“I’ll get ashore double, or not at all,” Joe promised, and he knew very well how little likelihood there was of reaching safety on land.
“I’ll prove I’m one of you,” promised Jed, though his face was ashen. Tom grabbed his hand long enough to give it a mighty squeeze. Then the young skipper moved to the starboard rail where he could watch best. His calculations had proved correct. The “Meteor,” drifting helplessly, was bound to strike on the reef. With fascinated gaze Tom watched the angry breakers.
“We’re pretty near the finish, aren’t we?” asked Miss Jessie in his ear. The girl’s voice was icily calm.
“I think we’re going to strike within two or three minutes,” Tom responded, stonily. “If we do, trust to us in the water, and try not to hamper us. I’ll try to get your mother ashore, Jed takes you, and Joe your sis——”
Tom stopped short. Where on earth was Joe? That youth had vanished from the deck.
“Why, I thought Joe was here, right ready for his next duty,” cried Halstead, amazedly. “Where——”
“He went below,” bawled back Jed. “But he’s not in the engine room.”
“Then he’s doing something that’s good, any way,” spoke Tom, with whole faith in his tried comrade.
Once more the young captain turned to watch the line of breakers. The “Meteor” was deadly close now, her staunch hull in imminent danger.
“Here—quick!” roared Dawson’s heaviest tones.