A
steamship! Yes, but was it coming toward them? Was it going away? Or
would it pass them far out to sea? For fifteen minutes he watched it
through his binoculars, and then he glanced down to the deck and called
to a sailor to send Mr. Howland to the bridge.
"Mr. Howland," said Dan, as the owner approached him, "I suppose Miss
Howland has told you our fix."
"Yes, but she has told no one else."
"Bully for her!" exclaimed Dan.
"She said you were hopeful."
"More so now than ever before, I was making for the beach, but
now--there's a steamship coming down on us. I wasn't sure at first, I
am now. That smoke out there is heading dead for us. I am going to
slow the boat down to steerage way and wait for her to come up. It's
better than trying to make for Assateague; it's better to wait."
"Will the bulkhead hold?"
Mr. Howland asked his question in the even monotone which had
characterized all his questions.
"I think so; if it doesn't, we'll get everybody off in the rafts and
the launch; the sea is going down by the minute."
Mr. Howland glanced down at the deck where the crew of Scandinavians,
inspired by the cool, cheerful commands of their new Captain, were
working nonchalantly in preparing for eventualities. From amidships
came the clatter of men trying to repair the launch, the one boat which
had not been carried away in the night's storm.
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