IN DIRE PERIL.
"Get that thar dory aboard," was Ben's next order to the boys, who
began to feel quite tired, what with their exertions and the
oppressive weather. As he spoke, a livid streak of lightning tore
across the overcast sky, followed by a long roll of thunder that made
the boat vibrate.
"Come on, bear a hand, there's no time to lose," he insisted, "tumble
aft there--tumble aft."
It was quite a task to get the dory aboard, even with the aid of the
Bolo's stern davits. The sea was rising every minute and even when
they had the "falls," as they are called, secured to the little
dinghy, she threatened to stave either herself or the Bolo while she
was being hoisted and lashed. At last, however, even that task was
accomplished and the boys began to anticipate a rest. But the
indefatigable Ben would not let them loaf, even then.
"I want her to set more by the stern," he said, "shift those gasolene
cans aft here, and we will trim her down in good shape."
"You see," he explained to Frank, "when the sea gets real high she's
going to lift her propeller out of the water if she isn't well down by
the stern, and that would make the engine 'race,' and that we don't
want it to do, as it is likely to put it out of business."
The boy nodded.
"I suppose it's a good thing to have all the freeboard at the bow you
can, also," he said.
"That's the idea," was Ben's reply.
And now the storm was upon them in its full fury.
The wind seemed like a wild beast filled with furious instincts and
bent on the destruction of the Bolo. Half buried in the giant waves
that the sudden hurricane whipped up, the little craft bravely
struggled along. Bluewater Bill kept her nose pointed right into the
big combers.
Her engine was cut down to half and then a quarter speed, but she was
rolling so badly that Ben Stubbs was considering the advisability of
putting a rag of sail on her to steady her. She wallowed in the big
seas like an empty bottle, and every lurch threatened to start some of
her seams.
While not exactly scared, the boys were certainly worried.
"Do you think she'll last out?" asked Billy of Ben, poking his head
out of the cabin companion--for all the boys but Frank had been
ordered below by Ben that there might be plenty of room for working
the Bolo in case of a sudden emergency.
"Last out?" roared Ben, the wind whipping the words from his lips as
fast as he framed them, "why of course she will, my boy. I've seen as
bad seas as this lived out by a craft no bigger than our dory."
But although Ben spoke so confidently he was, none the less, worried.
As long as the engine kept at its work he knew they were all right,
but, like most old "tar hands," he mistrusted gasolene "contraptions,"
as he called them, and in this instance his mistrust seemed well
founded, for, as he stood in the after part of the cockpit looking
anxiously astern at the mountainous green combers that raced after the
Bolo, as if determined to drag her down to "Davy Jones' locker," the
old sailor noticed something peculiar about the motion of the boat.
She seemed to be falling off into the trough of the waves.
"Keep her up!" yelled Ben to Bluewater Bill, who sat grimly at the
wheel affixed to the cabin bulkhead.
"I can't!" roared back Bill against the fury of the wind.
"What's the matter?"
"The engine's broke down, I guess; anyhow, she don't answer her helm,
I can't get steerageway on her."
As he spoke a huge sea crashed broadside on against the Bolo, shaking
her as an angry mother shakes a child, and sending a great volume of
green water tumbling aboard.
"We've got to do something and do it quick or we'll be swamped,"
thought Ben to himself.
He banged on the top of the closed companion slide.
It was drawn back from inside and Harry's head appeared.
"Did we strike anything, Ben?" he asked.
"No, youngster, but a wave struck us and that's near as bad. What's
the matter with the engine?"
"I don't know," answered the boy, "I'm trying to fix it, but the
boat's rolling so that I can't seem to get at anything. I'm doing the
best I can."
"Well, fix it as quick as you can," was Ben's reply.
"Why--are we in danger?" demanded Harry, struck by Ben's anxious tone.
"Well, I don't want to say that YET, but we've got to get out of the
trough of the sea or--"
A huge wave came toppling aboard, drenching the speaker from top to
toe, and almost washing him overboard. A brass handhold saved him. The
cockpit was instantly flooded, but thanks to the patent self-baling
scuppers, she cleared herself without much water getting into the
cabin.
But it had been a narrow escape for all three of the adventurers in
the open part of the boat. As the mass of water struck him, Frank had
grabbed an awning stanchion, more from instinct than anything else,
and thus saved himself from being swept overboard.
Bill had laid hold of the wheel, and although he was lifted from the
helmsman's seat and forcibly banged down again, he was safe.
"We've got to rig a sea anchor," declared Ben, "but in the first
place, Frank, get below and empty your canvas clothes bags, stuff 'em
with oakum and pour all the lubricating oil you can spare in on top of
the oakum and then make a lot of holes in the side with your knife."
Frank did not ask any questions, although he had no idea what the old
sailor meant to do. He entered the cabin, through the slide, and was
soon at work on his assigned task, although the motion of the Bolo,
which seemed first to stand on her bow and then on her stern and
varied this with a plunge sideways till it seemed as if she was going
to the bottom, made its accomplishment difficult.
