"I'm afraid she's coming too near for comfort," said Jim, anxiously. "She might run us down and never know it. Lots of fishermen have gone that way. Ship that oar in the scull-hole. I'm going to haul in the drug."
He lifted the trawl-tub aboard and sprang quickly aft.
"We'll know pretty quick whether she's likely to pass ahead or astern. We can't count on being seen. We've got to look out for ourselves."
Freed from its floating anchor, the dory bobbed wildly. Wielding his oar skilfully, Spurling held her bow to the north, ready to scull for the last inch, or to let her drop back, as the approach of the steamer might make it advisable.
Closer and closer came the big boat; her lights oscillated with pendulum-like regularity as she rolled on the heavy seas.
"She'll pass astern," was Jim's verdict. "Won't do to drift in front of her."
He sculled strongly, keeping an anxious eye on the threatening monster. Percy's hair bristled.
"Harder, Jim!" he shouted. "She's going to run us down! Steamer ahoy! Keep off! Keep off!"
The rushing foam smothered his cries. Meanwhile Spurling worked like a steam-engine. Two lives hung on his oar-blade.
As the knife-like stem sheared past, close astern, the green eye disappeared; the red glared menacingly down from the huge bulk looming overhead. Then the lofty black side swept by, flashing an occasional ray from a lighted port-hole. The screw gave them a sickening moment, but they soon tossed safely astern, breathing hard, eyes on the dwindling leviathan, wallowing westward.