“What did I tell you?” cried Bob exultantly.
“That’s bully!” exclaimed Jimmy. “I guess we’re not going to kick the bucket yet.”
“We’re not born to be drowned, so we must be born to be hanged,” put in Joe, with a return of his old gayety of manner.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t follow,” laughed Bob. “But listen, fellows. There’s another message.”
Sure enough, it was another call, freighted with cheer and hope and promise of speedy help.
“There’s luck in odd numbers!” exclaimed Herb. “That makes three, and from the locations they gave they can’t be far away. One of them must be here soon. Hurrah, fellows! We’ll be laughing over this thing tomorrow.”
“They’ll have to hurry though,” said Jimmy. “This boat is going down mighty soon. Her engines must be stopped, for I don’t hear them any longer.”
The engines, which had been kept going just enough to make the steering of the vessel easier, had indeed ceased running. The fact was ominous, for it implied that the water had reached the engine room. And, moreover, the vessel had listed so heavily by this time that they had to cling to the nearest stanchion to maintain their footing at all.
“How is any vessel going to find us in this fog?” wondered Jimmy, a new cause for anxiety assailing him.
“There’s the answer,” replied Bob, as he pointed to the stern, where a great rocket with a rush and a roar sped upward to the sky.