With flattened sheets the _Frolic_ beat to wind'ard until she gained a position favourable to shooting the trawl again. It was now close on midnight. The mist was thickening, although it was possible to discern objects a quarter of a mile away. "Take her, lad," said Old Negus, when the trawl was trailing astern. "I'll make a drop o' cocoa. 'Twill be main acceptable, I'll allow." Once more the old fisherman disappeared under the foredeck, leaving Brandon at the helm. The Patrol-leader's back and arms were aching, his wet fingers were almost raw with the chafe of the sandy ropes, notwithstanding the fact that he rather prided himself upon the horny state of his hands. He was beginning to realise that a fisherman's life, even on a calm night, was not "all honey." He tried to imagine what it would be like on a boisterous night, with the canvas board hard with frozen spray. Presently Brandon's ears caught the faint sounds of an engine throbbing. He peered in the direction from which the steady pulsations came, fully expecting to see the navigation lights of a vessel. He saw none. The noise of the approaching craft became steadily louder and louder. "Negus!" he shouted. "There's a steamer coming towards us." The old man emerged from the fo'c'sle and peered into the darkness. "Oh--ay!" he exclaimed. "Sure she be. There she be, broad on our starboard beam. No lights nor nothin'." Brandon looked but could see nothing. Usually quick at seeing things he was now hopelessly beaten by the eyes of the ancient fisherman. Snatching up a lantern from the fo'c'sle, Negus waved it above his head. It was just possible that the _Frolic's_ green light might not be visible to the look-out on board the approaching steamer. Unless the watch on board were asleep they could hardly fail to notice the waving white light. "What be them up to?" exclaimed Old Negus querulously. "They'll be atop o' we in a brace o' shakes." Brandon could now discern the misty outlines of the vessel. She was very nearly bows-on, a ghostly mass gliding slowly through the water without showing the faintest glimmer. "Ahoy!" bawled Negus, waving the lantern with increased vigour. "She's altering helm," announced Brandon, who in his anxiety had allowed the _Frolic_ to come up a good four points. "But our nets!" ejaculated Old Negus. "Up helm." Thirty seconds later the vessel--a large steam drifter cut the wake of the _Frolic_ at less than twenty feet from the latter's transom. There was a sudden jerk. The rope of the otter trawl parted as the vessel's stern fouled the nets. A chorus of mocking laughter came from the drifter's decks. CHAPTER XVI CATCHING A TARTAR! "THE hound!" ejaculated Old Negus angrily, as he made a jump for the _Frolic's_ tiller. "Furriners they be poachers. Up for'ard, lad, and when I gives the word, let go the anchor."