I wondered if I could swing my lead on to him; it was worth trying.  Again came the umbrella; and again the bell of the engine-room clanged.

“Are you ready there with the lead?” came the mate’s voice above me.  “All ready with the lead, sir.”  “What have we now?” I gathered forward and swung the lead.  I could not reach the umbrella-man, even with my spare line.  Once, twice, thrice I swung, and pitched the plummet well forward into the bow wash.

“By the deep, eight, sir.”

Again the bell clanged; the ship seemed to tremble and stop.  “Another cast now, quickly.”  “And a half, seven, sir.”  As I hauled in, I again tasted the umbrella, and another question came to me:  “What ’ave you do?  Why ’ave you do zat?” I swore under my breath.  “Are you asleep there leadsman?” The mate was biting his finger-ends.  I sent the lead viciously into the sea.  “Quarter less seven, sir.”  “Another cast, smartly, now.”  Rapidly I hauled in, humming an old ballad to myself.  “We’ll have the ship ashore,” I repeated.  There was a step on the deck behind me, and again came the voice, “Ze man, ze man zere what ’ave he do?  Why ’ave ’e go like so?” “Won’t you pass further aft, sir?” said a suave voice.  “You’re interrup’in’ the leadsman.”  It was one of the quartermasters.  Once again the lead flew forward.  “By the mark, seven, sir.”

There was a pause; then came the voice again.  “I go zees way,” said the quartermaster.  The steps of the umbrella-man passed away aft.  “Zees way,” said the quartermaster, under his breath, “zees way!  You gaw-dem Dago!” I could have hugged the fellow.

“What now?” said the old man, leaning over from the bridge.  I cast again.  “And a half, eight, sir.”

“We’re clear,” said the voice above me.  “Speed ahead, Mr. Jenkins.”  I gathered up my line.  The engine-room bell clanged once more; the ship seemed to leap suddenly forward.  In a few seconds, even as I coiled my line, the bow wash broadened to a roaring water.  The white of it glimmered and boiled, and spun away from us streaked with fires.  Across the stars above us the mists from the smoke-stack stretched in a broad cloud.  Below me the engines trampled thunderously.  Ahead there were the lights, and the figure of the look-out, and the rush and hurry of the water.  Astern, far astern already, were the port, the ships at anchor, and the winking light on the Point.  A bugle abaft called the passengers to dinner, and I watched them as they went from their cabins.  A lady, in blue gown, with a shawl round her head, was talking to a man in evening dress.  “Isn’t it interesting,” she remarked, “to hear them making the soundings?” The white shirt was politely non-committal.  “Aft there, two of you,” said a hard voice, “and trice the ladder up.  Smartly now.”  The lady in the blue dress stopped to watch us.