"Stand by to lay on your oars," said Mr. Pennant in the lowest tones
that could be heard by the crew. "Oars!"
At the last order the men levelled their oars, feathering the blades,
and remained like eight statues in their seats. Vincent listened with
all his ears in the dead silence which prevailed.
"I hear the voices again," he reported to the lieutenant in the stern
sheets, in a voice just loud enough to reach him; "they are more to the
southward."
"Stand by!" added Mr. Pennant, who had been duly trained in boat service
at an oar. "Give way together! No noise!"
The boat went ahead again, though only at a moderate speed consistent
with the least possible noise. The quartermaster in the bow continued to
gaze into the fog bank, though by this time there was a little lighting
up in the east, indicating that the day was breaking. For half an hour
longer the cutter continued on its course. Occasionally Vincent had
raised his hand over his head, and then dropped it to his left,
indicating to the officer in command that the sounds came from farther
to the southward, and the cockswain was directed to change the course.
In another half hour the noises could be distinctly heard by the third
lieutenant, and he directed the course of the cutter without the need of
any more signals from the bow.
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