Come, hurry up, the smother is coming down on us fast. Ahoy!”—to the quarter-boat—“hurry up, hurry up!” 

 The quarter-boat had suddenly vanished. 

 Mr Lestrange climbed into the long-boat. Paddy pushed the dinghy a few yards away with the tip of a scull, and then lay on his oars waiting. 

 “Ahoy! ahoy!” cried Le Farge. 

 “Ahoy!” came from the fog bank. 

 Next moment the long-boat and the dinghy vanished from each other’s sight: the great fog bank had taken them. 

 Now a couple of strokes of the port scull would have brought Mr Button alongside the long-boat, so close was he; but the quarter-boat was in his mind, or rather imagination, so what must he do but take three powerful strokes in the direction in which he fancied the quarter-boat to be. 

 The rest was voices. 

 “Dinghy ahoy!” 

 “Ahoy!” 

 “Ahoy!” 

 “Don’t be shoutin’ together, or I’ll not know which way to pull. Quarter-boat ahoy! where are yiz?” 

 “Port your helm!” 

 “Ay, ay!”—putting his helm, so to speak, to starboard—“I’ll be wid yiz in wan minute—two or three minutes’ hard pulling.” 

 “Ahoy!”—much more faint. 

 “What d’ye mane rowin’ away from me?”—a dozen strokes. 

 “Ahoy!”—fainter still. 

 Mr Button rested on his oars. 

 “Divil mend them—I b’lave that was the long-boat shoutin’.” 

 He took to his oars again and pulled vigorously. 

 Prev. P 18/164 next