“Slowed down to six, sir,” replied young Halstead, punctuating his reply by sounding the auto whistle.
“That’s a wise speed, captain,” nodded the owner. “I haven’t been in as thick a fog as this all season.”
“Are you going to stay here a little while, sir?” queried Tom.
“Why? Anything I can do for you?”
“You might sound the whistle, every thirty seconds, sir, if you will. That will give me a much better chance to pay heed to the lookouts.”
“All right, captain,” laughed the owner, drawing out a handsome watch. “If I make the intervals forty, instead of thirty seconds, put me in irons as soon as you like.”
Captain Tom smiled, but made no other reply. All the young sailing master’s attention was centered on the work in hand. There is nothing at all like play about handling a sixty-foot craft in such a fog. As the incident just closed had shown, there are other lives than those of one’s own sailing party that are at stake in a possible collision in the fog.
“Are you going to try to keep out in this fog, sir?” asked Halstead, some two minutes later.
“Yes,” came the owner’s decisive answer. “Though Moddridge doesn’t appear to think so, it is well worth while to risk big stakes on a meeting with the big ‘Kaiser Wilhelm.’ It may be worth a small fortune to me.”
“There are times when money doesn’t mean much to me,” put in Eben Moddridge, who had followed his friend up to the bridge deck, which, on the “Rocket,” instead of being forward, was somewhat abaft of amidships.