“They’ll never make it. Shall we go over, sir, and help them out when they come up?” asked a seaman.
“Stand by! Not a man of you goes over. You couldn’t live in this sea. The fools—to do a thing like that!”
The wind had increased to a gale, great walls of water hurling themselves against the frail craft and breaking over them in quick succession.
“Bail boat,” commanded the ensign.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
It seemed as if every moment would be the last for the small boats, but not a man showed the least trace of excitement, either in face or voice.
“Anchor’s giving way, sir.”
“Stand by the oars. Hold your bow to the wind. Keep them up, lads. And not a signalman on board to tell the ship we are in trouble!” the officer muttered to himself.
Off on the battleship, however, a dozen glasses were leveled in their direction and as many keen eyes were gazing toward them over the troubled sea.
“Small boat appears to be in trouble, sir,” called the quartermaster, who, standing on the quarter-deck of the battleship, was bracing his glass against a stanchion. The ship’s lookouts had failed to catch Dan Davis’s quick signal of “accident.”