In the meantime, Ben had taken the oars and spare spar out of the dory
and lashed them all together with a long rope. Carrying this bundle
forward he attached it to a line and dropped it overboard. The Bolo
instantly began to drift away from it as it seemed. Soon there was a
distance of fifty feet or more between the struggling vessel's bow and
this improvised "sea-anchor." Ben made the line fast to a Samson post
and crawled aft along the cabin roof; pausing several times when an
extra hard blast of wind made it dangerous to proceed.
Primitive as the device was, it answered.
The Bolo's head was drawn round toward the wind by this "drag," as
sailors call it, and she no longer shipped cross seas. A few minutes
later, Frank had two of the oil bags ordered by Ben ready. Once more
the sailor crawled on to the plunging bow and made one of the devices
fast on either side.
To Frank's amazement the seas at once began to subside--that is, in
the immediate vicinity of the Bolo.
"That's what oil will do," commented Ben, gazing about him with a
satisfied look. "It spreads a thin scum on the waves and prevents them
breaking. Now we shall do nicely for awhile, though now the worst is
about over, I don't mind admitting that I did think once or twice that
we were bound for Davy Jones' locker."
After a lot of searching the cause of the engine's sudden stoppage was
located. One of the bearings had become so heated in the struggle
against the storm that the machine had ceased working. The cause was
evidently that the violent "tumblefication" that the Bolo had gone
through had hindered the proper operation of the force-feed
lubrication. After giving the bearing time to cool off, Frank affixed
a regular grease cup to it and no difficulty was then experienced in
starting up the engine once more.
"No use in laying to," said Ben, after he had been consulted as to the
advisability of going ahead. "The blow's as bad now as it will get,
and we are being driven back every minute we aren't going forward.
There's no such thing at sea as standing still."
The drag was accordingly hauled aboard, at no small risk; but the oil
bags were left to drip their calming lubricant alongside. This done,
the Bolo was put on her course again and slowly forced her way through
and over the angry waves that seemed determined to prevent her
progress. Owing to the heavy clouds that overhung the sky, ever and
anon ripped open by a lightning flash, it grew dark at four o'clock,
or eight bells, as Ben called it, and Bluewater Bill was sent forward
with the lights. But they had hardly been placed in position when a
huge sea swept the Bolo from stem to stern, extinguishing them
instantly.
"No use putting out any more," said Ben, "we must trust to luck not to
run across any vessels. I don't think that we are in the steamer track
anyway."
But how wrong Ben's words were they all realized when, at about
midnight, Harry, who had the wheel, thundered on the cabin top and
yelled at the top of his voice:
"All hands on deck."
They tumbled out without waiting to don any more clothes than they had
turned in with. The cause of the boy's sudden summons was at once
plain. Not half a mile from them were the red and green lights of an
approaching steamer, and judging from the height they were out above
the water, the vessel was a big one.
"She's headed right for us," shouted Harry.
"That's right, we can see both lights," exclaimed Frank.
"Put your wheel over," yelled Ben.
"I can't, something's the matter with it," rejoined Harry, as the Bolo
rose on the crest of another big wave and they saw the steamer driving
toward them right in their path.
"Tiller rope's broken," pronounced Frank after a brief examination.
"No time to fix it up now," announced Ben, "cut out the engine. We
must trust to the wind to drift us off the steamer's course."
Bluewater Bill dived into the cabin for the lantern, but the furious
wind snuffed out the light in a second.
And all the time the big steamer was driving closer and
closer--straight for the helpless motor-boat.
"The signal gun," suddenly shouted Frank. This was a small saluting
cannon fixed to the after end of the cabin roof.
Quick as thought Billy and Lathrop ripped off the waterproof cover and
Frank jerked the lanyard. Luckily the gun had been loaded with the
idea of firing salutes as they left Galveston, but the idea had been
forgotten in the excitement.
"Bang!"
Even above the storm the report sounded loudly, and the flash at least
was visible.
Would the steamer notice their signal?
There was a moment of agonizing suspense--in which the boys saw death
at sea in its ugliest form loom up in front of them.
[Illustration: "A moment of agonizing suspense."]
The towering black bows seemed to be imminent above the Bolo when
there was a sudden flashing of lights on the lofty foredeck, and a
voice hailed through the night:
"Motor-boat ahoy!"
The adventurers shouted back at the top of their lungs.
Suddenly the black form of the great vessel, pierced by scores of
lighted portholes, seemed to glide away from the Bolo, and, with a
rush and roar as the waves smashed against her lofty steel sides, the
big vessel raced by.
Gazing far above them the boys could see a uniformed figure on the
bridge shouting questions through a megaphone. He was, no doubt,
inquiring what sort of lunatics they were whom he had so narrowly
escaped sending to the bottom.
"A miss is as good as a mile," was Ben's comment when they all
breathed more freely, "but no more misses like that, thank you."