“See anything?” queried the skipper’s voice, its tone indicating the tension under which he was, as there came an instant’s lull in the riot of siren screeches and whistles.
“Thought I saw something off the port bow a minute ago,” responded a voice which neither of the boys could identify, then it added: “But I can’t see it now.”
“How about lying to?” suggested the first mate.
“Don’t dare to,” replied the captain. “Those other boats are so close, I’ve simply got to have steerage way. She’s checked to quarter speed now.”
“Wireless! Wireless!” shouted another voice. “The Prescott wants to know our course and position. She’s East by North, half East, off Moose Point.”
“At the wheel, there! What’s our course?” demanded the skipper.
“North by East, half North,” answered the wheelsman.
“Same course,” snapped Captain Perkins. “Mr. Adams, where do you think we are?”
When word of the request had been announced, the first mate had darted below to the pilot house and was scanning the log-book.
“According to our speed and the last bearing entered, we ought to be off Moose Point,” he called to the skipper.