The echoes of the last note of the siren had hardly died out when there came a loud explosion.

"Bang!"

"A signal gun," roared the captain.

"They are calling for help?" asked Rob.

"That's it, my boy. They've struck, just as I thought they would."

The distress gun sounded again.

"They're in a bad mess by the sound uv that," said the captain.

"It doesn't sound as if they were more than half a mile or so out,"

remarked Rob.

"I guess they're not. Hark at that! They must be scared ter death."

The gun was fired three times in rapid succession.

"They'll never hear that at Lone Hill life savin' station," grimly commented the captain, "and this fog's too thick fer them ter see her."

"Do you imagine she is badly damaged, captain?" asked Rob anxiously.

The idea of the stranded ship lost in the dense fog affected him strangely.

"Can't tell," the captain replied to his question, "may have stove a hole in herself and be sinking now."

"Can't we do something to help them?" asked Merritt eagerly.

"Only one thing we can do, boy, and that's full uv danger."

"What is it?" demanded Rob, ignoring the last part of the captain's speech.

"Get in ther boat and go out thar to 'em. If they're sinkin' we can help 'em a whole lot, and--"

The captain stopped short in amazement.

Rob, Merritt and Tubby had already started for the beach and Hiram, "the wireless scout", was close on their heels.

"Well, douse my toplights," exclaimed the captain, rising to his feet and lumbering after them, "Yer can't beat the Boy Scouts."

CHAPTER XXIV

A MEETING IN THE FOG--CONCLUSION

"Can you make her out?"

Five pairs of eyes peered through the mist that hung like a white pall an every side of the Flying Fish.

"Stop that motor a minute, while I listen!"

In compliance with Rob's order Merritt shut down the panting engine.

"What's that noise off there?" asked Hiram suddenly.

"That sort of throbbing sound?" rejoined Tubby Hopkins.

"That's it, sounds like a big heart beating," put in Rob.

"I guess that's their engine. They're tryin' ter back her off,"

suggested the captain.

"Give them a blast on that fog-horn and see if they answer," said Rob suddenly.

Hiram took up the big bra.s.s fish-horn, used as a fog signal on the Flying Fish, and blew a loud, long call.

After an interval of waiting, from out of the mist came the wail of the stranded ship's siren once more.

"There she is, right in there," declared the captain, pointing seaward into the mist. "Steer right on that tack, Rob, and we'll pick her up pretty soon."

The motor was started up once more and the Flying Fish forged ahead through the smother. Suddenly Rob, with a sharp cry of:

"Stop her!" swung his wheel over sharp and the Flying Fish headed about.

The gleaming black rampart of a large vessel's side had suddenly loomed up dead ahead of him.

"Ahoy! aboard the steamer," roared the captain, framing his mouth with his hands, "what ship is that?"

"The El Paso from London to New York," came back a hail from somewhere above them in a somewhat surprised tone, "who are you?"

"The Flying Fish of Hampton, Long Island," responded Rob, with a laugh.

"Never heard of her," responded the voice, "we're hard aground on one of your Long Island shoals it seems."

"That's what yer are," exclaimed the captain, "how come yer ter be huggin' the sh.o.r.e so hard?"

"Trying to avoid a collision with another vessel."

"Are yer all right?" bellowed the captain.

"Seem to be. So far as we can find out there's not a plate started, but if you're from the land we've got a couple of pa.s.sengers we'd be thankful if you'd take ash.o.r.e. Will you come on board?"

"Sure, if yer'll drop a Jacob's ladder," bellowed the captain at the invisible speaker.

"In a minute."