Will Bertram was utterly overwhelmed at the intelligence conveyed by
Tom’s announcement of the condition of affairs on the deck of the
Golden Moose.
For some moments he did not speak. The peril of their situation stunned
him completely.
“They could not have been so cowardly, so inhuman,” he murmured.
“Maybe the men didn’t miss us in the excitement, and the Captain wanted
to leave us behind,” remarked Tom.
Will groped his way to a place where a lamp was fastened to the wall
and lit it.
Its rays showed the boatswain, insensible on the floor. Will leaned
over him and shook him gently.
In a few moments he had the satisfaction of seeing him move, open his
eyes and stare bewilderedly around him.
“Why, what’s happened? Oh, I remember--the captain and the mate. They
knocked me insensible. Where are they?”
“Gone.”
“Gone--where?”
“They locked you in and left the ship in the long-boat;” and Will
related what had occurred.
“The scoundrels!” ejaculated the boatswain. “Stay here, my lads, for
the ship’s tossing at a terrible rate, and it ain’t safe for you to go
on deck.”
The practiced eye of the old sailor took in the peculiar position of
the ship at a glance.
One of the masts was broken, and whole parts of the deck had been swept
away. The forward part of the ship dipped low, as though disabled, and
its course was erratic and unguided by rudder or sails.
Amid the darkness there was no sight of the long-boat.
“You’re right, lads,” said the old tar, returning to the cabin. “The
ship is deserted and at the mercy of the storm--and a bad storm it is.”
As he spoke, a gigantic wave swept over the deck and into the cabin.
“We’ll get out of here as soon as we can. No whimpering, Tom. With
common sense and courage we may be saved yet.”
Jack ransacked several nooks in the cabin and brought to view several
old coats made of tarpaulin cloth. In these, as a protection against
the rain and waves, the trio encased themselves.
Then the boatswain tied a strong rope around his waist and bade his
fellow-companions in peril do the same.
“Now, keep close to me,” he said.
He climbed to the deck, the boys following him. It was well that he
took the precautions he did, for the first wave swept Will and Tom off
their feet.
Jack clung to the wheel, toward which he with difficulty made his way.
His companions crouched at his feet, awed and frightened at the
wildness of the storm.
“The boat may weather the storm yet, leaking as she is,” remarked Jack.
“But if not?”
“Then we must trust to the small boat those scoundrels have left
behind. Hold fast, lads. A light!”
Old Jack strained his vision to pierce the darkness.
“I certainly saw a light,” he repeated, anxiously; “there it is ahead,
directly in our course, and bearing down on us.”
“Is it land?” queried Tom.
“No; we are hundreds of miles from land.
“It is probably a ship in distress, like ourselves. It’s coming nearer,
and our lantern is swept out. Steady, lads, for a crash is coming.”
One single speck of light relieved the gloom of the scene. The excited
boys could make it out coming nearer and nearer.
It shadowed out dimly the outlines of a large ship, and then----
A crash that sent a shock through their frames sounded above the
frightful roar of the tempest.
The timbers started beneath their feet; Jack’s hold was torn from the
wheel, and the trio were flung indiscriminately across the deck.
The ship that had collided with them had passed on or sunk, they knew
not which. Their own desperate situation called for immediate action.
“We’re sinking, lads. It’s the boat, now, or certain death by drowning.”
But the boat had been swept away. Old Jack uttered a cry of dismay.
The water was up to their waists now, and various movable objects were
floating about as if on the surface of the sea itself.
“Cling to this, lads,” shouted Jack, as a wooden grating that had been
near the forecastle drifted before them.
They obeyed him just in time, for a gigantic wave enveloped the deck
and swept the ship from beneath them.
Clinging to the grating they were flung upon the boiling waters about
them.
“She’s gone down,” they heard Jack’s voice say. “It is a matter of
endurance now.”
Tom was half fainting with terror, while Will, chilled and benumbed,
blindly, hopelessly clung to the frail craft.
At the mercy of the waves, it drifted to and fro, now on the crest of
the waves, now in the trough of the sea, always half submerged, the
salt sea-water blinding and choking the three voyagers.
It was an awful experience for the imperiled trio. Only the staunch,
encouraging words of Jack Marcy, ringing above the tempest, kept them
from utterly succumbing to the terrors of their situation.
At last--it seemed after many hours--the storm subsided. A calm stole
over the wild waters and faint daylight began to creep over the scene.
A dusky gray in the far horizon was succeeded by a flush of ruddy hue.
Darkness faded at last, and a great golden globe of fire shone over the
dreary scene.
Far as the eye could reach was water, unbroken, monotonous.
The old boatswain’s eye scanned the bleak expanse searchingly.
He saw what the boys had not noticed. His face was eager and hopeful as
he fixed his glance toward the rising sun.
Then he announced in thrilling tones:
“A sail!”