perceptibly clearer.

Then all three peered ahead again. They stood, pressing against the
wind, seeking to penetrate the murkiness in front. Suddenly they were
galvanized into strenuous activity.

A wild howl came from the lookout forward. The eyes of the three men
glared at a huge dismasted Chinese junk, wallowing helplessly in the
trough of the sea, dead under the bows.

The captain sprang to the charthouse and signaled in fierce pantomime
that the wheel should be put hard over.

The officer in charge of the bridge pressed the telegraph lever to
"stop" and "full speed astern," whilst with his disengaged hand he
pulled hard at the siren cord, and a raucous warning sent stewards
flying through the ship to close collision bulkhead doors. The "chief"
darted to the port rail, for the _Sirdar's_ instant response to
the helm seemed to clear her nose from the junk as if by magic.

It all happened so quickly that whilst the hoarse signal was still
vibrating through the ship, the junk swept past her quarter. The chief
officer, joined now by the commander, looked down into the wretched
craft. They could see her crew lashed in a bunch around the capstan on
her elevated poop. She was laden with timber. Although water-logged,
she could not sink if she held together.

A great wave sucked her away from the steamer and then hurled her back
with irresistible force. The _Sirdar_ was just completing her
turning movement, and she heeled over, yielding to the mighty power of