As evening drew on the seas became appalling. The Miami pitched her nose down in the water, shipping it green with almost every dive, while her propeller raced ten feet clear of water; next instant her stern would settle as though she would never rise, while the bow climbed up and up as the trough rolled underneath her. Eric, who was absolutely free of any fear of the sea, enjoyed the storm extremely. It was tiring, however, for, every second of the time, one had to hang on to something for fear either of being washed overboard, or hurled around like a catapult from a sling. When, therefore, the gaunt figure of Cape Fear light was passed and the Miami slipped in behind the lee of Smith Island, every one felt a relief from the mad tossing.
They had not known this relief for more than about four minutes when the spluttering of the wireless began.
"I'll bet that's some one in trouble," said Eric.
"Probably," his friend, the second lieutenant said, overhearing him. "Haven't you been expecting it?"
"Hadn't thought of it, sir," said the boy. "We'd plenty to do to get in here ourselves. Yes, there goes Mr. Keelson down to the captain. Could we find out what's up, sir?"
The two young officers sauntered to the wireless operator's cabin.
"Somebody in trouble, I suppose, Wilson," the lieutenant said.
"Yes, sir," the operator answered, "two-masted steamer Union reported in distress, partly dismasted and with her engines disabled, anchored in deep water off the Lookout Shoal."
"Probably dragging, sir?" queried Eric, knowing that his companion knew the coast well.
"Most likely," the lieutenant answered. "If she's off Lookout, and the wind veers round to the south'ard—which it's doing—that'll send her to Cape Hatteras and Davy Jones' locker in a hurry. We may get there in time, but there's not much we can do while this weather lasts."