"MUTINY!"
Jack Jepson's first thought was to get Alice to a place of safety.
"You shouldn't have come up!" he shouted in her ear, as he fairly
carried her along the sloping deck. He had to shout to be heard above
the roar of the wind, the pounding of the broken mast against the side
of the schooner, and the swish of the salt water whipped into spray by
the powerful gale.
Jack set Alice down at the head of the companionway, and indicated by
gestures, rather than words, that she was to go below. As she descended
the sloping stairs, holding to the rope rail to prevent stumbling, she
saw Captain Brisco spring forward. Whatever else he was, the commander
did not shrink from any emergency.
"Cut away that mast!" he cried. "She'll have us stove in if we don't cut
her loose!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Jack.
He and several other sailors had seized axes as soon as the result of
the crash was seen, and now sprang to the broken bulwarks, over which
the mainmast lay, the jagged end of it in the water, pounding against
the side of the schooner at every roll, and threatening to punch a hole
in her as a battering ram punctures a wall.
"Strike hard, men!" called Jack, and the sound of their axes followed.
Ropes were severed with a blow, but the wire shrouds were tougher, and
it was not until several minutes had passed that the mast, with its
tangle of sails and ropes, was chopped free to float away on the crest
of a billow.
"Get up the mizzen storm sail!" ordered Captain Brisco. "She's falling
off!"
The schooner was indeed in danger of wallowing in the trough of the big
waves.
Pausing only for a moment, the sailors who had labored so valiantly at
cutting loose the broken mast, sprang to get more sail on the craft. She
was deprived of the reefed, or shortened, one that had been on the stick
which was now overboard, and the jib was not enough to hold her head to
the waves.
"What is it? Oh what is it?" gasped Miss Pennington as Alice fell,
rather than walked down the companionway into the cabin.
"Are we sinking?" demanded Miss Dixon.
"Not at all!" answered Alice, catching her breath, and, with a shake of
her head freeing her face from the salty spray that had drenched her.
"It isn't anything at all."
She determined to make light of it, even though her own heart was
beating like a hammer at the thought of her narrow escape from possible
death.
Alice really did not know whether there was any danger or not from the
fall of the mast. She had often read of such things happening, and she
remembered that the masts were always "cut away." So she supposed, as
long as this was being done, that the proper course was being followed.
"There's no danger at all," she said, speaking more calmly now.
"No danger!" cried Miss Pennington. "Listen to that!"
It was the noise of sailors on deck chopping away the mast-gear.
"Oh, one of those upright sticks, that they hang the sails on, fell
over. Not enough glue on it, I guess," said Alice, calmly.
"Not enough glue!" gasped Paul. "Well, I never--"
"Can't you take a joke?" Alice whispered to him, as she saw that her
minimizing of the accident was having its effect.
"Oh, yes, of course!" Paul exclaimed. "Not enough glue on it--Oh yes!"
and he had to turn away to keep from smiling at the idea of a
mast,--that is the most firmly set of anything on a ship, (being indeed
almost an integral part of it)--the idea of that being stayed with glue
was enough to make almost anyone smile, even in the midst of danger.
The sounds on the deck gradually became more quiet. The danger seemed to
be over for the time being. The moving picture actors and actresses
crowded around Alice to hear her story of the accident. She carefully
avoided mentioning her own peril, but she resolved to properly thank old
Jack later. Just now Alice did not want her father to worry. His throat
was troubling him, because of the amount of salt spray in the air.
On deck Captain Brisco and Jack Jepson took charge of matters until the
wreckage had been cleared away. And a lot of wreckage there was. The
_Mary Ellen_ looked little like the trim, schooner that had left New
York a few weeks before.
Jack Jepson stepped close to the stump of the mainmast. He gave one look
at it, and uttered a single word.
"Rotten!" he exclaimed.
"What's that?" cried Captain Brisco sharply.
"Rotten!" repeated the mate. "That mast had dry rot to the very core.
Only the varnish held her together."
"What's that to you?" cried the captain in angry tones. "You keep your
opinions to yourself! When I want 'em, I'll ask for 'em! Now get below
and see if we're taking in any water."
"Very well, sir," was the answer, but Jack gave the captain a queer
look.
He found some water coming in, but not more, he thought, than the pumps
could take care of, so he reported the matter only to Captain Brisco.
"That's good," the commander said, seemingly well pleased. "I guess they
can have their fake shipwreck after all, if the weather clears."
As the day advanced, the storm lulled slightly, but it was still rough.
Those of the moving picture company who ventured up on deck went below
again with white, scared faces at the sight of the wreckage of the
mainmast. For it did look doleful.
"This shipwreck comes pretty near being real," said Mr. Pertell. "If we
could only photograph it now, it would make a fine film."
"Can't you?" asked Alice.
"Yes, I suppose I could make some views."
A few hundred feet of film were exposed by one of the operators, but the
pretended shipwreck would need to be taken from a small boat, and the
sea was too rough to admit of that.
Then the storm, that had given them a brief respite, began again, worse
than before. The schooner was tossed about like a toy, and the
mizzenmast was sprung so that no sail could be rigged on it.
Then when a great wave struck the craft, washing over her from stem to
stern, the work of the ocean and the storm elements seemed completed.
The _Mary Ellen_ staggered under the blow like some living thing, and
she did not rise to it as buoyantly as she had before.
Jack Jepson came rushing up from below.
"We're leaking fast!" he cried. "We'd better take to the boats, Captain
Brisco! The pumps won't work!"
"The boats! Nonsense!" the captain cried. "We'll ride it out here. The
schooner is all right!"
"I tell you she's sinking!" yelled Jack. "We must take to the boats."
"What? Do you dare give orders in my face!" stormed Captain Brisco.
"This is mutiny, sir! This is mutiny! I'll put you in irons!" and with
raised fist he started toward the old sailor.