A BOY SCOUT SIGNAL.
It was five minutes later that the whole company of castaways was
gathered around the hatchway. A red glare from below shone on their
faces, illuminating expressions of dismay and apprehension.
"What can we do?" gasped out Rob. "There are no boats, no means of
escape!"
"We'll be burned to death," shuddered Paul Perkins.
All looked to the ensign for some suggestion. His tightly compressed
lips and drawn features suggested that he was thinking deeply, thinking
as men think whose very lives depend upon quick decision.
"We must put on the hatches," he said decisively; "there they lie
yonder. That will deprive the fire of oxygen and give us at least a few
hours before we have to vacate."
The coverings of the hatch, big, thick planks, lay not far away.
Evidently they lay just as they did on the day that the cargo of mammoth
tusks had been taken from the _Good Hope_ and hidden. Working with
feverish energy, the boys soon had the hatch covered tightly. But the
work had almost exhausted their strength. The fumes of the blazing hold
and the suffocating black smoke that rolled out, had almost caused them
to succumb.
Their desperate task accomplished, they lay panting on the deck,
incapable, for the time being, of further effort. However, with the
hatch in place and tightly dovetailed, there was a gleam of hope that
the flames might be smothered, or at least held in check till the fog
cleared and they could sight a vessel.
The first faint glimmering of dawn, shown by an increasing transparence
in the fog, found the derelict still lying inert. But a second later the
boys were on their feet with a cheer. A light breeze had sprung up and
the fog was agitated by it like drifting steam. Little by little the
breeze increased and the fog thinned out to mere wisps. The sun shone
through and disclosed a glimmering expanse of sea stretched all about.
But, to their bitter disappointment, the great heaving expanse was empty
of life. Not a sail or a sign of a steamer marred its lonely surface.
They exchanged dismayed looks. There was no knowing at what moment the
fiery, seething furnace beneath their very feet might break through and
force them to fight for their existence.
Already the decks were hot. Aside from this, however, so well did the
hatch fit that not even a wisp of smoke escaped. Except the extreme
heat, there was nothing to indicate that the interior of the _Good
Hope's_ hull was a fiery furnace.
The hours wore on, the little company of castaways dreading every moment
that what they feared might happen. Still no indication that the fire
was about to break through occurred. But their sufferings from thirst
were terrible. One after another the Boy Scouts sank to the decks in a
sort of coma. Rob, Merritt, and the ensign himself alone retained their
strength.
"If some vessel doesn't appear before long we are doomed."
It was Rob who spoke, and the mere fact that the others were silent
indicated plainly that they shared his opinion.
Despite their sufferings and anxiety a bright lookout was kept. It was
Rob who electrified them by a sudden shout:
"Look! Look out there to the north!"
"A sail!" shouted the ensign, springing to his feet.
"Yes. A steam yacht, rather! She's coming this way, too!"
"That's what. But how can we signal her? If she doesn't hurry she may be
too late!"
"We can wave and shout!"
The ensign shook his head.
"She is too far off to see or hear us. Is there no other way to attract
her?"
A dozen plans were thought of and discarded. Then Rob spoke:
"I've thought of a way, but it's a desperate one."
"Never mind, what is it?"
"We will signal her in Boy Scout fashion. Maybe there is someone on
board who understands it."
The others looked puzzled. Rob hastened to explain.
"You all know the smoke column system of signalling?"
"I see what you mean!" shouted Merritt. "You mean to send up two
columns of smoke meaning 'Help! We are lost!'"
Rob nodded.
"But how is that possible?" demanded the ensign, with a puzzled
inflection in his tones. "We've got a whole ship full of smoke under us,
of course, but I don't see how we are going to utilize it in the way you
suggest."
"I've thought it out," declared Rob modestly.
He produced his heavy-bladed scouting knife.
"Merritt, you take your knife and we'll cut two holes in the top of the
hatch. That will make two smoke columns, and if anyone on that yacht is
a Scout, they will come rushing at top speed toward us!"
"Jove! You boys are resourceful, indeed!" cried the ensign admiringly.
Without more ado the boys fell to work on their task. They cut the holes
about ten feet apart. It was hard work, but they stuck to it
perseveringly, and at last, from the two holes, two columns of black
smoke spouted up. Luckily for their plans the wind had, by this time,
moderated so much as to have fallen almost flat.
High into the heavens soared the two black columns of smoke like two
pillars of inky vapor.
Every eye watched the distant yacht anxiously. For five minutes the
anxiety was so intense that no one spoke. The pitch of expectancy was
painful.
Then came a great cry.
"They've seen our signal!" shouted Rob.
"Yes; look, she's changing her course. Look at the black smoke coming
from her funnel. She's making top speed to our rescue!" cried Merritt.
"Let's hope that she won't be too late," murmured the ensign under his
breath, and then aloud he cried:
"Three cheers for the Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol!"