ON THE ISLAND
"What's the matter? What has happened?" cried Agnes, clinging partly to
Neale and partly to the wheel to preserve her balance. "Are we sinking?"
"Oh, no," he answered. "We either struck something, or the motor has
gone bad and stopped. I think it's the last. I'd better go and see."
"I'll take the wheel," Agnes offered.
"You don't need to," said her companion. "She had no steerageway on her;
and you might as well keep out of the storm. The rain is fierce!"
Agnes decided to take this advice, since staying on deck now would do no
good and Neale was going below.
Neale raced to the motor room, where he found Hank ruefully
contemplating the silent engine.
"What's the matter?" asked Neale. "Is she broken?"
"Busted, or something," was the answer. "If this was a mule, now, I
could argue with it. But I don't know enough about motors to take any
chances. All I know is she was going all right, and then she suddenly
laid down on me--stopped dead."
"Yes, I felt it," returned Neale. "Well, we'll have to see what the
trouble is."
Agnes had gone into the main cabin where she found her sisters and Mr.
Howbridge. Mrs. MacCall, in a nightcap she had forgotten to remove, was
sitting in one corner.
"Oh, the perils o' the deep! The perils o' the deep!" she murmured. "The
salty seas will snatch us fra the land o' the livin'!"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Howbridge, for he saw that Dot and Tess were
getting frightened by the fear of the Scotch housekeeper's words. "Lake
Macopic isn't salty, and it isn't deep. We'll be all right in a little
while. Here's Agnes back to tell us so," he added with a smile at his
ward. "What of the night, Watchman?" he asked in a bantering tone.
"Well, it isn't a very pleasant night," Agnes was forced to admit.
"Why aren't we moving?" asked Tess. "We were moving and now we have
stopped."
"Neale has gone to see, Tess. He will have things in shape before long,"
was Agnes' not very confident reply.
"Well, we're nice and snug here," said Ruth, guessing that something was
wrong, and joining forces with Agnes in keeping it from Mrs. MacCall and
the younger children. "We are snug and dry here."
"I think I'll go and give the sailors a hand," Mr. Howbridge said.
"Ruth, you tell these little teases a story," he said as he shifted Dot
out of his lap and to a couch where he covered her with a blanket.
"I'll get this wet coat off," remarked Agnes. "My, but it does rain!"
She passed Mr. Howbridge his coat.
Ruth took her place as mistress of the little household of Corner House
girls--mother to the three parentless sisters who depended so much on
her.
"And now, children, for the story!" she said. "What shall it be about?"
This took the attention of Tess and Dot off their worries, and though
the wind still howled and the rain dashed against the windows of the
_Bluebird_, they heeded it not.
Meanwhile Mr. Howbridge had made his way to the motor room where a sound
of hammering on iron told him that efforts to make repairs were under
way.
"What is it, boys?" he asked as he saw Neale and Hank busy over the
motor.
"A wrench was jarred loose and fell into the flywheel pit," explained
Neale. "It stopped the motor suddenly, and until we get it loose we
can't move the machinery. We're trying to knock it out."
"Need any help?" asked the lawyer, who had donned an old suit of
clothing.
"I think we can manage," said Neale. "But you might take a look outside
and see what's happening. That is, besides the storm. We can hear that."
"Yes, it seems to insist on being heard," agreed the guardian of the
girls. "You say the anchor is dragging, Neale?"
"No, it's gone completely. At the bottom of the lake somewhere. I didn't
have a chance to examine the end of the cable to see if it was cut or
not."
"Cut!" exclaimed the lawyer in surprise.
"Well, it may have been cut by--accident," went on Neale, with a meaning
look which Mr. Howbridge understood.
"I'll find out," was the comment, and then the lawyer went out into the
rain while Neale and the mule driver resumed their labors to loosen the
monkey wrench which was jammed under the flywheel, thus effectually
preventing the motor from operating.
Mr. Howbridge made his way along the lower deck until he came to where
the anchor cable was made fast to the holding cleat. He pulled up the
dripping rope, hand over hand, until he had the end on deck.
A lightning flash served to show him that the end was partly cut and
partly frayed through.
"It may have chafed on a sunken rock or been partly cut on the edge of
something under water," thought the lawyer. "At any rate the anchor is
gone, and unless I can bend on a spare one we've got to drift until they
can get the motor going. I wonder if I can find a spare anchor. Captain
Leed said nothing about one when he turned the boat over to me."
Stumbling about the deck in the rain, storm and darkness, the lawyer
sought for a possible spare anchor. Meanwhile Ruth kept up the spirits
of her two smallest sisters and Mrs. MacCall by gayly telling stories.
She was a true "little mother," and in this instance she well deserved
the appellations of both "Martha" and "Minerva."
Fortunate it was for the Corner House girls that the _Bluebird_ was a
staunch craft, broad of beam and stout in her bottom planks. Otherwise
she never would have weathered the storm that had her in its grip.
Lake Macopic was subject to these sudden outbursts of the furious
elements. It was surrounded by hills, and through the intervening
valleys currents of air swept down, lashing the waters into big waves.
Sailing craft are more at the mercy of the wind and water than are power
boats, but when these last have lost their ability to progress they are
in worse plight than the other craft, being less substantial in build.
