and was left behind with a ringing bell and a booming whistle. Another
shadow turned out to be a pilot-cutter, and the Dutch pilot exchanged a
shouted consultation with an invisible person whom he called "Thou,"
and who replied to the imperfectly heard questions with the words,
"South East." This shadow also was left behind, faintly calling, "South
East," "South East."

"It is a white buoy that I seek," said the pilot, turning to those on
the bridge behind him, his jolly red face puckered with anxiety. And
quite suddenly the second officer, a bright-red Scotchman with little
blue eyes like tempered gimlets, threw out a red hand and pointing
finger.

"There she rides," he said. "There she rides; staar boarrrd your
hellum!"

And a full thirty seconds elapsed before any other eyes could pierce
that gloom and perceive a great white buoy bowing solemnly towards the
steamer like a courtier bidding a sovereign welcome. One voice had
seemed to be gradually dominating the din of the many warning whistles
that sounded ahead, astern, and all around the steamer. This voice,
like that of a strong man knowing his own mind in an assembly of
excited and unstable counsellors, had long been raised with a
persistence which at last seemed to command all others, and the steamer
moved steadily towards it; for it was the siren fog-horn at the
pier-head. At one moment it seemed to be quite near, and at the next
far away; for the ears, unaided by the eyes, can but imperfectly focus
sound or measure its distance.

"At last!" said the captain, suddenly, the anxiety wiped away from his