At eight
o'clock he turned in, after warning the mate to call him in case the
Retriever should drift inshore.
"Never fear, sir," the mate replied. "We'll have a puff of wind about
daylight at the latest, and the current sets north and south here
rather than toward the beach."
For two hours after Captain Murphy had retired the Retriever rose and
fell gently on the slightest swell, her booms and yards swinging idly
amidships, her sails and cordage slatting listlessly as the vessel
rolled.
Suddenly the lookout shouted: "Steamer on the port bow!" and the
mate, following the direction indicated, made out the red and green
sidelights and the single white light at the short masthead of the
approaching vessel.
"Tug," he announced to the man at the wheel. "Good enough! The
lookout at Point Reyes reported us, and the owners have sent a tug out
to snake us in."
The mate's prognostication was correct in some particulars, for in
about half an hour the tug steamed slowly alongside the Retriever and
hailed her.
"Barkentine, ahoy!"
"Ahoy! Retriever, of the Blue Star, Astoria for San Francisco."
"Sea Fox, of the Red Stack Line. Is Captain Murphy on deck?"
"No, but I'll send for him," the mate shouted, and forthwith sent a
man below to rout out the skipper.
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