And then a minute later:
“Yes, sir. I see somebody standing up and waving. It’s—it’s a woman, sir.”
“Jove,” exclaimed Mr. Metcalf, who had the watch. “Schultz, call the captain. Tell him there’s a boat with a woman castaway on board ahead of us.”
“Aye, aye,” cried the old quartermaster, and hurried off on the errand, leaving the wheel to his mate; for on such a night the ship could be steered almost by a boy.
The captain hastened to the bridge in his pajamas and bath-robe.
“A boat, eh, Metcalf?” he said.
“Yes, sir. A ship’s boat, by the looks of her.”
“Order the engines slowed down. Schultz, get the after cutter ready for clearing away.”
The old quartermaster’s whistle sang out shrilly, and the watch jumped aft, alert for anything that was in the wind. Like magic, word had flown among the crew of the discovery of the tiny derelict.
“The land’s not more than two hundred miles off,” said Metcalf. “It’s possible they’ve drifted out to sea.”