As he made his way toward the now dark and deserted galley, Raynor
noted, with regret, that it was a rough night. The schooner appeared
at one minute to rush at what seemed to be a towering black wall but
which Raynor knew was a wave.
It looked as if she must be submerged in the mass of water. But
every time she rose gallantly and topped the crest of the giant
combers. Storm sail was set, just sufficient to give the craft
steerage way.
“Bother it all,” muttered Raynor, “it seems that luck is always
against us. Here I had everything planned for an ideal escape and
now I doubt if it wouldn’t be suicidal to venture forth in such a
sea.”
The schooner rushed up a wall of water and then coasted hissingly
down the other side. Her lights shone out bravely like red and green
jewels on either side of her bow. But it seemed that momentarily
they would be drowned out.
Raynor clawed his way along the bucking, plunging deck, to the door
of the galley. Here he gave three cautious knocks. The door opened
and Noddy drew him in.
“Chee!” exclaimed the Bowery youth, when they were both safe inside,
“dis is de wurstest night I ever seen. I don’t see a ghost of a show
of our escaping to-night. Why, de _Mauretania_ ’ud have a hard time
in dese waves, let alone a small boat.”
“Still I hate to give it up,” rejoined Raynor, “maybe the weather
will moderate after awhile,” he added hopefully.
“Don’t look much like it. I’m gloomed fer fair,” grumbled Noddy
disconsolately.
They peeped out of the galley through a square port cut in the stern
wall.
The decks were deserted but for the figure of the man at the wheel.
He stood there in dripping yellow oilskins, gripping the helm and
turning it this way or that as the great seas threatened the
schooner. The binnacle light gleamed on his waterproof garments,
making him look like a figure of bronze.
“I wish this storm would let up,” observed Raynor at length.
“Maybe it’ll get worser,” said the pessimistic Noddy.
“I hope not. It’s quite bad enough now. Anyhow, it’s severe enough
to make us call off all our plans.”
“Yes, bad luck to it,” was the reply.
There came, if possible, a louder shriek of the wind, and the
schooner received a buffeting blow from a wave that made her
stagger.
“Jumping juniper! What’s up now?” cried Noddy in some alarm.
“Don’t know. But something has happened,” replied Raynor.
At the same moment came a shout from the helmsman. There was a rush
of feet on deck. The boys could hear it plainly in one of those
lulls that sometimes occur in the midst of even the fiercest storms.
Lanterns flashed and questions and answers were bawled about the
deck.
They saw Terror Carson, followed by his mate, rush up on deck. Then
came a loud shout.
“All hands aft. The mainsail has gone!”
Raynor flung the door open.
“Come on,” he cried but Noddy hung back.
“What fer? Dey might cotch yer,” he said.
“I don’t care. Some bad accident has happened. The schooner may be
going down.”
Indeed, from the wild yawing and pitching the craft was doing, it
did seem as if she was mortally injured in some way. Thus urged by
Raynor, Noddy accompanied him toward the stern. There was a cluster
of sailors about the after mast. It appeared, as well as Raynor
could make out, that something had happened to the boom or the gaff.
As the two lads rushed sternward, not caring in their excitement if
Raynor was seen or not, they saw that the stout canvas of the storm
mainsail had been ripped from leach to peak. The great sail was
flapping and snapping in the wind. It made a noise like the reports
of cannon.
To make matters worse the great boom, unsupported, was sweeping back
and forth across the decks with every roll of the disabled schooner,
like a huge flail. It imperiled the lives of everybody who got in
its pathway.
“Cut away the halyards and get that canvas loose!” bawled the
captain.
Half a dozen sailors tried to, but the threshing boom drove them
off.
“Get a line on that boom,” bellowed the mate, “lash it back. Lively,
now.”
“It’ll tear out the mast in a minute,” shouted Carson.
The men labored heroically. But it was almost beyond human power to
do anything with the volleying mass of canvas and the great boom.
The captain and the mate shouted encouragingly to them but it
appeared to do little good. Once or twice a man was almost lost over
the side in the struggle for mastery.
The boys were now quite close to the whole wild scene. But nobody
noticed them. Everyone was far too much engrossed in his own
affairs. There was nothing they could do, but they stood by in
readiness. To them it seemed as if every moment must be the
schooner’s last.
“Here, you,” shouted Carson, stepping suddenly forward and
addressing one of the men, “what are you doing with those ropes?
You’re cutting the wrong ones.”
He hastened forward to show what he meant. For the nonce he had
forgotten the terrible sweep of the menacing boom. An instant later
the big spar, sweeping in a huge semi-circle, swung straight at him.
“Look out!” roared the mate.
But Carson did not appear to hear.
“He’ll be killed dead!” shrilled Noddy, looking on with horror.
“The boom!” shouted Raynor.
Suddenly Carson saw his danger. But he stepped aside too late.
Another instant and his brains would have been battered out. But
Raynor, with a flash of inspiration, averted a tragedy. Stooping
down he seized a stout rope attached to the boom. In another instant
he had it wrapped round a stout timber “bitt.”
The rope strained as the force of the threshing boom came on it. It
drew taut as a violin string. But it held. The big swaying spar was
checked within a foot of the captain’s head.
Almost instantly a swarm of sailors swooped down on the boom and
secured it strongly. It was then that Terror Carson stepped up to
Raynor. His hand was held out.
“I thought you had escaped, boy,” he said, “but it seems you were
destined to save my life. I thank you.”
The words were simple, but there was a curious break in the giant
seal poacher’s voice as he uttered them.