But just in the 'twixt and 'tween of earliest dawn, when the grey ghost of day walked in the east, a man up aloft sang out with startling energy:
"Two dark rocks right ahead, sir."
The main-deck hummed suddenly, and a patter of bare feet told that the entire crew had run for the foc'sle head. The skipper nipped into the mizzen rigging quick as a chipmunk.
"Keep her away a point or two," he cried.
"Away a point or two, sir," echoed the helmsman.
"I see 'em, Mr. Green," yelled the old chap; "and just where I figured them out to be. There'll be three, there'll be three."
He paused and looked down on Green.
"But—but two will do me," he added cautiously. "I never pinned my faith to three."
Green climbed alongside him, and even a bit higher.
"Lord, sir, they're boats," he cried.