When she had righted herself, Lawless, clad in oilskins and a sou'-wester, swarmed up the little iron ladder to the wheelhouse, and, waiting a favourable opportunity, opened the door and staggered in. "Phew!" he ejaculated. "This is weather and no mistake!" "Weather!" echoed the skipper with a sour smile. "Wait till we get it really rough!" The quartermaster at the wheel suppressed a smile, while the Lieutenant did his best to look apprehensive. "I thought this was pretty rough," he said apologetically. "Oh, it's a bit choppy, I'll allow. But rough----" The skipper smiled a smile, more eloquent than words, that expressed all the scorn which a seasoned salt feels for a greenhorn who has still to learn the ways of the sea. "It'll be my watch in five minutes," said Lawless. "I expect you will be glad to go below." The skipper grunted. No one but a raw amateur would have turned out for his watch before being called; it was the brand of inexperience. "Keep her as near west by south as may be," said the skipper, jerking his head towards the binnacle. "Send for me if you sight anything." While he was speaking, eight bells struck, and as the sound died away a seaman came up the iron ladder to relieve the quartermaster at the wheel. As the off-duty man stumbled out of the wheelhouse, the skipper also turned to leave. "You'll need to keep a bright look-out," he remarked grimly. "As like as not----" He paused abruptly, then snatched a pair of binoculars out of the box attached to the handrail, and focused them on a small object, barely discernible to the naked eye. He remained thus for more than a minute, with legs stretched wide apart, swinging back and forth automatically with the motion of the vessel. "Have a squint," and he handed the glasses to the Lieutenant. The latter focused the binoculars on the strange vessel ahead. She was a steamer of about fifteen hundred tons, with the word _Gelderland_ painted in huge white letters on her hull amidships, together with the Dutch colours. "A Dutchman," he observed, handing back the glasses. "A private of marines could tell that," snorted the skipper. "Question is, what's she doing right away west here?" The Lieutenant made no answer; which was wise, since none was expected. Chard shouted an order to the quartermaster, who echoed it, and began to turn the heavy wheel. "Signal the Dutchman to stop," commanded the skipper. It being too dark to use flags or semaphore, Lawless picked up the signal lamp and flashed the message across the intervening space. He waited for an answer, and, none coming, called up once more. "Can't get a reply," he said after the second attempt. "I'll get one, though," muttered the skipper; and, sliding back one of the windows, he leant out. "Stubbs, put a shot across that hooker's bows!" he shouted. "Aye, aye, sir!" answered the gunner, and bent over a small quick-firer that was mounted on the well-deck forward.