Mr. Sherwood sounded the whistle, evidently taking the shout as a cheer of congratulation at his safe arrival.
"Keep off!" roared Lawry.
Again the whistle sounded, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs more vigorously than before. The young pilot was in despair. The Woodville was going at full speed directly upon the rocks, whose sharp points would grind her to powder if she struck upon them.
"Hard aport!" repeated Lawry desperately.
Once more the supposed cheer was answered by the whistle and the waving of the ladies' handkerchiefs, and still the fairy craft dashed on toward the rocks.
"By gracious! she's on them, as sure as the world!" exclaimed Lawry to himself, hardly able to breathe.
He had hardly uttered the words before he heard the crash which announced the doom of the Woodville. Her sharp bow slid upon the ledge, and she suddenly stopped in her mad flight.
Lawry bent on his oars again, horrified by the accident. He pulled as he had never pulled before. A moment or two after the steamer struck, he was startled by a succession of shrill shrieks from the ladies, and he turned to see what had happened. The Woodville had filled, rolled off the rock, and sank in deep water, leaving her passengers floating helplessly on the lake. The upper half of her smokestack was all that remained in sight of the beautiful craft which three minutes before had been a thing of beauty.
The young pilot did not pause an instant to contemplate the scene of destruction. He saw only the helpless persons struggling for life in the water, and he renewed his labors with a vigor and skill which soon brought him to the sufferers. Mr. Sherwood was supporting his wife; but both of them were nearly exhausted. Lawry helped Bertha into the boat, and told her husband to hold on at the rail.
Ethan French, with his arm around the waist of Fanny Jane, was holding on at the smokestack, where also the fireman of the boat was supporting himself.