“But isn’t that against the rule of the road?”
Though not a seaman, I had always heard that a vessel in motion is bound to avoid one that is at rest. I knew, moreover, that a steamship was bound to make way for a sailing vessel.
Vassileffsky cursed the rule of the road.
“It will be a question of evidence,” he exclaimed. “My word against a dirty fisherman’s. What do you say?”
I pretended to be thoroughly satisfied. Still, knowing what I did of the Russian character, I had some hope that the Captain was boasting in order to impress me, and that he would not really dare to run down a British vessel within reach of the shores of England.
Our conversation was interrupted by a gun.
As the report died away, a junior officer ran down the companionway, helter-skelter, and burst into the cabin.
“Something’s up, sir,” he cried to his commander. “They are signaling from the Admiral’s ship.”
Vassileffsky darted up the steps and on to the bridge, and I followed.
The Baltic fleet presented a striking spectacle. Every vessel was busily reporting the signals from the flag ship, the launches were dashing to and fro, and there was every sign of bustle and activity.