“Luff it is, sir,” rejoined the helmsman, rapidly turning round the spokes of the little steam steering wheel. “It’s hard over now, sir.”
“Steady there,” next sang out the captain. “Steady, my man!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” repeated the parrot-like Tom Parrell, bringing the helm amidships again. “Steady it is!”
“By George, we’re nearing the boat fast!” cried the skipper after another short pause, during which we had been going ahead full speed, with a quick “thump-thump, thump-thump” of the propeller and the water foaming past our bows. “Starboard, Parrell! Starboard a bit now!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came again the helmsman’s answering cry from the wheel-house. “Starboard it is, sir!”
“Keep her so. A trifle more off. Steady!”
“Steady it is, sir!”
“Now down with it, Parrell!” sang out the skipper, bringing his hand instanter on the handle of the engine-room gong, which he sounded twice, directing those in charge below to reduce speed, while he hailed old Masters on the fo’c’s’le. “Hi, bo’sun! Look-out there forrad with your rope’s end to heave to the poor fellows! We’re just coming alongside the boat.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” replied Masters promptly, keeping one eye on the skipper on the bridge and the other directed to the little craft we were approaching, and now close to our port bow. “We’re all ready forrad, sir. Mind you don’t run her down, sir. She’s nearly under our forefoot.”
“All right, bo’sun,” returned the skipper. “Port, Parrell!”