“Shut up,” snapped the captain. “Stay here and don’t let anyone off the upper deck.”
The young people in the pilot house saw Captain Billy rush down the stairs and they looked at one another in open amazement.
“He’s every inch a skipper,” said Tom as he clung to the wheel of the Queen.
“I hope he pulls us through,” said Margaret, staring at the lights of Rolfe. A minute ago they had seemed so close; now they were so far away, the longest half mile any of them would ever know.
“He’ll get us there if it is humanly possible,” Helen said hopefully.
The crowd on the upper deck milled excitedly but the deck hand forced them back from the stairway and the steady playing of the band and continued forward movement of the Queen seemed to allay their worst fears.
Sparks rolled from the twin funnels as the engines labored to the utmost but Tom, his hands on the sensitive wheel, knew that the speed was decreasing. The Queen was harder to handle, the bow was settling lower in the water but less than a quarter of a mile remained. He reached up and pulled the whistle cord. Three short, sharp blasts shattered the night. Three more and then three more. It was the signal for help but he wondered how many would be in Rolfe to answer the call.
“How deep is the water from here in?” asked Helen.
“About twenty feet,” replied her brother. “Better slip on those life preservers and get ready to jump. We’re taking water fast.”
“There are several hundred in the lockers here,” said Helen. “I’m going to pass them out to the people on deck.”