“It grows louder!” cried the boatswain. “Mr. Royle, bend your bull’s-eye lamp to the end o’ one o’ the oars and swing it about, while I dip this masthead lantern.”
Very different was his manner now from what it had been that morning when the Russian hove in sight.
I lashed the lamp by the ring of it to an oar and waved it to and fro. Meanwhile the boatswain had got hold of the masthead halyards, and was running the big ship’s lantern up and down the mast.
“Mary,” I exclaimed, “lift up the seat behind you, and in the left-hand corner you will find a pistol.”
“I have it,” she answered, in a few moments.
“Point it over the stern and fire!” I cried.
She levelled the little weapon and pulled the trigger; the white flame leaped, and a smart report followed.
“Listen now!” I said.
I held the oar steady, and the boatswain ceased to dance the lantern. For the first few seconds I heard nothing, then my ear caught the throbbing sound.
“I see her!” cried the boatswain; and, following his finger (my sight being keener than my hearing), I saw not only the shadow of a vessel down in the south-west, but the smoke from her funnel pouring along the stars.