“Not a chance.” The wireless man shook his head gravely. “Two or three hundred miles away. If we tried it we’d more than likely go to the bottom. Besides, there are two other ships closer than ours. I caught their answer to the S. O. S. They can’t do anything either. The Arion’s gone. God rest their souls!”
“Give me your report,” said Johnny. “I’ll take it to the Captain. Got to get out of here.” He was shaking like a leaf. As he shut his eyes he could see forms battling with the black waves.
“Here it is.”
Taking the paper, Johnny threw the door open and shot from the cabin.
The cool damp air revived his spirits. The battle he fought in making the bridge over the slippery water-washed deck put the old fighting spirit into him.
“We’ll make it,” he told himself stoutly. “This ship won’t go down. She’s Norwegian built. Done by the sons of ancient Norsemen. Her every plank and beam is selected—flawless and strong.”
The grizzled skipper received his message without comment. On such a night one expects anything.
Battling his way back to the main deck, Johnny crept forward to the main cabin. There, he remembered, was a long mess table, a cushioned seat or two along the wall, and some chairs screwed down to the deck.
“Might get a bit of rest,” he told himself, yawning.
As he threw the door open a great gust of wind caught him and sent him in with such force that he went sprawling on the floor.