Jack laughed. “That shark wouldn’t have to have another meal for a month, would he?” he asked. “Here’s a motor boat coming down the shore, fellows. Let’s see if we can make him understand that we want to be rescued.”
But they couldn’t. The motor boat, one of the stub-nosed, wide-beamed half-cabin crafts used by the Portuguese fisherman, was well over toward the shore, and, although once they thought one of the two occupants waved back at them, the boat never changed its course. Several schooners slipped out of the harbor and sailed southward, and once a big red-hulled salt bark appeared in convoy of a tug and dropped anchor off The Lump. But at ten o’clock the boys still adorned the grassy plateau on the ridge of Hog Island and still gazed shoreward with diminishing hope. The sun was beating down all too ardently now and they were actually suffering for want of water. Finally Jack, with a despairing shake of his head, arose and took a long look around him. There were many sails in sight, but all far away.
“I guess, fellows, unless we can attract the attention of some boat on the outer side of the island it’s no good.” Jack nodded at the Corsair, swaying daintily about off the ledge below them, her neat varnished sides reflected waveringly in the water. “That’s what’s making the trouble. Folks see us waving and then catch sight of the launch and conclude that we’re a bunch of those idiotic campers amusing ourselves. If we could only hide the launch some way perhaps someone might come out to us. Anyway, it’s getting too hot here. Let’s get back to the shady side of the hut. We can see pretty nearly as much from there, I guess.”
“I’d give everything I’ve got for a bucket of water,” said Bee sadly. “Even my third interest in the treasure.”
“Hang that old treasure, anyhow,” exclaimed Hal. “If it wasn’t for that we wouldn’t be out here parching up with thirst. If I ever do get off this place I’m going home and stay there!”
They made their way back to the hut and sank gratefully into the shade it afforded. Now and then Jack arose and climbed to a place where he could see the ocean on all sides, and it was on his return from one of these expeditions that he announced a scheme to rig up a signal of distress. “We’ll take the longest plank on the roof and set it up on top of the hut and tie something to it. I guess it will have to be your shirt, Hal; it’s nearer white than Bee’s or mine and can be seen plainer.”
Hal made no objection to providing the signal and they set to work. The longest plank proved to be a heavy, worm-eaten piece of oak not over seven feet in length. They collected small rocks from nearby and tossed them to the roof of the hut. Then Hal gave up his negligee shirt, a white flannel one with a pin-stripe of pink, and Jack secured it to the plank by the simple expedient of knotting the sleeves about it. After which Jack climbed to the roof, the signal was passed up to him and he set the plank on end and piled the stones around it. When they drew off to view it, however, it did not seem especially successful, since the breeze was too light to much more than stir the shirt. Now and then it fluttered away from the plank in the semblance of a flag, but for the most part it hung quite limp and it seemed very doubtful that it would be noticed.
“Well,” said Jack, wiping the perspiration from his face, “it’s the best we can do. If the breeze would draw around into the east a little more I’d advise taking to the launch and trusting to being blown ashore. The tide’s setting in now, you see.”
“Why not try it?” asked Hal.