“What is it?”
“Why, the ‘Restless,’ I believe, sir, is fully staunch enough to weather such a gale if she can be kept going ahead. Yet the force of the rolling water to-night is something terrific. If our propeller shafts snapped, under the strain, and we drifted in the trough of the sea, I don’t know how long we could keep afloat.”
“That’s the only danger?” asked Henry Tremaine, eyeing the young sailing master keenly.
“That’s the greatest danger, sir.”
“What are the others?”
“Why, sir, some of the hull timbers might be forced so that a leak would be sprung, or, of course, we might go onto some uncharted reef or rock. This is a mean bit of coast to sail on with no local pilot aboard.”
“You’re not afraid of disaster, are you, Captain Halstead?”
Tom’s smile was swift and reassuring.
“I expect, sir, to land you at some point in Oyster Bay by breakfast time,” answered the young commander.
For some moments Henry Tremaine studied the clean, clear-cut face and steady, resolute eyes of Captain Tom. Then he glanced at the sturdy, unflinching figure of Joe Dawson at the wheel.