"It's the little girl!" cried the sailor. "Your daughter's overboard and Jarvis has gone after her. They'll both be drowned!"
"Port your helm a little," said the skipper in a calm, steady voice, as he turned to the wheelman. "Steady!"
Springing to the telephone he called up the after deck-house.
"Have boat Number 6 manned and swung out ready for launching. Have men stand by with life-lines and rings ready to cast if we come up with them. You stand by and watch out astern."
The commands were delivered in quick, sharp accents, but there was no trace of excitement either in the captain's tone or on his features. He was every inch the commander, cool, calm, resourceful. Years of commanding had taught him that to be a master of others one must first be the master of himself and of his own emotions.
"Where are they? Do you see them?" shouted Rush, as he dashed to the after rail of the ship where a number of men were standing with pale, frightened faces.
A hand pointed astern where, a second or so later, Steve caught sight of the bobbing head of his companion.
"Has he got the child?" Rush cried.
"Yes. Leastwise, he had a minute ago. It was a lucky chance. You see, he jumped just in time and the girl was fairly swept into his arms."
"It was not chance," retorted Steve. "Bob knew what he was doing."