With rare presence of mind, Jarvis gave the whistle lever five quick, short jerks, sending forth as many blasts, the signal of danger. Instantly some one shouted a sharp warning.
By this time the lad had slid down the ladder and was making for the edge of the deck-house to drop down to the deck. He halted all of a sudden. Bob tried to cry out, but the words would not come. He felt a sickening sensation sweep over him, and a sudden dizziness took possession of him.
A white-crested wave had risen up out of the sea right alongside of the big steel ore carrier. For a moment it hung trembling over the ship like an avenging monster. Then suddenly it swooped down. It reminded Jarvis of a steam clam shell scooping up ore. He was thinking calmly now, and he was planning what he should do an instant later.
The green scoop dipped, lifted the little Marie clear of the deck, then raised her high above the steel hatch covers.
A faint cry floated back to where the Iron Boy was standing as the captain's daughter was carried over the opposite side of the ship and dropped into the sea.
A great shout escaped Bob Jarvis. Lifting himself to his toes he took a long curving dive from the deck-house. He cleared the ship's rail with plenty of room to spare, entering the water head first just at the base of a huge swell.
In an almost incredibly short time his hatless head bobbed up on the other side of the swell, leaving him struggling alone on the rough waters. The ship had slipped quickly by. But already her propeller was beating the water with all the force of the steam power behind it, turned on full, in an effort to start the ship going astern.
Steve had rushed out on deck the instant he was relieved. Unmindful of the seas that were again breaking over the deck as the ship shifted her position, he dashed aft, drenched to the skin and battered this way and that by the angry combers as they roared curling aboard.
A sailor ran panting up the stairs to the pilot-house.