MORE TROUBLE
Philip Morgan and Al Torrance both were in the yawl, and were assigned
to pull oars if the engine went dead from any cause. The two younger
Seacove boys were taken by the warrant officer, Mr. Mudge, aboard the
buoyant raft.
"Well, old man," muttered Torry in his mate's ear, "this is a new
experience. We've never been shipwrecked before."
Ikey on the raft was bewailing the loss of some of his duffle. "Oi, oi!
And a nice new black silk neckerchief, too! Oi, oi! All for the fishes
yet."
Mr. MacMasters laughed, and did not order the boys to cease talking as a
sterner officer might have done.
"We may as well take it cheerfully," he said. "I'm thankful there's
nobody lost. And there can be no blame attached to any of us because of
the loss of the boat."
"Ah, that's all right," grumbled the warrant officer on the raft. "But
think of those miserable Huns, sneaking away in here and dropping a
mine in a channel where nothing but small craft dare sail."
"Excursion steamers from Charleston use this channel," Mr. MacMasters
said. "I know it to be a fact."
"Ah! That's the Hun of it," repeated the second. "To sink a craft having
aboard a lot of innocent and helpless folk out on a pleasure excursion
would be just his delight."
First of all the two officers had looked over their charts and decided
on the course to pursue. Charleston was not the nearest port.
The barometer was falling again and there was every promise of more bad
weather. It was decided to make for a small town behind the islands, and
instead of continuing through the channel where the _Kennebunk's_
auxiliary steamer had been mined, it seemed better to take advantage of
the tide and run back to the open sea.
There they proposed to skirt along the outer beaches of the islands
until they reached another passage marked on the charts as being the
entrance to the sheltered harbor of the port in question. The distance
was about ten miles.
There was no danger from reefs in this direction, and if they had to
beach the boat and the raft the shores of the islands would seem to
offer safe landings. They were yet to learn different.
Yet the decision was wise as far as the two officers could be expected
to know without a special knowledge of the conditions. What mainly they
failed to apprehend was the swiftness with which the new storm was
approaching.
The little yawl chugged away cheerfully and drew the life raft out of
the channel. No other craft had been in sight when the _Kennebunk's_
auxiliary steamer was blown up, and therefore none had come to their
assistance.
The local fishermen and navigators of small craft appreciated the coming
of this second storm on the heels of the first. It would probably pounce
upon the coast with suddenness, so the fishing boats had already run for
cover.
The yawl and raft got out into the open sea safely, and Mr. MacMasters
steered for the harbor in which they expected to take refuge.
The first island was long and narrow--a mere windrow of rock and sand
breaking the force of the sea. The huge combers coursing up its strand
broke twenty feet high and offered nothing but utter destruction to any
small craft that attempted a landing.
"That is no welcome coast," Mr. MacMasters said. "I wonder if we
shouldn't have gone behind the islands after all, in spite of the
reefs."
But it was too late to change their plans now. The first strait that
opened between the islands was a mass of white water.
The raft was clumsy, and the yawl could make but slow headway. Suddenly
the wind fell; but with its falling the sea began to rise.
"What does it look like to you, Mr. Mudge?" Ensign MacMasters asked the
officer on the raft.
"More trouble. The wind's going to spring on us from a new quarter,"
was the reply. "See yonder!"
Away to the northwest a cloud seemed rolling upon the very surface of
the sea it was so low. At its foot, at least, the sea sprang up in a
foamy line to meet the pallid cloud. There was a moaning in the air, but
distant.
"That's going to hit us hard!" cried Mr. MacMasters. "It's more than an
ordinary gale."
"That's what it is, sir," admitted Mudge.
"Wish we were ashore!" shouted the ensign.
"Any chance, that you see?"
They were off the coast of the second island now. That was heavily
wooded and the shore was more broken. But it seemed as inhospitable as
that of the one of wider beach.
The newly risen gale was yet a long way from them, the low moaning of
the tempest seemed distant.
The swell beneath the yawl's keel suddenly heaved into a gigantic wave
upon the summit of which the boat was lifted like a chip in a
mill-stream.
Some of the crew shouted aloud, in both amazement and fear. The
propeller raced madly; then the engine stopped--dead.
"Out oars! Look alive, men!" was the ensign's command.
The clumsy raft tugged at the end of her hawse. The yawl went over the
top of the wave and began to coast dizzily down the descent.
The rope which held it to its tow cut through the swell. It tautened--it
snapped!
The loose end whipped the length of the yawl viciously and threw two of
the crew flat into the boat's bottom.
The oars were out. Ensign MacMasters yelled an order to pull. Philip
Morgan and Al Torrance found themselves throwing their entire strength
against the oars.
The raft rose staggeringly upon the huge wave behind the boat. Mr. Mudge
had a steering oar out; but the raft wabbled on the summit of the swell
as though drunken. They saw the castaways upon the raft cowering
helplessly.
Then like a shot the white wave rode down upon them with the pallid
storm-cloud overhead. The yawl was headed into the gale and the oarsmen
pulled like mad.
Mr. MacMasters yelled at them. They did their very best. The sleet
whipped their shoulders like a thousand-lashed knout. The darkness of
the tempest shut down upon them and the raft was instantly lost to
sight.
"Frenchy! Ikey!" Whistler Morgan gasped, and Torry heard him.
But they could do nothing to aid their chums. Duty in any case held them
to their work. They pulled with the very last ounce of strength they
possessed.
The yawl's head was kept to the wind and sea; but it was doubtful if she
made any progress.
"Pull, men! Pull!" shouted the ensign again and again.
He inspired them, and perhaps their straining at the oars did keep the
yawl from overturning at that time. Yet such ultimate fate for it seemed
unavoidable. The wind and sea lashed it so furiously that Whistler told
himself he would not have been surprised if the boat and crew were
driven completely under the surface.
He had seen a good bit of bad weather before this; but nothing like what
they suffered at this time. The warring elements fairly bruised their
bodies. Sometimes the boys felt themselves pounded so viciously between
the shoulders that they could scarcely draw their breaths.
Now and then, above the tumult of the tempest, the ensign's voice
encouraged them. Whistler, sitting three yards away, could not see the
officer at all.
Then, with the unexpectedness that is the greatest danger of these
off-shore gales, the wind changed once more. It snapped around in a
moment to due west. The cross seas lashed the yawl impetuously.
Whistler heard an oar snap. The man behind him fell upon his back in the
bottom of the yawl. His broken oar entangled with Whistler's, and the
latter lost stroke.
There was a yell from the ensign. Whistler heard Al Torrance shriek. The
next moment the yawl rolled completely over, and he was struggling in
the sea and in the pitchy darkness underneath the overturned boat!