It was a small tug with a flag run half-way up the stumpy mainmast, and her bow stove from the cut-water nearly to the pilot-house. A stream of water coming from the starboard side told that the steam-pump was necessary to keep her afloat; but no person save a boy about eighteen years of age, who was at the wheel, could be seen.
"She must be pretty nigh as short-handed as we are," Bob said; and then came a hail.
"Brig ahoy!"
"Ahoy on the tug!"
"Can you send me some men? The steamer is sinking, and I am the only one on board."
"Who's running the engine?" Bob shouted.
"I am, and trying to steer at the same time."
"There's only one man an' three boys here. Can't you manage to come alongside?"
The helmsman waved his hand as if in reply and disappeared, when the steamer's speed was checked. Then he entered the pilot-house again, going below once more to stop the machinery entirely when within fifty yards of the brig.
By this means the tug was brought so near that a heaving-line could be thrown aboard, and ten minutes later she was lying alongside the Bonita as a tired, hungry-looking boy stepped over the brig's rail.