nearer the sand-banks.
Glenarvan, by the aid of Paganel’s telescope, closely observed the movements of the yacht. It was evident that John Mangles had not perceived his passengers, for he continued his course as before.
But at this very moment Thalcave fired his carbine in the direction of the yacht. They listened and looked, but no signal of recognition was returned. A second and a third time the Indian fired, awakening the echoes among the sand-hills.
At last a white smoke was seen issuing from the side of the yacht.
“They see us!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “That’s the cannon of the DUNCAN.”