At that moment, like the thin metallic voice of a telephone, there
came faintly from the sea the words: "We--hear--a--steam--whistle!"

The pilot ran off on to the breakwater, hitting out as he passed at
the farmer's horse, and making it rear. Men cleared a space round
the mooring-posts, and dragged up the gangways with frantic speed.
Carts that had hay in them, as if they were come to fetch cattle,
began to move without having anywhere to drive to. Everything was in
motion. Labor-hirers with red noses and cunning eyes, came hurrying
down from the sailors' tavern where they had been keeping themselves
warm.

Then as if a huge hand had been laid upon the movement, everything
suddenly stood still again, in strained effort to hear. A far-off,
tiny echo of a steam whistle whined somewhere a long way off. Men
stole together into groups and stood motionless, listening and
sending angry glances at the restless carts. Was it real, or was
it a creation of the heart-felt wishes of so many?

Perhaps a warning to every one that at that moment the ship had gone
to the bottom? The sea always sends word of its evil doings; when
the bread-winner is taken his family hear a shutter creak, or three
taps on the windows that look on to the sea--there are so many ways.

But now it sounded again, and this time the sound come in little
waves over the water, the same vibrating, subdued whistle that
long-tailed ducks make when they rise; it seemed alive. The fog-horn
answered it out in the fairway, and the bell in at the mole-head;
then the horn once more, and the steam-whistle in the distance. So