The night was a dark one, with no moon. The atmosphere was thick with the evaporations from the heated earth. The breeze had fallen at evening. Profound silence reigned. Nothing was audible save the surf of the incoming tide, which began to flow about eight o’clock.
Harry Gould and Fritz sat side by side, recalling memories of all the events, good and ill, that had followed each other after the Flag had cast them adrift. From time to time one or other of them went out and looked carefully about, more especially in the direction of the dark arm of the sea lying between the two capes.
Nothing disturbed their utter solitude until, at two o’clock in the morning, the captain and Fritz were startled out of their conversation by a report.
“A gun!” said Harry Gould.
“Yes: fired over there,” Fritz answered, pointing to the north-west of the island.
“What’s up, then?” Captain Gould exclaimed.
Both rushed out of the hangar and peered for any light in the midst of the profound darkness.
Two other reports rang out, nearer this time than the first one.
“The canoes have come back,” said Fritz.
And leaving Harry Gould at the battery he ran to the store at top speed.