“Very well, then,” remarked Ryan, with a return to his old, humorous manner that showed how great a relief to him was the appearance of the faint ruddy gleam, “keep your eye upon it, my bhoy, until I give ye a shpell. Mr Dugdale and Oi are now goin’ below to dinner, and if ye lose soight of that loight, bedad I’ll—I’ll keelhaul ye, ye shpalpeen. He’s edgin’ away off the wind, d’ye see, the blagguard! I wouldn’t be surprised if he was to up helm and shquare away before it in a minute or two, hopin’ to run us out of soight before the moon rises, so don’t let your oye go off that light for a single inshtant if ye value your shkin. Keep her away a bit”—to the man at the helm—“let her go off a point! So! steady as you go! There, Masther Freddy, the light is right forninst your jib-boom end now. Mind that ye kape it there. We’re certainly gaining on her.” And, patting the lad affectionately on the shoulder, the warm-hearted Irishman turned and beckoned me to follow him down into the cabin.
We had been below about half-an-hour, and were getting well forward with our dinner, when we heard the voices of Pierrepoint and the quarter-master in earnest conversation over the open skylight, and an occasional word or two that reached us seemed to indicate that they were in doubt about something. We both pricked up our ears a little; and presently we heard Pierrepoint ejaculate in a tone of impatience and with a stamp of his foot on the deck—
“I’ll be shot if I can understand it at all, Somers; I shall call the captain.”
“I really think I would, sir, if I was you. I don’t believe that’s the barque at all; it’s some circumwenting trick that they’ve been playing us, that’s my opinion!”
At this Ryan started to his feet and, hailing through the skylight, asked—
“What is the matter, Mr Pierrepoint; have you lost sight of the light?”
“No, sir,” answered poor Freddy, in a tone of distress; “the light is still straight ahead of us, and we seem to be nearing it fast, but I can’t make out anything like the loom of the sails or hull of the barque, and if she is there I think we ought to see her by this time. The red light shows quite plainly in the glass.”
“I will join you on deck and have a look at it,” exclaimed Ryan; and, rising from the table, he sprang up the companion-ladder three steps at a time, I following close at his heels.
Yes; there was the light, sure enough, right ahead of us; and a glance aloft as well as the feel of the breeze on our faces told us in an instant that the schooner had been further kept away, and was now running well off the wind, although the change had been so gradual that we had not noticed it while sitting in the cabin. Ryan took the glass from Pierrepoint and brought it to bear on the light.
“Yes,” he remarked, with the telescope still at his eye, “that is the light, beyond a doubt; but, as you say, Mr Pierrepoint, I can see no sign of the barque herself. Yet she must be there, for that light is obviously moving, and I observe that you have, very properly, kept away to follow it. Surely,” he continued, with an accent of impatience and perplexity, “we have not been following some other craft that has hove above the horizon since the darkness set in? And, even so, I can see nothing of the craft herself. Obviously, however, we are nearing the light—whatever it is—fast, for I can see it quite distinctly in the glass, I even fancy that I can see it rising and falling. Take the glass, Dugdale, and tell me what you can make of it.”