They leant over the rail and peered into the night. The drowsy air throbbed to the measured beat of the engines, but they scarcely noticed that accustomed sound.
"There it is again."
"Yes. I heard something like a sheep bleating."
"Would a sheep be swimming out here, you ass?"
"The shark's off—look!" and they saw a streak of fire shoot forward.
"And there goes another. By Jove, they must have heard the cry!"
"I'm sorry for the sheep then," muttered Compton.
They bent far forward, listening intently, and following the course taken by the sharks as defined by the gleaming wake. The leadsman swung out the sounder as the vessel slackened down with a yell from the escape-valve that drowned all other sounds with its deafening clamour.
"By the deep nine!" cried a bass voice.
The bell in the engine-room signaled the skipper's order, and the ship felt her way once more. Again there was silence, save for the throb of the engines and the grating of the steering-chain at intervals.