“Hallo there!” reported the mate through the skylight; “light right ahead, sir.”
Very lazily he rolled off the sofa, scared puss out of her senses by a rough sweep of his hand, and came up on deck.
“Great Scott!” he growled, “what a night!” Then he took a squint through his night glasses.
“Oh, yes, mister,” he said, “that’s all right. It’s just a small light—a leading mark for the small craft going into the creek there for lime. Fixed white light, I heard of it the day before we left. It’s deep water right up. We’ll go right in, mister, and make a long board of it on the next tack.”
The moon was completely hidden now, and both men hanging over the break of the the poop could see nothing but the bright light right ahead.
“It looks small, sir,” ventured Harper, taking another look through his glasses.
“Didn’t I tell ye it was small? If ye will be for ever—”
Harper still looked steadily through his glasses.
“By the Lord! sir, that looks uncommonly like a line of breakers! There—to port!”
The skipper made one hesitating step forward, and then the truth flashed on him like lightning.