“We’ll never find ’em, never! We’re only getting further off! Will she never turn round? We’re miles away now! Why don’t they steer straight for where they are?”
“I wish I had my hands on that wheel, I’d yank her around in a jiffy.” This critic was judging by a cruise he had made in a cat-boat on Barnegat Bay.
“I hope they’ve got them preservers hitched up high,” quoth a kind, thoughtful old dame, wearing a knitted hood and shawl crosswise. “It’s awful important not to be top-heavy in the sea, nor to swallow too much water; it’s awful salt, you know”—this kind suggestion the result of experience in a surf bath at Atlantic City.
The boatswain’s whiskers surrounded a capacious grin as he listened to this sagacious advice, while at the same time he was watching the great semicircle of foam change to a horseshoe curve, the two ends converging toward a point in the open. He took a shy glance towards the bridge, observing what was going on there, and then called out:
“Keep a lookout for’ard! Who’s got the best eyes?”
All strained their necks to catch a glimpse ahead.
The vessel had by this time veered and was ploughing back in a direct course. Suddenly a beam of light shot out from above the bridge, illuminating far ahead, penetrating the moonlight, making objects on the surface distinctly visible.
“The search light! The search light!” and a burst of cheers went forth loud enough to be heard a long distance.
“Give ’em another, boatswain!” exclaimed the Barnegat critic.
“Those fellows ain’t deaf, give ’em another, boatswain!” This from the thoughtful hood and shawl.