"Some sort of disaster, I'm afraid," replied the Scoutmaster. "A small tramp in distress."
"Why small, sir?" asked Woodleigh.
"Because she used her syren to signal in Morse instead of using the wireless S.O.S. All large ships, and many small ones, have wireless installation. It's compulsory for large ships. Hence it is safe to assume that the appeal emanated from a small steam vessel; a sailing ship would use a fog-horn worked by air, or perhaps a Klaxon horn. There it is again. Nearer now. Reply, Hepburn, FGI—I will assist you."
Roche went below, in readiness to work the clutches should the deck controls fail. Mr. Armitage stood just outside the wheel-house, in order to give directions to Stratton at the helm, while the rest of the crew stood by with heaving-lines and fenders, in case they had to run alongside the distressed vessel.
They could now hear the hiss of escaping steam and distinguish the strident tones of someone giving orders.
"'Stern both engines!" ordered Mr. Armitage. "Hard-a-port!"
The Rosalie swung round just in time to avoid collision with a towering wall of iron, looming suddenly on them out of the fog.
A rift in the mist revealed the presence of a tramp well down by the head, and with such a great amount of damage to her bows that it appeared impossible for her to keep afloat.
"Ahoy!" hailed the same loud-voiced man. "Can you take us in tow?"
A series of hurried questions resulted in the information that the tramp was the S.S. Pen-y-coote, bound from Christiana for Bristol with timber. In the fog she had collided with, or rather—as her "Old Man" was careful to state—had been run into by, an unknown vessel somewhere between St. Catherine's and the Shingles.