In the wind swept black night, rearing skyward one moment and dropping as in a canyon the next, twisting and turning beneath the crushing combers and dropping their heads to lessen the smother of the sea, the four young oarsmen pulled desperately. With eyes closed, Bob’s oar rose and fell to the loud sea chant of the steersman. Now and then all could feel the heavy plunge of Captain Joe’s guiding oar. And, even against the storm, the boys knew that the chugging engine was helping.
In time, Bob’s fear of being swamped grew less. The Escambia, almost beneath the boil of water at times, would struggle to the surface again, shaking her rounded sides. Not a boy spoke, and not a boy wavered in his stroke. But the struggle was telling on Bob. How long they had labored, he did not know. He knew he had nearly reached the limit of his efforts but he hung over his oar, his teeth tight to hold in his exhausted breath and his muscles quivering.
At last there was a new lunge to the boat. It rose on a wave, dipped almost to capsizing, and then, suddenly, the smothering spray rolled over the stern. Bob somehow understood that Captain Joe’s sharp command was permission to cease work. As his closed eyes opened, he was conscious that Mac or Captain Joe was waving the ship’s lantern.
With an effort, Bob forced his head up. The other boys were shipping oars, and Mac and Captain Joe were calling above the roar of water. Then the engine ceased and, with the lantern in his arms, Mac stumbled forward between the panting boys.
“Ship ahoy!” Mac was yelling frantically. “Give us a line. Board the boat!” he shouted, clinging to the bow and waving his lantern.
The Escambia had passed to the windward of the craft in distress and was now plunging swiftly toward the distress signal. Suddenly, out of the black night, a blacker hulk shaped itself and then the blazing signal seemed almost directly above the lunging life boat. There were no cries for help; no sound but the boom of the gale. The next instant, the Escambia swept under the black, low stern of a vessel.
“Fall to,” came Captain Joe’s quick command. Doggedly the four spent boys dug their oars into the water once more, as they felt the strong armed Romano sweep the life boat about. The sombre hulk faded from sight. Bob knew that the Escambia, having missed the wreck, was now working up into the lee of the vessel. In its lee, the tumbling waves slid into a whirl of angry water, and the Escambia shot forward with new life.
“Bring her under the bow,” yelled Mac, braced forward. “Here, Jerry, bear a hand.”