“All right.”
Tom knew from having visited the Garvey Rocks more than once in the past that they were nearing dangerous waters. Somehow, however, he had confidence in his pilot. Bill was daring, and more than once the keel of the Beulah grazed some obstruction. But Bill shouted back to Tom each time that he knew his route, and would bring about no disaster through recklessness.
They were now so near to the steamer that they could make out her situation quite clearly.
“She’s stove in!” declared Bill. “Her fires are out, and there must be a leak. Look at her now, Tom—she’s rolling.”
The condition of the Olivia was a precarious one—Tom discerned this at a glance. She had fallen over slightly on one side. The lights on deck showed a number of passengers huddled at a slanting bow, clinging to a cable which had been strung from rail to rail, to prevent them from falling or rolling when a particularly heavy billow would cause the once staunch ship to quiver and topple.
Another rocket went up. It was followed by a ringing cheer. The launch, slowing down, came directly into the strong central focus of the bulkhead reflector. Those working about the ship, clinging to this and that as they moved about, paused to stare at the staunch little craft of rescue. The passengers huddled together lost their terror and a babel of excited, hopeful, joyous voices sounded out.
“Oh Tom!—Tom!”
The young wireless operator thrilled with an emotion he could not analyze. In an instant he recognized the voice of Grace Morgan. Could she have been thinking of him, that the recognition was so prompt; or, despite his unusual garb and the clumsy oilcloth cap, did the powerful reflector glow bring out his features in strong relief?
“Ease her!” shouted Bill, and his very soul seemed centered in working the wheel to prevent both collision and retreat.
“Throw them a cable!” roared the trumpet tones of the captain of the steamer.