By the light in the pilot-house, which shone on the pale faces of the two pilots who stood at the wheel, she also saw the calm but stern face of Captain Smith, the commander of the boat, a veteran in the navigation of the Sound, and she felt that he knew his peril, and would do all that man could do to save the lives of those intrusted to his care.
But it is not man who brings, or rules, or allays the storm. The winds are in the hands of the Almighty, and He is able to save when all else are powerless.
She saw the mate pass her and go to the pilot-house door. The captain asked:
“Is all right below, Mr. Glynn?”
“Yes, sir, so far. But it is a fearful night. I never knew the steamer to heave and strain so hard,” replied the mate, a tall, fine-looking young man, with a bare accent, not a brogue, to tell that he was a son of Erin’s Isle.
“Have you had the pump well sounded?”
“Yes, sir, I have given orders to sound them every fifteen minutes, and to report instantly if there is any gain in the water below.”
“Good! You are the right man in the right place, Mr. Glynn. Tell Bishop, the engineer, to keep a full head of steam on; we need every pound we can carry to make head against this gale. The train at Fall River will have to wait for our passengers or leave without them, if this no’-easter holds stiff ’til daylight.”
“I only hope we’ll live it through,” was what Hattie Butler heard the mate say to himself, as he crept away toward the ladder to leeward, by which he descended toward the engine-room.
And then she saw the captain go and look at the compass, and say to the pilots: