“I say, look here, Chubb,” cried the doctor. “Shall I have to move?”
“Oh no, sir; we shan’t shoot you,” replied the skipper grimly. “You’ll be safe enough, unless the long gun bursts. But she’s too new and strong for that. Here you are, Cross. Make that into four charges.”
The speaker was in the act of passing the canister to the man, when the look-out man from forward suddenly shouted—
“Sail ho!”
“Where away?” cried the captain. “About five points off the starboard bow, sir. Leastwise, sir, it aren’t a sail. It’s a big boat, bottom upwards and just awash.”
“Stop a minute,” cried Rodd. “I’ll fetch our glass.”
“Bring mine too, my lad,” cried the captain, and Rodd raised his hand in token of his having heard the order, as he dashed to the cabin hatch, to return directly after and find that his uncle was forward along with the skipper scanning the object about a quarter of a mile away.
“Catch hold, uncle,” cried Rodd, and he held out the telescope with one hand, and the captain’s big mahogany tubed spy-glass, decorated with coloured flags, with the other.
“No, focus it and use it yourself, boy. I’ll have a look afterwards.”
Rodd raised the glass at once to his eye, but by this time the skipper had caught the object, and began to growl remarks.