The Lakewood Boys in the South Sea Islands by L.P. Wyman

"She's all out and still banging."

It was after supper and then the sun had sunk, a huge red ball of fire, below the western horizon. Captain Ole made the announcement as the boys and their uncle, together with three or four of the sailors, stood watching the big chain run out.

"Then I reckon we'll have to let her drift," Mr. Lakewood said as the captain gave the signal to raise the anchor. "I don't really think that we're anywhere near the place yet," he whispered to Bob, who was standing close at his side, "but we don't want to take any chances. There's so little wind that we won't go far."

"Well, guess we might's well go in and send a picture to the folks at home," Jack said as the anchor appeared.

Every night they had turned on the machine for a few minutes but, to their great disappointment, they had failed to receive any results from far away Maine.

"Not time for more'n an hour yet," Bob said looking at his watch.

Some time in the night Jack awoke. This was such an unusual occurrence that for some moments he lay awake and wondered what had disturbed him. He could not hear a sound save the gentle lap of the water against the side of the boat and the regular breathing of his brother. And yet he knew that something was wrong. He reached beneath his pillow and brought out his tiny flashlight and a glance at his watch told him than it was twenty-five minutes past one.

"Guess I'm getting the heebie-jeebies," he thought as he slipped from his bunk and, in his bare feet, stole toward the door.

He opened it without making the slightest sound and stepped outside. It was a beautiful night and, although there was no moon, the stars, which thickly studded the sky, rendered it far from dark. For a full three minutes he stood there, close to the door of his cabin, and listened. Was Bob right, he wondered, when he told him he was getting too suspicious? Finally, hearing no sound which could, in any way, be construed as being mysterious, he decided to make a tour of the boat before going back to bed.

"Reckon I'm an idiot all right, but I'm going to take a look about, just the same," he muttered, as he started slowly toward the stern.

The night was so warm that he was perfectly comfortable in his light pajamas, and the floor felt delightfully cool to his bare feet. Not a sound did he make as he stole along, keeping close to the side of the cabins where it was darker than over by the railing. Suddenly a slight sound reached his ears, and he stopped. Had he really heard anything, or were his suspicions getting the better of his judgment? The sound was not repeated, and he was about to move on again, when a spot of light, from far out across the water, caught his eye. It glimmered an instant, and then disappeared, to reappear a moment later in a series of flashes. Was it a signal? It seemed hardly possible, but it certainly looked very much like it.

He crept on, until he reached the end of the cabins, and was but a few feet from the stern of the boat. Cautiously he peeped around the corner, and his heart gave an extra beat, as he saw a figure standing only a matter of six or seven feet from him. It was too dark for him to distinguish the man's features, even had his face been turned toward him, but the tall lanky figure left no doubt in his mind as to his identity. It was Josh Kelley, and he was up to something, for he raised his right hand, and a flash of light sprang out.

"It was a signal all right," he thought, as he shrank back, fearful lest the man see him.

What should he do? He knew now that his suspicions, as well as those of his uncle, were confirmed. The second mate was in league with someone, and was signaling to him, or to them. But what was the object? Did he know of their quest? These and many more questions flashed through his mind as he stood there, watching that twinkling light, which came and went in answer to the mate's signal. At first he thought they might be signaling in the Morse code, and tried to read the flashes, but he could make nothing of them. If they were using a code, it was not one with which he was familiar, that was certain.

He had made up him mind to wake his uncle, and had taken a couple of backward steps, when the light from a powerful flash struck him full in the face.

"Wot's the idea?"

It was evident that the mate was mad, and for an instant the boy was too startled to reply.

"I -- I reckon I might ask you the same question," he finally stammered.

"Wot yer mean?"

"Who are you signaling to?"