IN A BAD STORM
Shortly after midnight, Jerry who was to take the last, or dog-watch
was awakened by Ned shaking him in his bunk.
“What—what’s the matter?” asked Jerry sleepily.
“You’d better get up I think. The boat is pitching something fierce,
and it’s beginning to blow great guns.”
“Um!” exclaimed Jerry, as he got out of his bunk, and was thrown up
against a bulkhead by a roll of the boat. “I should say it was pitching
some. Where’s Rob? Where’s Mr. De Vere?”
“I didn’t call them. I thought I’d tell you first and see what you
thought.”
“Wait until I take a look outside,” said Jerry, dressing as best he
could while swaying to and fro with the motion of the _Ripper. _
“Here! Quit your fooling!” suddenly exclaimed Bob, as he rolled from
his bunk, and barely saved himself from a bad shock by landing on his
hands and feet in a crouching attitude, as does a cat. “What did you do
that for?”
“You’ll have to ask Father Neptune,” answered Jerry. “We’re not guilty,
Chunky.”
“Didn’t you pull me from my bunk?” asked the stout youth.
It needed no answer from his chums to assure him to the contrary. The
motor boat was now pitching and tossing violently, and, as the boys
stood in the cabin, they had hard work to prevent themselves from being
thrown from partition to partition. Had it not been for their
forethought in making everything secure earlier in the night, the boat
might have been damaged.
“What’s the matter, boys?” asked Mr. De Vere, looking out from his
small stateroom. “Oh, it’s the storm. Arrived strictly on time, I
guess, and it’s a hummer too! How’s the engine working?”
“Fine,” declared Ned, who had just left the motor cockpit. “Runs like a
charm, and hasn’t missed an explosion since I took charge.”
“That’s good,” commented Mr. De Vere. “We’ll need all the power we can
get, to keep her head on to the waves, if this gets any worse.”
As he spoke there was a thundering crash on the deck above them, and a
rush of water told that a big comber had come aboard, nearly burying
the small craft in a swirl of green water.
“Are the hatches closed,” asked Mr. De Vere anxiously, “and the sliding
doors fastened?”
“Yes,” replied Ned. “I saw to that when I noticed the wind was getting
worse, and the waves higher.”
The boat was fitted with a cabin over the full length, but amidships,
where the motor was, were sliding partitions that could be taken down,
thus making that part of the craft open. Ned had put these slides in
place, securely fastening them, and closing the top hatches. The
derelict hunters were thus completely shut up in the _Ripper_, and
could manage the engine, and run the boat without exposing themselves.
Only for this the big wave might have swamped them.
Maurice De Vere quickly dressed and, with the boys went to the engine
compartment. The motor was humming and throbbing, and, at Jerry’s
suggestion, Ned gave the wheels and cogs an additional dose of oil.
The storm rapidly increased in fury, and the boat was pitching and
tossing in a manner that made it difficult to get from one part to
another. But the _Ripper_ was a substantial craft and though her nose,
many times, was buried deep under some big sea, she managed to work her
way out, staggering under the shock, but going on, like the gallant
boat she was.
The engine, from which one or another of the boys never took his eyes,
worked to perfection. If it had failed them, and they had gotten into
the trough of the sea, there probably would have been a different story
to tell of the motor boys on the Pacific.
“This is getting fierce!” exclaimed Bob; after a particularly big wave
had deluged the boat.
“Getting fierce?” repeated Jerry. “It’s been fierce for some time. I
hope it doesn’t get any worse.”
But, if it did not increase in violence, the storm showed no signs of
ceasing. The wind fairly howled around the frail boat, as if angry that
it could not overwhelm it, and beat it down under the waves, which were
altogether too big for the safe or comfortable riding of the _Ripper. _
There was nothing to do save watch the engine, keep the wheel steady,
and the boat pointed head on to the waves. The three boys took turns at
this, for no one would now venture back to his bunk. Mr. De Vere could
do little, for his broken arm hampered him, and, in order that he might
suffer no further injury, he braced himself in a corner, where he would
be comparatively safe from the pitching and tossing.
“Wow! That was a bad one!” exclaimed Bob, as another heavy wave
thundered on the deck, and ran hissing along the scuppers.
“I think you had better get out the life preservers,” suggested Mr. De
Vere, when several more tremendous waves followed in quick succession.
“Do you think we are in danger?” asked Ned.
“No more than we were some time ago,” was the rather grave answer. “But
it is best to be prepared. We seem to be running into the center of the
storm, instead of away from it.”
“I’ll get the cork jackets,” volunteered Jerry, going to the lockers
where the preservers were kept.
They were placed where they could be quickly put on in case the boat
foundered, and then, with white, set faces the boys prepared to watch
out the remainder of the night, looking to the engine occasionally, and
hoping fervently that they would weather the storm.
It was not cold, for they were in the latitude close to perpetual
summer, and there was no rain, only that never-ceasing wind which piled
the waves up in great foam-capped masses. On and on the boat staggered,
now scarcely making any progress at all, and, again, during a lull
shooting through the water at great speed. Sometimes the screw would be
“racing,” as the stern lifted clear of the water, and again the
powerful motor would be almost at a standstill, so great was the
pressure of the waves on the blades of the propeller.
“It doesn’t seem to be getting any worse,” remarked Bob after a long
silence, broken only by the howl of the wind. “We haven’t been boarded
by any seas lately.”
“No, I think we have gone through the most dangerous part of it,”
agreed Mr. De Vere. “But we’re still far from being out of danger.
There is a very heavy sea on.”
They waited and hoped. The throb of the engine became a monotonous hum
and whir, and the crash of the waves like the boom of some big drum.
Rob, looking through one of the cabin dead-eyes, exclaimed:
“See!”
The others looked out.
“It’s getting morning,” spoke Jerry, with a sigh of relief. “The night
is almost gone.”
Gradually it became lighter, the pale gray dawn stealing in through the
thick bull’s-eyes, and revealing the rather pale faces of the young
derelict hunters. They looked out on a heaving waste of waters, the big
waves rising and falling like some gigantic piece of machinery.
“The wind is dying down,” announced Ned in a low voice. Somehow it
seemed as if they ought to talk in whispers.
“Yes, I think it will stop when the sun comes up,” said Mr. De Vere.
“It looks as if it would be clear.”
In the east there appeared a rosy light. A golden beam shot up to the
sky, tinting the crests of the waves. Then the rim of Old Sol appeared,
to cheer the voyagers.
“Look there!” suddenly called Jerry, pointing straight at the disk of
the sun, which, every second, was becoming larger.
They all looked and saw, laboring in the waves, about a mile away, a
powerful tug, that seemed to be following them.