“Port your helm; put her over to the Kent shore,” the Captain ordered with lowered voice.
The vessel came round, and made across to the other bank.
The search-light swept round again, just as the vessel was near the right bank, and the light shone over the deck, lighting up every detail, before it passed on.
“Astern—full speed astern,” roared the Captain down the speaking-tube; “starboard your helm; bring her up on the old course.”
The vessel backed out as the search-light flew back to the place she had occupied, and then swiftly made over to the Essex shore, and at another signal from the bridge darted into the shelter of the night.
Frank could hold himself no longer, but flung open the door, and after groping about in the saloon, found the companion-way to the deck. There was a broad white belt of light on his right, but all around and ahead was darkness, intensified by the brightness so near.
“They’ll find us in a minute,” spoke the Captain, and Frank, turning, saw dimly two figures on a bridge just ahead of two singularly low funnels, from which poured dense volumes of smoke.
The shaft of light played about the further shore, swept out slowly to mid-stream, then swept back again.
“Stand by, Mr Dixon,” said the Captain, down the tube.
The guardship could now be dimly seen behind that glittering eye—a blurr of spars and funnels about a mile up stream.