Unfortunately the strong wind prevented the vapour from rising, the smoke drifting over the ground in thick, suffocating columns, but to the castaways' great joy the vessel hoisted her ensign. It was the French tricolour.
"Hurrah!" shouted Mr. McKay. "Now lads, hand me N and C."
The next instant the N and C flags, signifying in the International code, "Want assistance" were fluttering from the mast.
Through the telescope the inhabitants of McKay's Island could see the oilskin-clad figure of the French skipper, his neatly-trimmed moustache and imperial as correct as if he were on the boulevards of Paris, rushing hither and thither, and giving his orders with much waving of his arms. Then, as a string of flags ran up to her main truck, the schooner was hove-to.
"D.C.—Are coming to your assistance," read Mr. McKay, referring to his signal-book. "By Jove! that won't do, the boat will be swamped," for already some of the crew were manning the falls.
"Sharp there," he continued, "'E.Y.—Do not attempt to land in your boat.' That will stop them; but there's no denying that they are plucky fellows."
In obedience to the signal, the crew of the French schooner gave up their attempt, and a lengthy interchange of signals was kept up, the Frenchman promising to report the presence of the castaways at the first port she touched; then, with a farewell dip of her ensign, she flung about, and half an hour later she was lost in the haze.
"That's a load off our minds," remarked Mr. McKay. "We can reasonably expect help in a month at the very outside."
"Unless she is blown out of her course, for a gale is freshening," replied Ellerton.
"Nevertheless, the chances are greatly in our favour, though at the same time we must not cease our efforts to work out our salvation. This gale will doubtless mark the end of the rainy season, so we can hope to renew our efforts to salve the yawl within the next few days."