The dynamo had been short-circuited and they had no means of illuminating the compass. True they had matches, but it would be impossible to steer the Golden Eagle’s course true by that means. The accident was serious.
Hurriedly Frank communicated his discovery to Harry. The younger brother whistled.
“What on earth are we going to do, Frank?” he gasped out.
“Keep right on till we drop. It’s all we can do,” was the stern rejoinder, “we can’t pick up La Merced, without a binnacle light.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
SAVED BY WIRELESS.
Frank was right. To keep on was all they could do. Without even a star to guide them and a wind fast springing up, surrounded by a display of electricity, that viewed from a place of safety would have been magnificent, but situated as they were was a terrible menace, they had no alternative.
The boy captain of the Golden Eagle stuck bravely to his wheel and time and again when the vessel gave a sickening “duck,” he righted her in the nick of time with a skilful adjustment of his planes and compensating balances. Neither boy spoke—indeed, in the roar of the elements that now surrounded them, it would have been difficult to hear. Crash followed crash so swiftly that like the lightning display it seemed all blended into one long horrible glare and uproar. Still, mercifully, it had not rained.
Harry crawled forward after a time from his seat by the engine and shouted in Frank’s ear:
“Where are we now?”