“No; it’s not that; at least, I don’t think so. There appears to be trouble on the yacht itself. She’s flying an ensign, Jack down, in her after rigging. Wow!”
“What’s up now?”
“There’s a chap trying to pull the ensign down!” cried Jack, with the glasses still to his eyes.
“Jove!” he rushed on, “there’s another chap pulling him away from the halliards. Now there’s a regular fight on! Say, Tom, that yacht’s just sizzling right now!”
“They need help.”
“Well, it sure looks so! Hullo, some men on the stern appear to have driven back the others, among them the chap who tried to pull down the flag.”
“It’s a sure thing, then, that there is some sort of mutiny on board.”
“Looks that way,” admitted Jack; “they fired those guns for help. I wonder——”
“I have it,” broke in Tom. “There used to be a life-saving station right here because of the shoals. It’s marked on the charts. Although it was abandoned two years ago, those fellows saw our shed ashore and they think it’s the life-saving station. It’s to us they’re signalling!”
“Christmas! I’ll bet you’re right. There’s nothing else in the shape of a house up and down the beach for miles, and the summer cottagers have not arrived yet. Yes, they’re appealing to us, Tom; but I don’t see what we’re going to do about it.”