“Keep her up two points more to windward. We ought to be near enough to Gardener’s Island to see the light.”
“In this sleet, with the spray dashing as high as the smoke-stacks, we’ll never see anything till we are right on the top of it!” growled out one of the pilots.
Was it not a Providence that made Hattie Butler peer out at that moment from the shelter which the pilot-house afforded her from the wind and rain—peer out into the gloom and darkness ahead? It must have been.
For close, very close, she saw what she knew must be an artificial light, for through the inky clouds no star or moon could have been seen.
Quick as thought she sprang to the pilot-house door, flung it open, and screamed out:
“Captain, there is a light very close to us on our left hand. I can see it out here plain.”
“On the port bow? Impossible!” cried the captain, but he sprang out to see.
The next second he sprang to the pilot-house.
“Hard up the helm!” he shouted. “Ring the stopping-bell, and then back the engine.”
All this did not take a second to say, and as quick as it could be done every order was obeyed.