"Negus!" he shouted. "There's a steamer coming towards us."
The old man emerged from the fo'c'sle and peered into the darkness.
"Oh—ay!" he exclaimed. "Sure she be. There she be, broad on our starboard beam. No lights nor nothin'."
Brandon looked but could see nothing. Usually quick at seeing things he was now hopelessly beaten by the eyes of the ancient fisherman.
Snatching up a lantern from the fo'c'sle, Negus waved it above his head. It was just possible that the Frolic's green light might not be visible to the look-out on board the approaching steamer. Unless the watch on board were asleep they could hardly fail to notice the waving white light.
"What be them up to?" exclaimed Old Negus querulously. "They'll be atop o' we in a brace o' shakes."
Brandon could now discern the misty outlines of the vessel. She was very nearly bows-on, a ghostly mass gliding slowly through the water without showing the faintest glimmer.
"Ahoy!" bawled Negus, waving the lantern with increased vigour.
"She's altering helm," announced Brandon, who in his anxiety had allowed the Frolic to come up a good four points.
"But our nets!" ejaculated Old Negus. "Up helm."