And he pointed to the south-west. Was he mistaken? No, for Hobson also made out a faint glimmer in the direction indicated.
"Yes!" he cried, "yes, Sergeant, a fire; there is land there!"
"Unless it is a fire on board ship," replied Long.
"A ship at sea in this weather!" exclaimed Hobson, "impossible! No, no, there is land there, land I tell you, a few miles from us!"
"Well, let us make a signal!"
"Yes, Sergeant, we will reply to the fire on the mainland by a fire on our island!"
Of course neither Hobson nor Long had a torch, but above their heads rose resinous pines distorted by the hurricane.
"Your flint, Sergeant," said Hobson.
Long at once struck his flint, lighted the touchwood, and creeping along the sand climbed to the foot of the thicket of firs, where he was soon joined by the Lieutenant. There was plenty of deadwood about, and they piled it up at the stems of the trees, set fire to it, and soon, the wind helping them, they had the satisfaction of seeing the whole thicket in a blaze
"Ah!" said Hobson, "as we saw their fire, they will see ours!"