Just rounding a point of the island which had hitherto hid her from sight appeared a large ship, the heads of her courses already rising above the horizon.
“We must make a signal or she may pass us,” exclaimed Langton. “The mast and yard of our raft will serve as a flag.”
Mike possessed a coloured handkerchief, which he had hitherto worn round his waist. Other handkerchiefs were produced. Nat contributed his shirt, so that a flag of good size was formed.
The fire having been first made up so as to emit a large amount of smoke, they hastened with their flagstaff to the end of the point, where it was speedily erected. As no other means of attracting the attention of those on board could be devised, they sat down, anxiously waiting the result. With some small line, which they got from the raft, they drew out the flag so as to present a broad surface to the approaching ship. Her hull soon rose above the water.
“Thank Heaven! She is a British sloop-of-war, and is sure to keep a bright look-out,” said Langton. “She will pass within a mile of the island, and cannot fail to see us.”
The wind had by this time shifted to the southward. The corvette—for such she was—came on before it, under easy sail, with the lead going.
The party watched her with intense eagerness. Every moment they feared that she might haul off the shore, but the water was deep, and she continued on her course. Already she was abreast of the spot where the signal was flying.
“She takes no notice of us; she is standing on as before,” exclaimed Owen.
“No, no; see, she is heaving to,” cried Langton.
The courses were hauled up, the ship’s head was turned off shore, the main-topsail was backed, and she remained stationary.