Captain Wilson stood on the bridge of the yacht, peering into the darkness. All night he had kept watch, unwilling to leave his post on deck as long as Russian waters lapped around the vessel committed to his care. When, with eight bells in the morning watch, there came a lightening of the sky, he turned to the first officer.
“The dawn’s breaking, Jackson,” he said, “and I think I’ll turn in. We’ve got through the night safe and that’s more’n I expected.”
“What did you think was due to happen, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I felt something brooding. My mother was Scotch and had second sight, and I can generally tell when something’s due to come off. But I guess I missed it this time. There comes the sun, and nothing’s doing.”
“Sail O!” The forward lookout had hailed.
“Where away?”
“Dead ahead, sir.”
Captain Wilson lifted his glasses and stared forward across the brightening water. After a moment he turned to his companion.
“Can you make her out?” he asked, in a curious tone.
“Only a fishing boat, I should judge, sir.”