Steve was pacing up and down the after deck, scarcely able to restrain himself from leaping into the sea and going to his companion's assistance. He knew, however, that the chances were that he would never be able to reach the struggling figure off there. At any rate the ship, which was now beating its way astern at a very fair rate of speed, would get to the spot before he could possibly hope to do so, even if he were able to make it at all.
Far up above the decks in the pilot-house with glasses to his eyes, stood the skipper, calm, stern, alert, now and then giving a brief command to the man at the wheel in a voice in which there was still no hint of nervousness or excitement.
The first mate gazed at his commander in wonder. There were Iron Boys in that ship's company and there was a master who was also iron.
"I think you had better go aft, Mr. Major," directed the skipper. "Take charge back there. We are going to have difficulty in getting them aboard, even if they keep up until we get to them. The boy is making a great fight of it."
"Aye, aye, sir. Has he the girl still?"
"Yes. He is trying to keep her head above water until we get to him, but I'm afraid she'll drown before we can help them."
The first mate hurried from the pilot-house, starting aft at a run. He began shouting out his orders before he reached the stern. He found Steve Rush with coat and shoes off, poised on the rail of the plunging stern, the water dashing over him as he clung with one hand to a stanchion.
"You are not going to try to go over, Rush?" he shouted.
"There's no need now," answered the boy, not for an instant taking his eyes from the two figures off there in the water.