I look to the left where the lights of the lighthouse are supposed to be, borrow the captain’s glasses, but see nothing.... Half an hour passes, then an hour. The mast sways regularly, the devils creak, the wind makes dashes at my cap.... It is not pitch dark, but one feels uneasy.
Suddenly the captain dashes off somewhere to the rear of the ship, crying, “You devil’s doll!”
“To the left,” he shouts anxiously at the top of his voice. “To the left! ... To the right! A-va-va-a!”
Incomprehensible words of command are heard. The steamer starts, the devils give a creak.... “A-va-va!” shouts the captain; at the bows a bell is rung, on the black deck there are sounds of running, knocking, cries of anxiety.... The Dir starts once more, puffs painfully, and apparently tries to move backwards.
“What is it?” I ask, and feel something like a faint terror. There is no answer.
“He’d like a collision, the devil’s doll!” I hear the captain’s harsh shout. “To the left!”
Red lights appear in front, and suddenly among the uproar is heard the whistling, not of the Dir, but of some other steamer.... Now I understand it: there is going to be a collision! The Dir puffs, trembles, and does not move, as though waiting for a signal to go down.... But just when I think all is lost, the red lights appear on the left of us, and the dark silhouette of a steamer can be discerned.... A long black body sails past us, guiltily blinks its red eyes, and gives a guilty whistle....
“Oof! What steamer is it?” I ask the captain.
The captain looks at the silhouette through his glasses and replies:
“It is the Tweedie.”