"The light-ship," said the first officer.
"Yes," said the Captain, who had mounted the bridge at the first sound. "We are fully two miles further north than I thought; too much current allowance, I guess. However, I shall now steer to pass eight miles due south of Shinnecock Light, at a point 40° 43' north and 72° 30' west. The course is west, true, and the distance 113 miles; but we must make some allowance for current--not much, though, with this wind. It's ebb-tide, and it will hardly be likely now to set toward the beach, as it often does."
The Captain made some more calculations, and then gave out the compass course. The speed of the ship was increased to twelve knots, and the deep-sea sounding-machine was used once an hour all night. At four o'clock in the morning the rain had ceased, and another dense fog had set in. The soundings indicated that a point about eight or nine miles due south of Shinnecock Light had been reached. The Captain now gave out the course as west, and the distance as sixty-two miles; but he was very uncertain as to the deviation of the compass, so he ordered speed reduced to ten knots, while the lead was to be cast every half-hour. A fresh northeasterly wind sprang up, raising a choppy sea, and transforming the fog into a driving mist. The soundings ran very irregularly, the lead showing 18, 17-1/2, 20, 22, and 19 fathoms without any apparent guidance. The Captain walked the bridge anxiously. The soundings began to run 18, 17-1/2, 17, 17, 16-1/2, 16, 15, 14, 13-1/2, 13, 14, and 13 fathoms.
"Too far to the south, as sure as I live!" muttered the Captain. "How did we do it? But we're sure to make one of the holes." And then he added aloud, "Slow down to six knots."
Suddenly the officer at the sounding-machine away aft sung out, "Twenty-one fathoms, sir!"
[Illustration: "HARD A PORT! HARD OVER!"]
"Right slap into the twenty-one-fathom hole, and heading straight for Monmouth Beach, as I live!" growled Captain Jason Argo, and he sharply ordered the helmsman, "Hard a port! Hard over!"
The _Golden Fleece_ swung her black prow northward through the fog, and when it pointed due north by compass the Captain told the helmsman to keep it so.
"We'll be up with the Sandy Hook Light-ship soon," he said; "we fell about seven miles to the south of it. Keep the lead going. That's my motto--log, lead, and lookout in thick weather. If we hadn't kept up our soundings we'd have gone on the Jersey shore. Get the port anchor ready."