Her preparations had all been made beforehand; and without losing another moment, she and the Captain, with Bob and Nellie behind them, started off, Dick, who had been taken care of meanwhile by Sarah in the kitchen, bringing up the rear with a substantial-looking hamper on his shoulder.
Almost breathless, alike from excitement and their rapid pace, they made their way seawards, to where the Bembridge Belle was blowing off her steam alongside the pier, sounding her whistle to tell belated passengers like themselves that they had better put their best foot foremost if they wished to reach her in time.
“All aboard?” inquired the captain of the steamer from his post on the port paddle-box, hailing the porter of the pier ashore, when they, the very last of the late-comers, had scrambled across the gangway; and the porter having signified that no one now was in sight, the blue-capped gentleman standing on the paddle-box touched the engine-room telegraph, and gave the signal to “Go ahead!”
In another minute, the fore and aft hawsers that had previously made her fast to the pier were cast-off, and her paddles began to revolve with a heavy splashing sound, like that of flails in a farmyard threshing out the grain.
“Starboard!” sang out her skipper, now mounting from the paddle-box to the bridge above. “Hard over, my man!”
“Starboard it is, sir,” replied the helmsman, rapidly twirling the spokes of the wheel as he spoke. “It’s right over, sir.”
“Steady!” now sang out the skipper, meaning that the vessel’s head had been sufficiently turned in the direction he desired. “Steady; keep her so.”
“Steady it is, sir,” repeated the man at the wheel like a parrot, to show that the order had been understood and acted upon. “Steady it is.”
“Port a trifle now.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” returned the helmsman, reversing the wheel. “Port it is, sir; two points over.”