"What a one-eyed crib!" exclaimed Anstey, as the _West Barbican_ slowly approached the low-lying coast in the neighbourhood of Bulonga.
The outlook was dreary in the extreme. All there was to be seen was a squalid collection of galvanized-iron huts rising above a low, sandy spit; a few gaunt palms; a line of surf--not milk-white, but coffee-coloured--and a background of sun-dried hills.
The whole coast seemed to have been scorched up by the sun. Brown and drab colours predominated. The foliage was of a sombre drab-green narrowly approaching a dull copper colour. Even the sea in the vicinity of the harbour had lost its usual clearness and appeared to be charged with a muddy sediment.
"Any sign of the pilot, Mr. Anstey?" inquired Captain Bullock.
The "S International", the signal for a pilot, had been flying from the topmast-head for the last hour, as the _West Barbican_ cautiously closed with the inhospitable-looking coast, but there were no signs of activity ashore.
In ordinary circumstances it was customary for the ship to wireless her agents, asking them to make arrangements for a pilot; but, since there were no agents at Bulonga, nor even a wireless station, that procedure was put out of court. There remained only the old-time flag signal to summon a pilot from shore.
"No sign yet, sir," replied the officer of the watch. He had been scanning the shore through a telescope until his eyes smarted. The glare form those "tin" huts seemed to be reflected through the lenses of the telescope to his optic nerve. He was literally seeing red.
"All asleep, I suppose," commented the Old Man. "It beats me why we've been ordered to this rotten hole. Try 'em with the siren, Mr. Anstey."
The echoes of the powerful whistle had hardly died away when a hoist of bunting rose slowly in the humid air. Until a faint zephyr caught the flags it was impossible for the _West Barbican_ to understand the import of the signal.
"FWE," sang out Anstey. "That reports that there's not enough water on the bar, sir."
"Not enough fiddlesticks!" snapped the Old Man. "It's within half an hour of high water. We'll lose the flood if they don't get busy. Besides, how the blazes do they know our draught? For two pins I'd take her in myself."