"Run for the captain's quarters. Tell his orderly we have sighted green rockets off the starboard bow. We have made out no other lights, but there is a ship in trouble off there."
The messenger saluted and was away in a twinkling, racing along the slippery superstructure, guided only by his knowledge of the ship, for he could not see a half dozen feet ahead of him.
The word was passed to the commanding officer by the latter's orderly, and in an incredibly short time the captain emerged from his cabin, fully clothed, his uniform covered by shining black rainclothes.
He quickly made his way to the navigator's bridge, arriving there only a few minutes behind the messenger.
"What's this, Mr. Brant?" he demanded sharply in the ear of the watch officer.
"Signal rockets, sir."
"You are sure of this!"
"Yes, sir. Half a dozen men aloft have sighted them. I saw one flash myself."
"Where away?"
"Four points off the starboard bow the last time we sighted the light, sir."