The motor was started up once more and the Flying Fish forged ahead through the smother. Suddenly Rob, with a sharp cry of:
"Stop her!" swung his wheel over sharp and the Flying Fish headed about.
The gleaming black rampart of a large vessel's side had suddenly loomed up dead ahead of him.
"Ahoy! aboard the steamer," roared the captain, framing his mouth with his hands, "what ship is that?"
"The El Paso from London to New York," came back a hail from somewhere above them in a somewhat surprised tone, "who are you?"
"The Flying Fish of Hampton, Long Island," responded Rob, with a laugh.
"Never heard of her," responded the voice, "we're hard aground on one of your Long Island shoals it seems."
"That's what yer are," exclaimed the captain, "how come yer ter be huggin' the shore so hard?"
"Trying to avoid a collision with another vessel."
"Are yer all right?" bellowed the captain.