Fritz uttered a cry—a cry of joy and surprise combined.
He had just seen a bright flash in the middle of a white smoke, and almost simultaneously there was a second report which made the echoes ring round the coast.
At the same time a ball, skimming the surface of the bay, threw up a great jet of water a couple of fathoms away from the canoe, which continued to fly at full speed towards Falconhurst.
“There! There!” shouted Fritz. “Father and Mr. Wolston and all of them are there—on Shark’s Island!”
It was, indeed, from that island that the first report had come, as well as the second with the ball aimed at the pirogue. No doubt the islanders had found refuge under the protection of the battery which the savages did not venture to approach. Above it was the red and white flag of New Switzerland, while on the topmost peak in all the island floated the British flag!
Impossible to depict the joy, the delirium to which those so lately in despair now abandoned themselves! And their emotions were shared by those true comrades, Captain Gould and the boatswain.
There was no further idea of going to Rock Castle; they would leave Falconhurst only to go—how, they did not know—to Shark’s Island. If only it had been possible to communicate with it by signals from the top of the mangrove, to wave a flag to which the flag on the battery might reply! But that might have been unwise, unwise too, to fire a few shots with the pistol, for, though these might be heard by M. Zermatt, they might also be heard by the savages, if they were still prowling about Falconhurst.
It was most important that they should not know of the presence of Captain Gould and his party, for these could not have withstood a combined attack by all the savages now in possession of Rock Castle.
“Our position is a good one now,” Fritz remarked; “don’t let us do anything to compromise it.”
“Quite so,” Captain Gould replied. “Since we have not been discovered, don’t let us run any risk of it. Let us wait until night before we do anything.”