Full speed for the archipelago, was the present order, after the two sailors had been handcuffed and two of the cutter’s crew took over the Treasure Belle, to sail her to the patrol base until Sam could claim her.
“It looks as though there’s a fire up yonder,” said Lieutenant Sommerlee, as the cutter doubled the Westermost nose of Florida, “See the light in the sky?”
“I hope the boys aren’t in any danger!” cried Clarence Neale.
None of the crew, neither Mr. Neale, the lieutenant, nor Uncle Sam’s sailors, could resist a cheer of delight when they got close enough to see that the fire was merely a great heap of wood, on a small islet near the channel to Shark River.
They sent up a rocket at the first verification of this fact, and urged their speedy engine to its fullest power as rockets began to burst in the sky, blue, green and red flares showed and a dull boom from a signaling cannon floated across the water to them.
It seemed an age, but was not so very long, before the chums were leaping, skylarking, dancing, standing on their heads, slapping one another on the back, adding a slap or so for delighted Sam.
They had collected wood, cut parts from the wrecked vessel, made a signal fire on the islet, and kept it burning all day, and into the night, since the discovery that they were marooned, that morning. The purpose was to create a smoke smudge during the day, and a light at night, with the certainty that some coasting vessel or other ship must see it and come closer to investigate.
The rockets and colored flares were the signal stores of the Senorita, used more as fireworks for the celebration than with any other purpose, for the signal rocket of the cutter had been read by Sam as the patrol’s own signal.
“Thank Heaven you boys are safe!” cried Mr. Neale for the tenth time, pumping Nicky’s hand again and again, sharing fist-cuffs impartially between the shoulderblades of Cliff and Tom in his elation.
“And thank Lieutenant Sommerlee too,” said Cliff. They did.