Jack vouchsafed no reply. But the next instant he felt like giving a shout of joy. The backward revolving propeller of the Vagrant was “biting” the water. The motor craft’s forward impulse was checked. She hesitated, stopped, and slowly her bow began to swing. It was not a second too soon. As the Vagrant swung off, the other craft tore by at a vicious speed, and Jack saw that her bow was shaped like a man-of-war’s “ram.” So closely did she race across the Vagrant’s bow that he could see dim figures on her bridge, and could catch a torrent of maledictions, as those in command of the strange vessel saw that their evident purpose had been frustrated.
At the pace she was going. Jack realized that it would be some moments before she could be put on another tack for a fresh onslaught.
“Ahead! Come ahead!” he shouted down the tube, and the propeller of the Vagrant began to churn in a forward direction once more. The lads’ craft forged forward, crossing the troubled wake of the vindictive stranger.
“Glory be!” breathed old Jupe fervently; “ah could heah de angels’ harps dat time, Marse Jack.”
“I don’t know that I wasn’t in the same mental condition myself,” rejoined Jack, with a nervous laugh. His hands shook and his heart beat thickly. The escape had been narrow enough to unnerve older and more experienced persons than this boyish captain.
“Ahoy!” came a sudden voice out of the darkness ahead, “what craft’s that?”
“The Vagrant!” hailed back Jack, with a glad ring in his tones; “is that the Sky King?”
“Aye! aye! Thank heaven, you’ve come—in time,” was the answering hail from the yacht.
A moment later, against the stars. Jack could trace the spidery outlines of the larger vessel’s spars and wireless aerials and rigging.
“This is Jack Chadwick,” he shouted, not giving a thought to the stranger craft now, but in a torment of anxiety to know what it all portended, “is my father on board?”