“Nothing,” answered Bob with grim resignation, “nothing except to shake hands and tell each other we hope to meet in the hereafter again. We are doomed, boys, and you all know it.”
Outside it was already getting light. Morning sunlight blushed rosily over the eastern sky, and the gray tossing surface of the pitiless ocean far below became dimly visible. At first sight it appeared to be wholly devoid of any sail, but closer inspection through the binoculars finally brought to view a large ship beating its way toward them, perhaps three miles to the north. Long streams of smoke hung on the horizon line in its wake.
“See!” exclaimed Ned. “One of the big passenger liners—a Cunarder by her build, I should guess. If only they were near enough to see and save us!”
“No hope,” muttered Bob dully.
“The wireless!” yelled Buck, springing suddenly to his feet. “We can signal to them with that!”
In a trice he was gone and his nervous fingers were flashing out a frantic call.
“S. O. S! S. O. S! S. O. S!”
Two more seconds passed. Then a blue electric spark leaped across the instrument. The big ocean liner had intercepted the message and was asking for information.
Buck’s fingers ticked out his plea like lightning:
“Airship falling three miles south of you ... help quickly ... help quickly.”