But the _Bluebird_ was not exactly of either of these types. In fact the
craft on which the Corner House girls were voyaging was merely a big
scow with a broad, flat bottom and a superstructure made into the
semblance of a house on shore--with limitations, of course. It would be
practically impossible to tip over the craft. The worst that could
happen, and it would be a sufficient disaster, would be that a hole
might be stove in the barge-like hull which would fill, and thus sink
the boat. And the lake was deep enough in many places to engulf the
_Bluebird_.
Mr. Howbridge realized this as he stumbled about the lower deck, looking
for something that would serve as an anchor. He soon came to the
conclusion that there was not a spare one on board, for had there been
it naturally would have been in plain view to be ready for use in
emergencies.
Having made a circuit of the deck, not finding anything that could be
used, Mr. Howbridge debated with himself what he had better do next. He
stepped into a small storeroom in the stern of the craft above the motor
compartment where Neale and Hank were working, and there the lawyer
flashed the pocket electric torch he carried. It gave him a view of a
heterogeneous collection of articles, and when he saw a heavy piece of
iron his eyes lightened.
"This may do for an anchor," he said. "I'll fasten it on the rope and
heave it overboard."
But when he tried to move it alone he found it was beyond his strength.
He could almost manage it, but a little more strength was needed.
"I'll have to get Neale or Hank," mused Mr. Howbridge. "But I hate to
ask them to stop. The safety of the _Bluebird_ may depend on how quickly
they get the motor started. And yet--"
He heard some one approaching along the lower deck and a moment later a
flash of lightning revealed to him Ruth.
"I heard some one in here," said the Corner House girl, "and I came to
see who it was. I thought maybe the door had blown open and was
banging."
"I was looking for an anchor, and I have found one, though I can't move
it alone," the lawyer said. "But why have you left your sisters?"
"Because Mrs. Mac is telling them a Scotch story. She has managed to
interest them, and, at the same time, she is forgetting her own
troubles. So I came out. Let me help move the anchor, or whatever it
is."
"Spoken like Martha!" said Mr. Howbridge. "Well, perhaps your added
strength will be just what is needed. But you must be careful not to
strain yourself," he added, anxiously.
"I am no baby!" exclaimed Ruth. "I want to help! Where is it?"
Flashing his light again, her guardian showed her, and then, while the
wind seemed to howl in fiercer fury, if that were possible, and while
the rain beat down like hail-pellets, they managed to drag out on deck
the heavy piece of iron, which seemed to be some part of a machine.
The storeroom opened on that side of the deck where the superstructure
of the houseboat gave some shelter, and, working in this, Ruth and Mr.
Howbridge managed to get the frayed end of the anchor rope attached to
the heavy iron.
"Now if we can heave this overboard it may save us from drifting on the
rocks until Neale and Hank can get the engine to working again," said
the lawyer.
"We'll try!" exclaimed Ruth. Her guardian caught a glimpse of her face
as the skies flashed forth into flame again. Her lips were parted from
her rapid breathing, revealing her white teeth, and even in the stress
and fury of the storm Mr. Howbridge could not but admire her. Though no
one ever called Ruth Kenway pretty, there was an undeniable charm about
her, and that had been greater, her guardian thought, ever since the day
of Luke Shepard's entrance into her life.
"It's our last hope, and a forlorn one," Mr. Howbridge said dubiously,
looking at their anchor.
Together they managed to drag the heavy piece of iron to the edge of the
deck. Then, making sure the rope was fast about the cleat, they heaved
the improvised anchor over the side. It fell into Lake Macopic with a
great splash.
"What was that?" cried Neale, coming out on deck, followed by Agnes, who
had been down watching him work at the engine.
"Our new anchor," replied the lawyer. "It may serve to hold us if you
can't get the engine to working," and he explained what he and Ruth had
done.
"Good!" exclaimed Neale. "I hope it does hold, for it doesn't seem as if
we were going to get that monkey wrench out in a hurry. I'm looking for
a long bar of iron to see if we can use it as a lever."
"There may be one in the storeroom where we found the anchor," remarked
Ruth.
"I'll have a look."
The _Bluebird_ was not living up to her name. Instead of skimming more
or less lightly over the surface of the lake she was rolling to and fro
in the trough of the waves, which were really high. Now and then the
crest of some comber broke over the snub bow of the craft, sending back
the spray in a shower that rattled on the front windows of the cabin.
Anxiously the four on deck waited to see the effect of the anchor. If it
held, catching on the bottom of the lake, it would mean a partial
solution of their troubles. If it dragged--
Neale hastened to the side and looked down at the anchor cable. It was
taut, showing that the weight had not slipped off. But the drift of the
boat was not checked.
"Why doesn't it hold?" asked Ruth.
"Is it dragging?" came from the lawyer.
"I don't believe it is touching bottom," replied Neale. "I'm afraid the
rope is too short. We are moving faster than before."
Just as he spoke there came a vivid flash of lightning. Involuntarily
they all shrank. It seemed as though they were about to be blasted where
they stood. And then, as a great crash followed, they trembled with the
vibration of its rumble.
The next instant Ruth and Agnes cried simultaneously:
"Look! We're being blown ashore!"
Neale and Mr. Howbridge peered through the darkness. Another lightning
flash showed their peril.
"We're going to hit the island!" shouted Neale.
A few seconds later the wind blew the _Bluebird_, beams-on, upon a rocky
shore.