"Bob, come up here. The captain orders you to take the bridge."
Steve ran down the ladder to the forward deck, then on down to the main deck, where all hands not otherwise engaged had assembled. They were leaning over the side peering into the darkness to see what had happened. Steve was beset by questions. He explained briefly what had happened, repeating the captain's orders for himself and two men to man the life-boat and put off to pick up any one needing assistance.
The second mate, then in charge of the deck, assigned two strong oarsmen to go with Rush. The latter was to be in charge of the boat, so the captain had said, though Steve was dubious about his ability to fill that office. Of course he was interested in boats, but he was much more familiar with drifts and levels than he was with navigation of the lakes.
"Man the boat," ordered the second mate.
The men took their places in the life-boat, which already had been hauled up ready for launching, the Iron Boy taking his place in the stern by the tiller.
"Are you ready?"
"All ready."
"Cast off!" came the hoarse command from the second mate.
Steve instinctively grasped the gunwales of the life-boat as the craft dropped toward the water. He thought the boat had broken loose from the davits and was falling into the sea, so swift was its descent. Yet he might have known from the sound of the groaning, creaking block and tackle that he and his companions were still safe.
The life-boat struck the water with a loud splash, rocking perilously as Steve, still gripping the sides, stood in a crouching position ready to jump should the boat tip over. Then the little craft righted itself, though it lay rising and falling, rolling and tossing perilously on the long lake swell. Rush had no idea that the water was so turbulent.