Keller rolled out of his chair and went aft to get a pineapple from
the ripening stock that was hung inside the after awning.

'Frithiof, the log-line has got tired of swimming. It's coming
home,' he drawled.

'What?' said Frithiof, his voice jumping several octaves.

'Coming home,' Keller repeated, leaning over the stern. I ran to his
side and saw the log-line, which till then had been drawn tense over
the stern railing, slacken, loop, and come up off the port quarter.
Frithiof called up the speaking tube to the bridge, and the bridge
answered, 'Yes, nine knots.' Then Frithiof spoke again, and the
answer was, 'What do you want of the skipper?' and Frithiof bellowed,
'Call him up.'

By this time Zuyland, Keller, and myself had caught something of
Frithiof's excitement, for any emotion on shipboard is most
contagious. The captain ran out of his cabin, spoke to Frithiof,
looked at the log-line, jumped on the bridge, and in a minute we
felt the steamer swing round as Frithiof turned her.

''Going back to Cape Town?' said Keller.

Frithiof did not answer, but tore away at the wheel. Then he beckoned
us three to help, and we held the wheel down till the _Rathmines_
answered it, and we found ourselves looking into the white of our own
wake, with the still oily sea tearing past our bows, though we were
not going more than half steam ahead.