Ere the last words were uttered, the mate had stepped onto a plank projecting from the bridge, picked up a long line to which bits of red and white bunting were alternately attached at regular intervals, with a slug of lead at the end, and, with a preliminary swing, shot it into the water well toward the bow of the boat, then hauled it aboard rapidly as the vessel came abreast of him.
“Three fathoms and a foot!” he cried. “Starboard your helm, hard over!” roared the captain, springing toward the opening which communicated with the wheelsman in the pilot house below.
“Starboard your helm, hard over!” repeated the wheelsman, in accordance with ship’s custom.
Again the first mate heaved the lead.
“Three fathoms, lacking two inches!” he called.
“Hold your helm hard over!” snapped the skipper, and, as the repetition came to him, he pressed a button for full speed astern.
As the electricity carried the command to the indicator in the engine room, the terrific churning of the water as the propellers whirled in reversed motion broke the stillness of the evening air, the boat quivered, then began to back.
“Three fathoms and seven inches,” announced the mate.
“Close work,” muttered Captain Perkins to himself, as he pressed another button for quarter speed ahead.
Farther and farther the Admiral’s bow swung to starboard as the wheelsman held the wheel over hard, and the mate’s next announcement of three fathoms and a half told them that the boat was once again in the channel.