The Norwegian sailor readily complied, and Frank joined the pair. “Dare is somet’ing,” said the sailor, slowly, pointing with his arm. “I t’ink he is a boat--yes, t’ree, four boats. And back in da cloud is a mountain.” “It must be land!” cried Mark. “Oh, I hope it is!” “But what is that big cloud?” questioned Frank. “Some sort of fire, I guess,” returned Mark. “See! see! the boats are coming this way! Oh, Frank! we are saved!” “I see more boats, Mark! Five, six, eight, ten,--there must be at least twenty of them. The natives must be going out to fish.” Wild with delight at the approach of the boats, they yelled at the top of their lungs and waved coats and the shirt frantically. Even Sven Orlaff joined in the demonstration, yelling in a voice that sounded as if it was coming through a megaphone. “They see us!” cried Mark, after another painful pause. “See, they are heading this way!” “Look! look!” screamed Mark, pointing beyond the boats. “What a fearfully black cloud! And it is rolling this way! And listen to the thunder? Frank, that cloud is rolling from the mountain, and I think I can see the flashes of lightning.” It was all very strange to them, and they stared in open-mouthed wonder at the phenomenon. What it could mean they could not surmise. Then the raft began to whirl around and around, throwing them down in a heap, while the air became so murky and full of gas they could scarcely breathe. They clutched the lumber and the chains and held fast, and for the time being the boats in the distance were forgotten. CHAPTER XXVIII THE ERUPTION OF MONT PELEE To those on board of the _Vendee_ the hours dragged along dismally. Neither Sam nor Darry knew what to do, and Professor Strong was equally perplexed. The only person who was not deeply affected was Hockley. “It’s too bad,” he said to Sam. “But it couldn’t be helped, and we’ve got to make the best of it.” “You have never known what it is to have a real chum, Glummy,” retorted Sam. “If you had one, and he was taken off as Frank and Mark have been, you wouldn’t talk in this fashion. It’s dreadful to think they have been drowned.” “Well, crying about it won’t bring ’em back,” answered the tall youth, unfeelingly. “No, it won’t, but--but I can’t get over it yet--and perhaps I’ll never get over it,” came from Sam, and then he turned away, unwilling to continue the conversation with one so thoroughly unsympathetic. Professor Strong walked the deck constantly. His mind was on the missing boys and on their fathers, whom he expected to meet at St Pierre. What should he tell those parents when they met? He could well imagine their deep grief. And perhaps they would think it had been his fault that they had been washed overboard.