uiding voice in the mists
ahead.

"Better use the pelorus and be careful about West Chop's bearing after
we pass her, Mr. Bangs," Captain Mayo warned his first mate.

As a sailor well knows, the bearing of West Chop gives the compass
direction for passage between the shoals known as Hedge Fence and Squash
Meadow--a ten-mile run to Cross Rip Lightship. In a fog it is vitally
important to have West Chop exact to the eighth of a point.

Fogg was glad that he was alone where he sat. He trembled so violently
that he set an unlighted cigar between his teeth to keep them from
rattling together.

The mate was outlined against the window, his eyes on the instrument,
his ear cocked. Every half-minute West Chop's whistle hooted.

"Right, sir!" the mate reported at last, speaking briskly. "I make it
west by nothe, five-eighths nothe."

Fogg rose and half staggered forward, taking a position just to the left
of the wheel and compass.

"East by south, five-eighths south," the captain directed the helmsman.
"Careful attention, sir. Tide is flood, four knots. Make the course
good!"

The quartermaster repeated and twirled his wheel for the usual number of
revolutions to allow a three-points change.

Captain Mayo stepped back and glanced at the compass to make certain
that his helmsman was finding his course properly. "What in tophet's
name is the matter with you, man?" he shouted. "Bring this ship around!
Bring her around!" He grabbed the wheel and spun it. "You're slower than
the devil drawing molasses," raged Mayo, forgetting his dignity.

"She must have yawed," protested the man. "I had her on her course, sir.
I supposed I had her over."

"You are not to suppose. You are to keep your eyes on that compass card
and move quicker when I give an order."

The helmsman's eyes bulged as he stared at the compass. While he
had winked his eyes, so it seemed to him, the true course had fairly
straddled away from the lubber line.

In his frantic haste Captain Mayo put her over too far. He helped
the man set her on the right course. Then he signaled half speed. The
devious and the narrow paths were ahead of them..

"That's an almighty funny jump the old dame made then," pondered the
quartermaster. But he was too well trained to argue with a captain. He
accepted the fault as his own, and now that she was on her course, he
held her there doggedly.

Even the _Montana's_ half speed was a respectable gait, and the silent
crew in her