Every now and then he put his ear to the submarine-signal receiver. At last he heard the faint, far throb of the Sow and Pigs submarine bell—seven strokes, with the four seconds' interval, then the seven strokes repeated.
A bit later he got, sweet and low as an elfland horn, the lightship's chime whistle. It was dead ahead, which was not exactly to his calculation. The tide set had served stronger than he had reckoned. He ordered the helmsman to ease her off a half-point, in order to make safe offing for the turn into Vineyard Sound.
Well up in the sound the bell of Tarpaulin Cove reassured him, and after a time he heard the unmistakable blast of the great reed horn of Nobska uttering its triple hoot like a giant owl perched somewhere in the mists.
“Nobska,” said the mate. “We are certainly coming on, sir.”
“Nobly,” agreed Captain Mayo, allowing himself a moment of jubilation, even though the dreaded shoals were ahead.
“Are you going to keep this speed across the shoals, Captain Mayo?” asked the general manager, displaying real deference.
“No, sir!” stated the captain with decision, bracing himself to give Mr. Fogg a sharp word or two if that gentleman advanced any more of his “business man's reasons” for speed. “It would not be showing due care.”
“I'm glad to hear you say that,” affirmed Mr. Fogg, heartily. “It may be a little out of place, right now, but I want you to know that I feel that I have picked out just the right man to command this ship. I'm glad of a chance to say this where your mates can hear me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fogg,” returned the young man, gratefully. “This is a soul-racking job, and I'm glad you are here to see what we are up against. I don't feel that we'll be wasting much time in crossing the shoals if we go carefully. We can let her out after we swing east of Monomoy. She's a grand old packet.”
In the gloom Fogg ran his fingers gingerly over the outside of his coat to make sure that the strip of metal was in its place.