A tap with a hammer and the pump started up, pumping precious water into the boiler.
In but a few minutes more the “Vidette” had cast off her line and was steaming with ever increasing speed toward the entrance to the harbor.
Both lads scanned the horizon to seaward. There was nothing in sight.
“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Phil exclaimed dejectedly. “We don’t even know which way they turned when they reached the entrance.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” O’Neil interrupted earnestly, “there ain’t but one place for her to go, and that is to Mariel. I ran on a line of coasting steamers once and I know somewhat of the water about here. There ain’t no place to land the other way for fifty miles.”
“O’Neil, you are a trump,” cried Phil, much relieved. “We may catch her yet; she has over a half hour’s start, but we have four knots better speed.”
Reaching the harbor mouth, O’Neil put his helm hard astarboard and headed the “Vidette” to the westward along the coast line.
“How close to shore can we run?” asked Sydney, addressing the coxswain.
“After we round the next point of land, sir, as close as you please,” he answered.
The minutes dragged heavily along. The point was reached and rounded, then the “Vidette” was headed to close with the shore line.