In the lee of the pirate vessel a small boat could be seen tossing crazily in the heavy seas. Job, who had called for his spyglass, looked long and earnestly at the tiny craft.
"There's but one man in it," he announced at length, "and he's showing a bit of something white, as Jeremy says. Here, lad, you've the best eyes on the sloop, see if you can make out more."
The boy focussed the glass on the little boat, which was now drifting rapidly to the southeast, already nearly opposite their bows. The figure in it stood up, waving frantic arms to one side and the other.
"It's Bob!" Jeremy almost screamed. "That's a signal we used to have when we were hunting. It means 'Come here!'"
He had hardly finished speaking when—"Port your helm!" roared Job. "All hands stand by to slack the fore and main sheets!"
Job had bracketed his target.
The Tiger fell off the wind with a lurch and spun away to leeward, bowing into the running seas.
Five minutes later they hauled Bob, drenched and dripping, to the deck.