presently by a whoop from out of the fog. It was Mr. Gibney. He
did not possess a megaphone so he had gone below and appropriated
a section of stove-pipe from the galley range, formed a
mouthpiece of cardboard and produced a makeshift that suited his
purpose admirably.

"Cut out that bickerin' like a pair of old women an' 'tend to
your business," he commanded. "Get busy there--both of you, and
shoot a line aboard. There's work enough for two."

Dan Hicks sent a man forward to heave the lead under the nose of
the _Aphrodite_, which was edging in gingerly toward the voice.
He had a searchlight but he did not attempt to use it, knowing
full well that in such a fog it would be of no avail. Guided,
therefore, by the bellowings of Mr. Gibney, reinforced by the
shrill yips of Captain Scraggs, the tug crept in closer and
closer, and when it seemed that they must be within a hundred
feet of the surf, Dan Hicks trained his Lyle gun in the direction
of Mr. Gibney's voice and shot a heaving line into the fog.

Almost simultaneous with the report of the gun came a shriek of
pain from Captain Scraggs. Straight and true the wet, heavy
knotted end of the heaving line came in over the _Maggie's_
quarter and struck him in the mouth. In the darkness he staggered
back from the stinging blow, clutched wildly at the air, slipped
and rolled over among the vegetables with the precious rope
clasped to his breast.

"I got it," he sputtered, "I got it, Gib."