Blinded, choked and with a red mist before his eyes, and in his ears the
roar of waters, Jack fought the undertow of the retreat of the giant
wave with all his strength. All at once he felt some heavy object hurled
against him.
The force of the collision almost knocked what little breath remained in
his body out of his lungs. Instinctively he reached out for whatever it
was that had struck him.
It was a human body.
The boy had hardly realized this before he found himself flung, panting
and gasping, down upon the deck. Thanks to the stays of the foremost of
the _Sea Gypsy’s_ two masts, against which the retreating wave had
pitched him, he had not been drawn overboard. Instead, as the pressure
of water relaxed, it had dropped him and the mute burden he had clasped,
to the deck.
For a few minutes Jack lay there panting, too much exhausted to exert a
muscle or limb. The unconscious form hurtled against him by the swirling
waters lay at his side. It was too dark for Jack to see then who it was,
or if life remained in the motionless figure. By-and-by, as his strength
came back, he got to his feet and dragged the limp form to a cabin. It
proved to be the one which the great wave had swept from Jack so
unceremoniously. Luckily, although the seas were thundering mountains
high about the laboring yacht, none like that first terrific comber
assailed her.
Steadying himself on the rocking floor with much difficulty, Jack
fumbled for the electric switch. He found it at last and let on a flood
of light. The radiance shed itself on a pale face with a deeply slashed
forehead that lay at the boy’s feet.
“It’s Billy,” choked the boy. He got on his knees by Raynor’s
unconscious form and gently raised his chum’s head. It fell back limply.
A blood-chilling thought surged through Jack and he grew as white as the
lad he held.
He put his hand hastily over Raynor’s heart and a great wave of relief
went through him. His chum’s heart was beating, although feebly. It was
not too late to save him. It was a hard task for Jack to stagger across
that bounding, reeling floor, carrying the limp and unconscious Raynor,
but at last he managed to accomplish it, and deposited the injured young
engineer in the bunk that occupied one side of the latter’s cabin. Then
he washed and dressed the injury as best he could.
“Now I’ll have to get help,” said the boy to himself. “The captain’s got
a medicine chest and bandages, but we have no doctor. I’ll go and find
the skipper.”
[Illustration: It was a hard task for Jack to stagger across that
bounding, reeling floor, carrying the limp and unconscious Raynor.]
Out upon the dripping decks, over which a wave crest would every now and
then curl, with a roar like that of a waterfall, Jack once more emerged.
Clawing at hand-holds and desperately clinging on now and then when a
wave threatened to tear loose his grip, he wormed his way forward. As he
reached the bridge deck, he heard a thunderous roar forward, and the
_Sea Gypsy_, as if she had been freed of a burden, made a sudden plunge
skyward, with her bow pointing almost straight at the obscured heavens.
“There goes the fore-deck load of coal,” thought Jack, as he made his
way to where, in the lee of the pilot house some obscure figures stood
huddled. Ten minutes later he and the gaunt form of Captain Sparhawk
were bending over Raynor, as he lay white and still, in his bunk. With
rough skill the captain dressed the wound.
“It’s a wonder that Mr. Jukes wouldn’t have brought a doctor along,” he
muttered. “He’s carrying a rapid-fire gun, so why not sawbones, too?”
“Where is Mr. Jukes?” demanded Jack suddenly.
“In his cabin, I guess. I haven’t seen him since this ocean tantrum
broke out.”
“The—the rapid-fire gun you spoke about?” asked Jack.
The other looked at him in some confusion.
“Confound my habit of talking to myself,” he exclaimed. “Did you hear
that?”
“I couldn’t help it,” apologised Jack. “Are we going to fight any one?”
“You must ask Mr. Jukes that,” answered the captain, non-committally.
“It’s up to him to tell what he wants to. All I know is that there is
one on board. Maybe he brought it along to shoot clay pigeons with.
Maybe not. I don’t know.”
“Well,” he added, “I’ve got to get for’ard again. I guess our young
ship-mate will do now. He had a nasty crack though. Both of you are
lucky you’re not in Davy Jones’ locker.”
All through the rest of that tempestuous night Jack sat by his chum,
dozing off at times and then waking with a start to hear the uproar of
the hurricane as they struggled through it. The dawn showed a troubled
sea, leaping at the yacht as though to engulf her. The wind almost
flattened Jack against the deck house as, Raynor having sunk into a deep
sleep after an interval of consciousness, the young wireless man set out
to see what chance there was for breakfast.
The companionway to the dining saloon on the deck below was in the after
part of the ship. As he was about to descend an unusually big wave
lifted the _Sea Gypsy_ dizzily skyward, and then rushed her downward.
There was a heave and a crash from the stern and Jack saw the after deck
load of coal vanish like a black avalanche, to be swallowed up in the
maw of the sea.
“Worse, and more of it,” he muttered, as some of the crew who had
narrowly escaped being overwhelmed, set up a shout; “this will be bad
news to give poor old Billy.”