The gale was giving promise of lessening. The wind had died down with the coming of the sun, but the seas were still running high. Nothing had been done to increase the spread of canvas, and the old frigate lurched along at a reduced speed.
“I would give a great deal to learn what ship that is, and the meaning of those horrible cries,” said Captain Brookes, gravely. “There’s some mystery about it.”
“She looks like an old-time lightship,” spoke up the executive officer, working his spyglass.
“Hardly of this century though,” remarked the surgeon, who was a student of naval architecture from choice. “See! the mist is clearing now. The sun is shining on her. By Jove, what a queer-looking craft she is.”
“I’ve a notion,” began the captain, reflectively.
Standing at a respectful distance, but within earshot, were Clif and his companions. They edged eagerly toward the group of officers, and Faraday’s intelligent face lighted up with excitement and keen anticipation.
“He’s going to send a boat,” he whispered to Trolley. “If he does I’ll be one of the crew or break a leg.”
“Me, too,” chattered the Japanese youth. “I no miss that for——”
“I have a notion, gentlemen,” repeated the captain, “to send over there and investigate.”
“It’s our duty, sir,” said Lieutenant Watson, emphatically. “If you say the word, sir, I will take a boat now.”