IN THE GRIP OF THE STORM.
“Phew! Hold tight, Joe; here she comes!”
Under the dark canopy of lowering clouds the leaden sea about the
_Nomad_ began to smoke and whip up till the white horses champed and
careered, tossing their heads heavenward under the terrific onslaught of
the wind.
“Some storm, Nat,” gasped Joe, clutching the rail tightly with both
hands as the _Nomad_ began to pitch and toss like a bucking bronco.
“About as bad a blow as we’ve had on this coast in a long time,” agreed
Nat, raising his voice to be heard above the shrieking tumult of wind
and sea.
“I’ll go below and get the oilskins, Nat,” volunteered Joe.
“You’d better; this will get worse before it’s better.”
Grabbing at any hand-hold to prevent himself being thrown violently on
his back, Joe made his way below once more.
“Goodness, this is fierce,” he muttered, as he went down the
companionway and entered the cabin. Ding-dong had switched on the
current from the dynamo in the engine-room and the place was flooded
with light.
The injured man lay on the lounge where he had been placed and was
breathing heavily. At the table sat Dr. Sartorius. He was bending over a
bundle of papers and perusing them so intently that, above all the
disturbance of the elements without, he did not hear Joe enter the
cabin. He looked up as the boy’s shadow fell across the papers. Startled
by some emotion for which Joe could not account, he jumped to his feet,
at the same time thrusting the papers into an inner pocket.
“What do you want?” he breathed angrily, glaring at the boy with fury in
his dark eyes.
“Why, I came below for the oilskins. What’s the matter, did I startle
you?” asked Joe, regarding the man curiously. On his face was an odd
blend of alarm and ferocity.
“Yes,—that is, no. I am very nervous. You must forgive me. I—there is
bad weather outside?” he broke off abruptly.
“It’s blowing pretty hard,” Joe informed him, while he still noted the
man’s odd manner.
“It will delay us in reaching shore?” demanded the other, sinking back
into his chair and staring at the heavily breathing form of Mr. Jenkins.
“I’m afraid so. If the weather gets any worse we shall have to slow
down. It’s too bad, for it is important that we get Mr. Jenkins to the
hospital as quickly as possible. He needs immediate medical aid.”
Dr. Sartorius ignored this remark. Instead he fixed his queer eyes on
Mr. Jenkins.
“How much shall we be delayed?” he asked eagerly the next minute.
“Impossible to say,” rejoined Joe; and then he added, with his
accustomed frank bluntness, “You don’t speak as if you were in any
particular hurry about landing.”
“It’s Jenkins yonder I’m thinking of,” was the reply in a semi-musing
tone. “He may die if we are delayed, and you say that the storm is a
severe one?”
“We’ll have to slow down, I guess,” rejoined Joe, and then, as the gong
in the engine-room rang for reduced speed, he nodded his head. “There’s
the slow-up signal now. It must be getting worse. I’ve got to get on
deck.”
So saying, he rummaged two suits of oilskins out of a locker and
hastened on deck. Spume and smoky spray were flying over the _Nomad_ in
clouds. The craft looked like an eggshell amidst the ranges of watery
hills. Joe slipped into his oilskins and then took the wheel while Nat
donned his foul-weather rig.
Presently Ding-dong, grimy from his engines, joined them.
“How is everything running below, Joe?” asked Nat, as the figure of the
young engineer appeared.
“Fur-fur-fine as a h-h-h-hundred dollar war-watch,” sputtered Ding-dong;
“ber-ber-but I’ve got her slowed down to ten knots. How about the sick
man?”
“That can’t be helped,” declared Nat. “If I were to make any more speed
in this sea, we’d all be bound for Davy Jones’ locker before many
minutes had passed.”
“Hum! That is certainly a fact,” assented Joe, as a big green sea rose
ahead of them like a watery hillock and the _Nomad_ drove her flaring
bow into it. The water crashed down about them and thundered on the
deck.
“There’s a sample copy,” sputtered Joe, dashing the water from his eyes
and giving a grin; but, despite his attempt to make light of the matter,
he grew very sober immediately afterward. Stout craft as the _Nomad_
was, she was being called upon to face about as bad a specimen of
weather as the Motor Rangers had ever encountered. What made matters
worse, they had a badly—perhaps mortally—injured man on their hands.
Delay in reaching harbor might result fatally. They all began to look
worried.
Ding-dong dared to spend no more time on deck away from his engines. If
anything happened to the motor, things would be serious indeed. He dived
below and oiled the laboring motor most assiduously. Every now and then
the propeller of the storm-tossed _Nomad_ would lift out of the water,
and then the engine raced till Ding-dong feared it would actually rack
itself to pieces. But there was no help for it; they must keep on now at
whatever cost.
For an hour or more the wind continued to blow a screaming gale, and
then it suddenly increased in fury to such a degree that Nat and Joe,
who were taking turns relieving each other at the wheel, could feel it
pressing and tearing against them like some solid thing. Their voices
were blown back down their throats when they tried to talk. Their
garments were blown out stiff as boiler iron.
“How much longer can we stand this——” Joe was beginning, shouting the
words into Nat’s ears, when suddenly there was a jarring quiver
throughout the fabric of the motor craft and the familiar vibration of
the engines ceased. Simultaneously the _Nomad_ was lifted on the back of
a giant comber and hurled into a valley of green water, from which it
seemed impossible that she could ever climb again. But valiantly she
made the ascent in safety, only to go reeling and wallowing down the
other side in a condition of terrifying helplessness.
“Get below and see what’s happened,” bawled Nat at Joe.
The other hastened off on his errand, clinging with might and main to
whatever projection offered. He had just reached the engine room when he
saw something that made him utter a cry of astonishment.
Slipping from behind a door which communicated with the cabin beyond was
Dr. Sartorius. In his hand he had a monkey wrench. As for Ding-dong
Bell, he was nowhere to be seen.