“That be likely one o’ your father’s boats out there. Ain’t no others I knows of carries signal guns.”
The wind was almost dead ahead for most of the way and the Corsair tossed and careened like a sloop in a squall. Long before they found the wharf they began to encounter waves, and they were all pretty well sprinkled by the time the landing was made. All the way back they had watched for rockets beyond the island but had seen none. Jack said they had probably used them all up. Bee suggested that perhaps help had already reached them. But when, after making fast the launch, they battled around the beach in the teeth of the gale a dim light showed in the locality of The Tombstones and Bill Glass, peering under his hands through the darkness, announced that the schooner was still there.
There was nothing they could do but watch and wait, and after Bill had signalled for some minutes with his lantern and received finally an answering wave from the schooner they crept back to the tent for shelter. At intervals Bill went to the flap and viewed the sea in the direction of Toller’s Rock. There wasn’t much conversation. There was little to say and the noise of the waves and wind made talking difficult. The tent still threatened to go at every blast and still held. An hour passed and the hands of Bee’s watch pointed to ten minutes past two when there came an exclamation of satisfaction from Bill Glass, who had gone to the tent door for perhaps the twentieth time.
“There she be!” he called. “Roundin’ the Rock this minute. I see her light.”
The boys clustered behind him and looked. Afar out was a tiny flicker that came and went as the waves tossed the boat up and down. Then suddenly a strong beam of white light shot across the water, moved right and left and disappeared again.
“They be a-lookin’,” said Bill. “That be her search-light.”
From the front of the tent they watched the tiny speck of light draw nearer and nearer until, at length, it was abreast of the island. Then it disappeared suddenly and there was a gasp from Bee.
“She’s sunk!” he cried.
“Not she,” answered Bill Glass. “She be all water-tight compartments. Upset she can, mate, but never sink. That light be in the bow an’ she’s passed us. There be her search-light again.”