Carter told his bowman to haul up closer and hailed: 

“Brig ahoy.  Anything wrong?”

He waited, listening.  The shadowy man still watched.  After some time a curt “No” came back in answer.

“Are you going to keep hove-to long?” shouted Carter.

“Don’t know.  Not long.  Drop your boat clear of the ship.  Drop clear.  Do damage if you don’t.”

“Slack away, John!” said Carter in a resigned tone to the elderly seaman in the bow.  “Slack away and let us ride easy to the full scope.  They don’t seem very talkative on board there.”

Even while he was speaking the line ran out and the regular undulations of the passing seas drove the boat away from the brig.  Carter turned a little in his seat to look at the land.  It loomed up dead to leeward like a lofty and irregular cone only a mile or a mile and a half distant.  The noise of the surf beating upon its base was heard against the wind in measured detonations.  The fatigue of many days spent in the boat asserted itself above the restlessness of Carter’s thoughts and, gradually, he lost the notion of the passing time without altogether losing the consciousness of his situation.

In the intervals of that benumbed stupor—­rather than sleep—­he was aware that the interrupted noise of the surf had grown into a continuous great rumble, swelling periodically into a loud roar; that the high islet appeared now bigger, and that a white fringe of foam was visible at its feet.  Still there was no stir or movement of any kind on board the brig.  He noticed that the wind was moderating and the sea going down with it, and then dozed off again for a minute.  When next he opened his eyes with a start, it was just in time to see with surprise a new star soar noiselessly straight up from behind the land, take up its position in a brilliant constellation—­and go out suddenly.  Two more followed, ascending together, and after reaching about the same elevation, expired side by side.

“Them’s rockets, sir—­ain’t they?” said one of the men in a muffled voice.

“Aye, rockets,” grunted Carter.  “And now, what’s the next move?” he muttered to himself dismally.

He got his answer in the fierce swishing whirr of a slender ray of fire that, shooting violently upward from the sombre hull of the brig, dissolved at once into a dull red shower of falling sparks.  Only one, white and brilliant, remained alone poised high overhead, and after glowing vividly for a second, exploded with a feeble report.  Almost at the same time he saw the brig’s head fall off the wind, made out the yards swinging round to fill the main topsail, and heard distinctly the thud of the first wave thrown off by the advancing bows.  The next minute the tow-line got the strain and his boat started hurriedly after the brig with a sudden jerk.

Leaning forward, wide awake and attentive, Carter steered.  His men sat one behind another with shoulders up, and arched backs, dozing, uncomfortable but patient, upon the thwarts.  The care requisite to steer the boat properly in the track of the seething and disturbed water left by the brig in her rapid course prevented him from reflecting much upon the incertitude of the future and upon his own unusual situation.