The vessel had not come to a stop, before orders were hurriedly given to let go the anchor. The narrow escape had decided Captain Marshall that it would not be safe to proceed, and, as there was good holding ground not far from the rocks, he determined to lay-to until the fog lifted.
From the pilot-house came the captain, Mr. Weatherby, and Andy Simmon. The pilot was very much excited.
"Those were false lights, or else something is out of order with the machinery," he exclaimed. "The light on the point flashes once every five seconds. The next light, beyond the point, flashes once every fifteen seconds. This light flashed once every fifteen seconds, for Andy and I both kept count."
"That's right," said the assistant.
"And I calculated by that," went on the pilot, "that we were beyond the point, for I couldn't see anything but the light, and I had to go by that. I was on the right course, if that light was the one beyond the point, but naturally on the wrong one if that was the point light."
"And it was the point light," said the captain solemnly.
"It was, Mr. Marshall, and only for the lookout we would now be on the rocks."
"I can't blame you for the narrow escape we had," went on the commander. "Still——"
"Of course you can't blame me!" exclaimed the pilot, as though provoked that any such suspicion should rest on him. "I was steering right, according to the lights. There is something wrong with them. The lights were false. Whether they have been deliberately changed, or whether the machinery is at fault is something that will have to be found out. It isn't safe to proceed until morning."
"And that will delay me several hours," grumbled Mr. Marshall.