"Four-masted schooner, sir," called Sam Hickey from his elevated position beside the searchlight.
"All sticks standing?"
"No, sir."
"No, she has only two poles standing now, sir," spoke up the executive officer. "She seems to be in a bad way."
"Steady her," commanded the captain.
"She's steady," answered the quartermaster at the wheel of the battleship.
"Slow both engines ahead."
The "Long Island" was rolling more heavily than before, now and then giving a violent lurch, forcing every person on deck to cling to whatever support was nearest to him. Otherwise men might have been hurled overboard and lost in the tumbling sea.
By this time the schooner was fairly well outlined by the battleship's searchlight, but the lookouts were unable to make out any signs of life on board the distressed ship. They felt sure, however, that the schooner was on its last legs, and that it was a question of moments, perhaps, before she would take her final plunge.
"All depends upon what she is loaded with, as to how long she lasts," decided the captain of the battleship.