Impeded by the drag of her gear and the additional resistance offered by the fishing smack, the Marie-Celeste simply would not answer to her helm.
The crew, beginning to realise that they had caught a Tartar, were frantic with rage.
"Keep on a-signalling," ordered Old Negus. "Happen you can't see no light ashore?"
Brandon had to confess that up to the present his signals were unanswered.
Just then the Marie-Celeste's engine-room telegraph bell clanged. After a brief interval her propeller ceased to revolve. Quickly she lost way.
The Frolic, still holding on, decreased her distance to about fifty yards.
"What——?" began the Patrol-leader, but Old Negus held up his hand.
"Listen!" he exclaimed.
They could hear unmistakable sounds of a boat being swung out from the Belgian drifter. The squeaking of the davits as they were turned outboard, the rattle of the fall-blocks and the clatter of oars being shifted as one of the men fumbled for the plug, told their own tale.
"Boy!" exclaimed Old Negus. "Me an' you's going to make a fight for it."