“Stern will go over a buoy,” warned Mr. Adams, as he glanced back before returning to the bridge.
“Hard aport!” commanded the skipper, stepping to a spot whence he could watch the light on the spar-buoy aft.
“Hard aport!” came the confirmation.
“Three fathoms, lacking an inch!” called the mate, who, in view of the danger of grounding astern, was again heaving the lead.
“Starboard, three points!” yelled the captain, adding to himself, “Plague take that current, it’s liable to drive me on yet.”
With a quickness that was remarkable, considering her size, the Admiral responded to her tiller, and again her nose swung away from the shore of the channel.
As he noted the fact, the skipper once more called for full speed, but this time ahead.
“They can fine me for exceeding the speed limit for this river if they want to, but I’m not going to run the danger of swinging across the channel, bow and stern on, just for lack of a little speed,” he declared.
No further manœuvring was necessary, however, to negotiate the surprisingly sharp turn, and when he was clear, the skipper checked his speed.
“What are those things along the Michigan side, Captain? They look like cabins. I’ve noticed several of them,” said Phil, pointing to dark masses that stood out from the rest of the shore line.