A great feeling of lonesomeness came over the Iron Boy when he realized that he was far out in the lake alone. He, of course, did not know how far they were from shore, but he believed it to be at least twenty miles.
He reasoned that his ship would not sail away without him unless the captain were reasonably certain that Steve had been drowned. The lad decided to swim in the direction from which the whistle sound had come. He had taken but a few strokes when he became entangled in a mass of wreckage. At first he thought he was going to drown before he could extricate himself, then he discovered that he could not if he tried.
Steve Clung to the Door.
Pieces of floating wood were all about him, some of them the lad recognized as part of a deck house. He fastened to a door that had been split in half, probably by the explosion, and stretching out full length upon it, lay still to rest. He was reasonably safe now, though, of course, unless he were rescued very soon he would become chilled and slip off into the sea.
The wind began to stir up out of the southwest a little. Steve took courage from this.
"It will blow me toward the ship," he exclaimed. "That is, if the ship is where I think it is."
He began paddling with might and main, steering with his feet as well as he could, shifting his weight this side and that from time to time as a swell threatened to upset him.
The siren blew several long blasts.