THE DESERTED STEAMER
The fog had lifted sufficiently to enable the crew of the Puffin to command a radius of vision of about a hundred yards—and within that distance was a steamship, bows on.
By the rule of the road at sea it was her place to give way to the little sailing craft, but she made no effort to do so, neither did she indicate by a blast on her syren which course she was about to take.
"Down helm!" shouted Mr. Grant, knowing that a fore-and-aft rigged vessel will answer more readily with lee than with weather helm.
Round swept the Puffin with an ample margin of safety, for during the manoeuvre the Scoutmaster noticed that the tramp was not making way. She was lying almost broadside on to the wind, with her bows high out of the water.
It struck the Sea Scouts as being a strange state of affairs. The steam-vessel's anchors were hove close up to the hawsepipes, showing that she had not brought up, a thin wisp of fleecy white vapour was issuing from her steampipe; yet her bridge appeared to be deserted.
Then, as the yacht passed to wind'ard the Sea Scouts were quick to notice another peculiarity. The tramp's quarter boats had been lowered hurriedly, as the swaying falls with their lower blocks violently crashing against her sides with every roll of the vessel indicated.
No self-respecting skipper would send away a boat without ordering those of the crew who remained on board to secure the davit gear.
"She's been abandoned," declared Phillips.
"And she's sinking," added Talbot.