"She's got it well on her starboard quarter, though," said Setchell. "She's almost running free."
"The worst direction for a craft of that build," added Gerald. "Look, there goes her canvas, ripped to ribbons."
The turtle boat—she was barely thirty feet overall and entirely open—was now at the mercy of the waves. Wallowing sluggishly in the trough of the huge crested seas she was in momentary danger of being swamped.
Captain Whittinghame was not long in making up his mind. He quickly weighed the difficulties: the "Meteor" unable to manoeuvre so easily as before; the practically crippled motors; the urgency of the quest, all flashed through his brain. On the other hand, human life was in danger.
As quickly as possible the "Meteor" was brought head to wind and about half a mile to leeward of the dismasted craft. With the propellers running ahead just sufficiently for him to counteract the force of the wind the airship rolled and pitched like a barrel.
"Clear away a coil of three-inch manila," ordered Vaughan Whittinghame. "Stand by to veer out a buoy."
Several of the crew of the "Meteor" hastened to carry out their captain's orders and, in spite of the howling wind, they succeeded in getting the necessary gear on the upper deck.
The men in the turtle boat, seeing that help was at hand, were waving their arms frantically.
"Pity those fellows didn't make use of their energy in cutting away that raffle and riding to it," remarked Dacres. "What will happen when we forge ahead with that craft in tow, sir?"
"We'll lie steadier than we are at present," replied the captain. "All the same, we'll approach her stern-foremost. It will give the propellers a better chance."