All around were the green rollers, rising and falling with an oily swell.
Hodge uttered an exclamation of gratification.
"Look!" Merriwell looked in the direction indicated.

Not a fourth of a mile away a dingy fishing-sloop was bobbing along, with her dirty mainsail and jib set, yet seeming to catch no breeze.

Both Merry and Hodge forgot their discomfort, forgot their chilled and benumbed condition, and, lifting themselves as high as they could, shouted for assistance.
There must have been some breeze in the dingy sails, for the vessel was moving athwart the line of their progress, and they were being carried along by the tide.
"Shout again!" said Merriwell, and again they lifted their voices together.
In another direction a steamer could be seen, but those on the steamer evidently did not see the sufferers on the raft.
"I don't believe there is a soul on the sloop!" Bart declared, in a despairing way.
"Well, if she keeps on her course, we'll get so near that perhaps we can swim to her and climb on board." But Bart was wrong.

Hardly had he made the declaration, when a man appeared on deck, accompanied by a shaggy dog.
Merriwell and Hodge renewed their cries to attract his attention.

But the man gave them absolutely no heed.