"Down goes his ensign; up goes the code pennant. He wants to signal. Come up here, boys," called Poop-deck; "give me a hand."
As the six men climbed the steps, he pulled out the corresponding code signal from the locker, and ran it up on the other part of the halyards as the ensign fluttered down. "Go down, one of you," he said, "and get the signal-book and shipping-list. He'll show his number next. Get ours ready—R. L. F. T."
While a man sprang below for the books named, the others hooked together the signal-flags forming the ship's number, and Poop-deck resumed the glasses.
"Q. T. F. N.," he exclaimed. "Look it up."
The books had arrived, and while one lowered and hoisted again the code signal, which was also the answering pennant, the others pored over the shipping-list.
"Steamer Aldebaran of New York," they said.
The pennant came down, and the ship's number went up to the gaff.
"H. V.," called Poop-deck, as he scanned two flags now flying from the steamer's truck. "What does that say?"
"Damaged rudder—cannot steer," they answered.
"Pull down the number and show the answering pennant again," said Poop-deck; "and let me see that signal-book." He turned the leaves, studied a page for a moment, then said: "Run up H. V. R. That says, 'What do you want?' and that's the nearest thing to it."