Then, as the steamer, in her changed course, showed her stern lights to those on the motor boat, there came a feeling of thanksgiving at their providential escape from almost certain death.
“Lucky you had that cannon!” commented Sam. “It was better than a horn or whistle.”
For a few minutes the boys could not reply, they were so unnerved. But the old sailor seemed to take it as a matter of course.
“It isn’t the first time I’ve been nearly cut in two by a steamer,” he said. “That often happens on the fishing banks.”
Jerry made his way back to the cockpit and sat down on a bunk. He was trembling from the excitement.
“Brace up!” spoke Sam, noticing the boy’s condition. “Have another try at the engine. See if the pipe is stopped up.”
That put Jerry’s mind on another subject, and relieved him of the strain he was under. He waited until the commotion of the water had somewhat subsided, and then went forward again to the gasolene tank.
Baring his arm to the shoulder, and lying flat out on the bow, in order to get to the bottom of the receptacle, he felt around in it. For a few moments there was an anxious wait. Then he cried:
“I’ve got it!”
He pulled out a bunch of cotton waste, used to clean the engine with. How it got in the tank was a mystery, but it had effectually stopped the flow of gasolene.