A STARTLING CRY.
“Won’t we stop at any points in Mexico?” asked Oliver.
“I think not. Captain Morris is anxious to make the voyage as quickly
as possible, for he thinks he can get a good return cargo.”
“If we had the time to spare I wouldn’t like anything better than to
stop at La Libertad, Champerico, and the rest of the towns,” continued
Oliver; “I love to see strange places.”
“I think most every one does,” returned Mr. Whyland. “I have traveled
for many years, and I never tire of it. There is always something
unexpected turning up.”
“I like to keep moving,” put in Gus; “I hate to stay too long in one
place. Now, take a town like Panama, for instance; a day or two is
sufficient to see all there is to be seen.”
“You are quite mistaken there,” replied Mr. Whyland. “There are many
ancient convents and historic ruins there, which, if studied up, would
prove interesting for several weeks; that is, if you didn’t have
anything else on your mind.”
The Polly Eliza was steaming down the bay rapidly. In a couple of hours
she had passed the point. The day was a delightful one, and the three
spent the entire forenoon on deck.
“This used to be a very odd kind of a voyage during the first years
of the gold fever,” said Mr. Whyland. “There were very few steamers,
and the sailing-vessels took from sixty to ninety days to reach San
Francisco.”
“Didn’t some people come by sailing-vessels all the way around Cape
Horn?” asked Gus.
“Yes; almost all the first people that did not go overland came that
way. It was a tedious journey. The second vessel that made the trip
took nine months.”
“Nine months!” exclaimed Oliver. “Why, that is three-quarters of a
year.”
“When they reached the Golden Gate nearly half of the passengers were
sick with scurvy, and many of them were buried up to their necks in the
ground to cure them.”
“I wouldn’t want to take any such trip as that,” put in Gus. “I would
get so sick of seeing nothing but water and sky I wouldn’t know what to
do.”
“It is no easy matter to double the Horn, as it is called,” continued
Mr. Whyland. “It took that vessel nearly seven weeks to do it. Every
time she was nearly around, the fierce trade winds from the Pacific
would drive her back.”
“I’m glad I didn’t have to go that way,” said Gus with a grimace.
“So you see this voyage is really nothing,” laughed Mr. Whyland.
During the afternoon it began to grow foggy, and then the two boys went
below and put their stateroom in order.
This task was hardly completed before Gus began to feel queer and drew
down the corners of his mouth.
“What’s the matter?” asked Oliver, although he suspected the cause.
“I――I――am afraid I――I――” stammered the stout youth.
“Seasick?”
“Yes.”
“Better rest in the bunk for a while.”
“I guess I will.”
In half an hour poor Gus was as bad as ever. Oliver did all for his
chum that he could think of, and even went to the purser for advice.
“Can’t do a thing,” replied Mr. Willett. “Perhaps he may not be so bad
as he was on the trip around Cape Hatteras.”
“I trust not,” returned Oliver. “I haven’t been seasick myself, but I
imagine it’s something awful.”
“It is,” responded the purser. “Get it real bad and you won’t care
whether you live or not. I have followed the sea for twelve years, but
once in a while my stomach goes back on me even yet.”
“Why, I thought sailors never got sick!”
“That’s a big mistake. You may be a sailor all your life and get it
just as bad as if it were your first voyage. You can thank your stars
that you are not one of the seasick kind.”
“Yes; I am lucky that way.”
Poor Gus lay in the cabin all that afternoon and all night. In the
morning he felt better, however, and though rather weak, managed to eat
a little breakfast.
“Now I hope I’m over it for good,” he said. “If I am not I’ll just jump
overboard, that’s what I’ll do.”
“And make food for the sharks,” laughed Mr. Whyland. “Just look out
there at the ferocious fellows moving around. That one would just make
about three mouthfuls of you.”
As he spoke he pointed over the side to where an ugly shovel-nose shark
was swimming leisurely along.
“Ough!” shuddered Gus, drawing back. “I didn’t see him.”
“I suppose he would think you were a good fat morsel,” laughed Oliver.
There was a general smile, and then Mr. Whyland pointed directly to the
westward.
“That is the Island of Quibo, and far back of it you can see the coast
line of Central America. We are getting along, true enough.”
That day and the next flew by rapidly. There were many things on board
the small coast steamer that were new to the two boys, and as the
purser had taken a decided liking to them they gained much information
by “nosing around,” as Gus put it.
One evening they found themselves far out of sight of land. All hands
enjoyed a beautiful sunset, and it was nearly eight o’clock when the
little party went below.
“Getting more used to it?” asked Mr. Whyland, as they separated for the
night after a quiet game of dominoes in the cabin.
“Somewhat,” replied Oliver.
“I’m not,” said Gus. “I wish something real exciting would happen.
Something that would stir up a fellow’s blood.”
“Are you anxious to be shipwrecked?” laughed Mr. Whyland.
“No, not that exactly; but I hate to have things so tame.”
“Well, maybe something will happen,” was the quiet reply.
Little did Mr. Whyland realize how quickly his thought would become a
fact. Had he done so it is not likely that he would have gone to his
cabin with such a tranquil heart.
When they reached their stateroom the two boys sat for a long time
discussing matters in general, the principal question being what should
each do when the steamer reached San Francisco.
“You had better telegraph to your father, Gus. He will be very anxious
concerning your whereabouts.”
“I’ll do that, Oliver,” was the stout youth’s reply. “I begin to see
that running away wasn’t such a brilliant thing to do after all.”
“Now you’ve hit the nail right on the head,” replied Oliver; and he
said no more.
Half an hour later both boys were in their berths and sleeping soundly.
How long they remained in this state neither could tell exactly.
Suddenly Oliver awoke with a start. He jumped out on the floor
wondering what had aroused him. Gus, too, was wide awake.
“Somebody hammered on the door,” cried the stout youth. “Maybe――”
He did not finish, for at that instant a wild cry came from the deck
overhead.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
Both stared at each other with blanched faces.