distress, and I'm not going to do so now. We're
on the right course to overhaul her, now, I think, eh, Haldane?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I hope, though, we won't pass her in the fog,
sir, or run into her, perhaps."

"No fear of that, my boy: The fog is lifting now and the night will soon
be as clear as a bell, for the wind is driving all the mists away.
Besides, we'll take precautions against any accident happening. Mr
Fosset?"

"Aye, aye, sir?"

"Put a couple of lookouts on the fo'c's'le."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Perhaps, too, we'd better send up a rocket to let 'em know we're about.
Mr Spokeshave? Mr Spokeshave?"

No answer came this time, however, from my friend, Master "Conky,"
though he had been ready enough just now with his aggravating "quite
so."

"I think, sir," said I, "Mr Spokeshave has gone below to his tea."

"Very likely," replied the skipper drily; "he's precious fond of his
breadbasket, that young gentleman. I don't think he'll ever starve
where there's any grub knocking about. Fancy a fellow, calling himself
a man, thinking of his belly at such a moment! Go, Haldane, and call
him up again and tell him I want him."

I started to obey Captain Applegarth's order, but I had hardly got three
steps down the ladder when Spokeshave saved me further trouble by coming
up on the bridge again of his own accord, without waiting to be
summoned.

The skipper, therefore, gave him instructions to let off, every quarter
of an hour, a couple of signal rockets and burn a blue light or two over
our port and starboard quarter alternately as we proceeded towards the
object of our quest.

"All right, sir; quite so!" said "Conky," as well as he could
articulate, his mouth being full of something he had hurriedly snatched
from the steward's pantry when he had gone below, and brought up with
him to eat on deck, knowing that the skipper would be sure to sing out
for him if he remained long away at so critical a juncture. "All right,
sir; quite so!"

The skipper laughed as he went down again to get the rockets and blue
lights which were kept in a spare cabin aft for safety.

"He's a rum chap, that little beggar," he observed to Mr Fosset, who
had been forward to set the look-out men on the forecastle and had
returned to the bridge. "I think if you told him he was the laziest
loafer that ever ate lobscouse, he couldn't help saying `Quite so!'"

"You're about right, sir. I think, though, he can't help it; h