“Great Scott! We’ll be crushed like an eggshell when the collision comes!” was the thought that flashed through his brain as he rang, half automatically, for “full speed astern!”
“Back her!” roared the voice from the bows, the voice of Malvin.
Harry Ware stood speechless, gripping the rail. He was helpless for the moment in the face of the impending disaster. The River Swallow was making almost thirty miles an hour. To collide with a solid body such as the craft ahead at that speed meant disaster, swift and certain.
Then a yell of terror burst from his lips. A sharp cry was torn from Ralph’s throat simultaneously.
The next instant, at almost top speed, the River Swallow struck. Fairly head on, she had collided with the obstacle before her.
CHAPTER IX.
ADRIFT AT NIGHT.
There was a jarring bump. Something rasped and grated along the keel, sending a shudder through the light timbers of the high-speed River Swallow.
Then she raced on as fast as ever. And that was all. Where was the boat whose stern light they had struck? Was she indeed formed of ghostly vapor and had she no tangible fabric?
Ralph, sweating from every pore, and tremblingly grasping the wheel, was half inclined to believe so, as he felt the propellers at last take hold on the reverse motion and the River Swallow begin to back. So startled was he from his accustomed presence of mind, that for a moment or two he felt more as if he were passing through the phantasmagoria of a nightmare than participating in every-day life.
“Wha-wha-what was it?” palpitated Harry Ware, still clutching the rail and staring straight ahead as if he expected to see the form of the ghostly craft emerge once more in front of them.