“Oh, don’t get chicken-hearted,” was the sneering response. “You and Bill have got to go. Me and Jim will stay here and work the light. We can tell when the rockets go up that she’s struck, and then we’ll skip. We’ll meet at the cove.”
The voices died away, as though the men had left. The sound of the storm increased. Anxiously the boys waited for Jess to come back. It was several minutes before she did so. Then she whispered through the keyhole:
“I had to run and hide when I heard the men coming from the tower. Two of them have gone out, and the others have gone back to the light. We must hurry!”
Once more came the smell of burning wood, and once more the dull red point of the poker began to show. But it was slow work, for the door was thick, and of hard material. Then too, the poker would get cool carrying it from the stove to the portal.
But Jess worked like an Amazon. Back and forth she went with the hot iron, burning herself several times when it slipped. But she gave small heed to this. She wanted to save the ship and the honor of her uncle, who might be blamed for losing control of the lighthouse.
Hole after hole was burned. Now Ned began trying to knock out the piece of door containing the lock. He found a small stone and hammered on the weakened wood. But it was still too strong for the feeble instrument he had.
“Ten more holes and I think it will come out,” the girl whispered.
Out on the deep, struggling through the storm which had suddenly broken, was a large steamer, laden with a rich cargo. There were not many passengers, as it was from a South American port, but these few, as well as the crew, had no warning of the danger that threatened them.
In the bow stood the lookout, scanning the expanse of angry water for a sight of lighthouses and headlands that would indicate the channel up the dangerous coast. Suddenly off to his left there shot out two brilliant red flashes.
“North light two points off the port bow!” he called to the pilot.