Suddenly, from the lookout in the crow’s nest came a shout sharp and clear.
“Something dead ahead, sir,” was the reply to the inquiring hail from the bridge.
“Can you make it out?”
“Not yet, sir. It’s two points on the starboard bow.”
From the bridge night-glasses were leveled, but the eyes in the crow’s nest made out the nature of the drifting object on the moonlit sea first.
“It’s a boat, sir.”
“A boat?”
“Aye, aye, sir. Looks like a ship’s boat.”
“Anybody aboard?”
“Can’t just make out yet, sir.”