“Jed, take a forward watch, at port side,” called the young skipper. “Mr. Moddridge, do you mind keeping a lookout at starboard?”
The nervous one stationed himself on the side indicated, not far from the young helmsman.
“Something has happened to Frank! I know it, I know it!” muttered Eben Moddridge, in deep agitation. “Oh, why did I sleep so late? Why didn’t I keep an eye open to watch that reckless fellow? But he’ll never consent to be governed by me.”
Tom, though he said nothing, smiled a bit grimly, at thought of what it would be like for one to be ruled by Eben Moddridge.
At first, despite the growing fog, the searchers could see for a few hundred feet to either side of them. This gradually narrowed down to two hundred feet, or so, at the inlet. A little further out they could make nothing out distinctly at a distance greater than sixty feet Captain Halstead sounded the whistle frequently, now.
“Stop the boat!” yelled Eben Moddridge, frantically, after a while, as he peered ahead at starboard. “Don’t you see it? Don’t you see that?”
He was pointing, jumping up and down, staring wildly. Tom caught sight of the object, too. He did not stop the boat, but slackened her speed down to little more than bare headway, throwing the helm hard over and bringing the boat’s nose sharply around to starboard.
“Jed, a boat-hook!” shouted the young skipper. “Be ready to make fast as soon as we get alongside.”
Joe Dawson sprang up from the engine room for a brief look. No wonder he started, for the “Rocket” was slowly, cumbrously, describing a circle around an object that proved to be the port boat, bobbing up and down on the light waves. The small boat was keel up. Eben Moddridge, as he stared at it, became speechless from dread and terror.