"They've picked us up," said Stirling. "They'll stand by us."
Again the searchlight threw out its rays, and to the astonishment of both men they saw revealed the British destroyer less than a quarter of a mile away. In the brilliant light the Boxer could be seen plugging her bows into the vicious waves. The spindrift was flying high over her four squat funnels, cascades of foam were pouring from her fo'c'sle deck, while, owing to the greatly reduced speed, she was rolling like a barrel.
Then the mysterious searchlight vanished, leaving Smith and his comrade blinking in the darkness.
"What vessel was that?" asked Stirling.
"Hanged if I know and hanged if I care," replied Smith. "Where's that lamp? There's the Boxer signalling."
Throughout the whole of the hazardous period the flashing lamp in the cockpit was still intact. Bracing himself against the swaying mizen-mast the skipper of the Diomeda replied by a few short flashes.
Slowly and deliberately the message was flashed from the destroyer, for the naval men knew that the average yachtsman is more or less of a duffer at Morse signalling.
"Ride to sea-anchor if you have one. Keep your lights burning; traffic about. Will stand by you."
"I understand," was Smith's reply, after the message had been roughly jotted down and transcribed by the aid of a codebook.
Within ten minutes the yacht was riding to her sea-anchor. The motion, as compared with the straining and plunging while under tow, was fairly easy, and after lashing an awning over the broken skylight the crew of the Diomeda were able to "stand easy".