A single oarsman caught the words. From man to man it was shouted the length of the boat. “Lights ahead!” The life-boat topped the wave and plunged forward into the trough. Again it climbed upward. The mate strained his eyes through the blackness. This time he saw many lights stretching for a long distance.
“Land ahead!” he roared. Again the cry was carried forward from man to man, “Land ahead!”
Hope sprang up in Roy’s heart. If they could see lights from a little boat, the lights must be near at hand. Poor Roy! He did not know the lights were high on a bluff and could be seen for miles. “We’re going to make it!” he cried to himself, and fresh courage came to him.
The little boat shot past the protecting oil slick. Roy knew it in a second, even though he could see nothing in the darkness. At once the waters became frenzied. The little craft no longer smoothly rode the swells. She was tossed like a chip in a whirlpool. The waters boiled up under her, seethed around her, and came together with terrific impact. The waves broke with a surging roar past description. To make matters worse, the wind shifted, coming directly off shore. Roy noted the fact with joy. It might mean the salvation of the Empress. Spray filled the air. It flew in blinding, drenching torrents before the blast. It soaked the oarsmen. It began to fill their boat. The awful wind chilled the rowers to the bone. Yet all the time they advanced. Despite the wind, the waves and the power of their own efforts flung them shoreward at an incredible pace. The lights were coming nearer.
Dawn was approaching, too. Low on the horizon the rowers saw the first faint streaks of light. Their courage increased. They bent to their oars with renewed strength. As the light grew, the man at the helm began to pick out objects ahead of him. The distant land was faintly silhouetted against the pale morning sky. Intently he watched, looking for familiar landmarks. Suddenly he knew where he was. The little boat was driving straight for Corpus Christi.
He began to hope that they might reach shore in safety. He knew the harbor well. Mustang Island was dead ahead. Aransas Pass was only slightly to starboard. If he could work the boat over sufficiently, they might shoot through the pass into Corpus Christi Bay and safety. Could he do it?
He leaned against his steering oar and skilfully pointed the life-boat’s nose a bit to starboard. The wind was no longer dead ahead and the craft was no longer running directly with the waves. She was quartering, cutting through them at an angle. This was dangerous, but necessary to ultimate safety. If she could advance a few hundred yards to starboard the channel would be dead ahead and she could run to safety straight before the waves.
She had almost gained her distance when a monster wave broke just behind her. A thousand tons of water came crashing down on the rowers. Boat and oarsmen disappeared from sight, and the wave rushed on shoreward.
Down, down, down into the seething vortex went the crew. Roy thought he would never come to the surface. He tried to fight his way upward but the swirling water sucked him down. He felt as though his lungs would burst. Just when he thought he could hold his breath no longer, his head popped above the water. He gasped for air, then looked about him for his companions.
The boat, overturned, floated near by. Oars were bobbing here and there on the waves. One by one his companions came up. Roy counted heads. All were there but the mate. Something bumped Roy violently from behind. He turned around. The mate, unconscious, had just come to the surface. His own oar had knocked him senseless as the boat capsized.