place where we are going,” he said.
Shaw stared, round-eyed.
“I thought you came here on account of this here yacht,” he stammered, surprised.
“Ah. The yacht,” said Lingard, musingly, keeping his eyes on the break in the coast. “The yacht—” He stamped his foot suddenly. “I would give all I am worth and throw in a few days of life into the bargain if I could get her off and away before to-night.”
He calmed down, and again stood gazing at the land. A little within the entrance from behind the wall of forests an invisible fire belched out steadily the black and heavy convolutions of thick smoke, which stood out high, like a twisted and shivering pillar against the clear blue of the sky.
“We must stop that game, Mr. Shaw,” said Lingard, abruptly.
“Yes, sir. What game?” asked Shaw, looking round in wonder.
“This smoke,” said Lingard, impatiently. “It's a signal.”
“Certainly, sir—though I don't see how we can do it. It seems far inland. A signal for what, sir?”
“It was not meant for us,” said Lingard in an unexpectedly savage tone. “Here, Shaw, make them put a blank charge into that forecastle gun. Tell 'em to ram hard the wadding and grease the mouth. We want to make a good noise. If old Jorgenson hears it, that fire will be out before you have time to turn round twice. . . . In a minute, Mr. Carter.”
The yacht's boat had come alongside as soon as the brig had been brought up, and Carter had been waiting to take Lingard on board the yacht. They both walked now to the gangway. Shaw, following his commander, stood by to take his last orders.
“Put all the boats in the water, Mr. Shaw,” Lingard was saying, with one foot on the rail, ready to leave his ship, “and mount the four-pounder swivel in the longboat's bow. Cast off the sea lashings of the guns, but don't run 'em out yet. Keep the topsails loose and the jib ready for setting, I may want the sails in a hurry. Now, Mr. Carter, I am ready for you.”
“Shove off, boys,”
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