Billy was up a stump. What to reply he had no idea.
"It's off our bow," he hailed back; "but I don't know if you call it port or starboard."
Steadying himself by one of the foremast stays, Ben Stubbs sprang on to the cabin roof.
"Steamer on the port bow," he hailed, "looks like a Mallory liner."
And a Mallory liner it was.
As the boys drew nearer they gazed entranced at the fine spectacle the huge black hull made as she rushed through the rolling Gulf waters, her bow piling up a huge creamy wave as she cut her way. Her passengers lined her rail and waved madly at the tiny Bolo, rolling and plunging about in the waves that did not even rock the big liner. The boys for their part waved with all their might and Billy blew a blast on the foghorn.
"Aft there—aft and dip your colors!" shouted Bluewater Bill.
Ben Stubbs scrambled to the stern and dipped the flag again and again as the big black craft rushed on, without, however, noticing the courtesy of the small boat. As she sped by the boys spied her name, Brazos, in big gilt letters on her stern.
"I wish we could go as fast as that," remarked Billy, as the big steamer rapidly dwindled and finally passed out of sight, leaving only a black pall of smoke to show that she had passed.
"We are doing well enough," remarked Bluewater Bill, gazing back at the Bolo's wake.