AN ANXIOUS CREW.
Nervous as Ned was for the safety of his friends, it seemed as if they
would never finish reefing the sails.
At each unfamiliar sound, and it appeared now as if the laboring yacht
was filled with odd noises, he started in fear, fancying it betokened an
accident.
He could only hold her steadily to the south, without the faintest idea
of where such a course would lead them, and listen to the howling of the
wind as it lashed the waves into fury.
Now and then a heavy roller would strike the Zoe on the quarter, causing
her to quiver as if a hidden reef had been met, but as a rule she rode
very steadily, and well she might, for a stancher little craft had never
been launched.
The only fear was that she might have received some injury to her
timbers by the contact with the key, and weakened them to such an extent
that these downward plunges and sudden uprisings would open a seam.
During the short time he was on board the Evening Star, Ned had heard
the sailors say that the danger to be apprehended in running before the
wind was that of being swamped by the following waves; but, so far as he
could make out, there was no occasion to fear anything of that kind yet
awhile.
Had the boys been on board a craft manned by experienced sailors they
would not have thought the wind so strong as to be terrifying.
As a matter of fact it did not even _approach_ the fury of a gale, and
there is no question but that the Zoe might safely have been kept on her
westerly course but for the fear of striking a reef.
It was fully an hour after Roy and Vance began their work before they
returned to the wheel-house, and then the former said:
“The fore and main sail are reefed down; but we didn’t dare tackle the
jib.”
“I don’t think it will do any harm to let it stay as it is. The canvas
isn’t large and can’t do very much toward putting her along,” Vance
added. “How fast do you think we are going?”
“I wish I knew,” Ned said fervently.
“What good would that do?”
“When the wind shifts or morning comes we could have some idea of how
far we are at sea in that case.”
“I’ll guarantee we shall be outside, where there won’t be any danger of
striking the land, for she must be going at the rate of eight or ten
miles an hour.”
“Not more than six or seven at the most,” Roy replied in a positive
tone. “The sea is kicking up such a bobbery that it seems as if we were
moving through the water much faster than really is the case; with the
screw dragging we are doing well to make six miles.”
“We’ll call it six; that will give us somethin’ to guess by, at all
events,” Ned replied. “There’s no question but that this is goin’ to be
an all-night job for the whole crew, and I think you fellers had better
get your supper.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll come down when you have finished.”
“I don’t think it is safe to leave only one man on deck,” Roy said
decidedly. “Vance, you go and fill up and I’ll stay with Ned till you
get back.”
This was by all odds the wisest course to pursue, and one by one the
three ate their supper.
When it was Ned’s turn to sample the cookery he realized more fully than
while in the pilot-house how severely the little craft was laboring.
Below deck he could hear the straining of the timbers, the pounding of
the waves, and the creaking of doors and lockers until a nervous person
might have imagined the yacht had a full crew of ghosts on board.
It was so dismal and almost uncanny that Ned partook of the food very
hurriedly, and was glad to be at the wheel once more.
There had been no change in the position of affairs, save, perhaps, that
the weight of the wind had increased a trifle.
The yacht was running reasonably easy, and shipped even less water over
the bow than one would have supposed while listening to the noises
below.
Roy was at the wheel when Ned entered, and he said as the latter offered
to relieve him:
“I had just as soon stand here as to be doing nothing. Suppose you try
to get some sleep?”
“That is impossible. I never felt wider awake in my life than I do this
minute.”
“That is the way with me, and I’ll stay here awhile longer.”
Ned took advantage of this opportunity to crawl aft and see how matters
were going there.
So far as his peace of mind was concerned, perhaps it would have been
better if he had remained with his companions, although there appeared
to be no question but that the yacht still had sufficient sail on to
enable her to keep ahead of the pursuing waves.
It was the general appearance of the water which would have terrified
any landsman, and Ned was not proof against such a sight.
There were moments when the huge liquid wall towered high above the
stern of the little craft, apparently certain to break upon her, and at
each of these watery rushes Ned literally held his breath, expecting
each instant to hear the crashing of the timbers as the wave dashed upon
the craft.
The foam upon the waves shone with a certain dull, white light, thus
revealing the seething mass beneath it, and it was what the beholder
imagined that made up the horror of the sight.
When Ned finally groped his way back into the wheel-house he was
trembling as if in an ague fit, and, hearing his voice as he spoke to
Vance, Roy asked quickly:
“What’s the matter? Anything wrong?”
“No; we are getting along even better than might be supposed.”
“What makes your voice tremble so?”
“I reckon I must have got chilled. I was standing aft, and this wind is
mighty cold, especially to a fellow who has been livin’ in such a hot
place as the key.”
Roy was not satisfied with this explanation, and fancying there was some
new peril of which Ned would not speak, said:
“Take the wheel a few minutes while I go below, will you?”
Ned did as he was requested, and Roy left the pilot-house, returning ten
minutes later, and saying to Ned in a low tone which could not be
overheard by Vance, who was curled up on one of the lockers:
“I know now why you felt so chilly a few minutes ago.”
“Have you been aft?”
“Yes, and it’s terrible to watch the waves.”
“I suppose they look a good deal worse in the darkness than they really
are; but it would give a fellow the horrors to stay there very long.”
“It doesn’t seem as if the little craft could live through the night.”
“Nonsense,” Ned replied, speaking very much more confidently than he
felt. “This isn’t really a gale, and she must be a good sea-boat,
otherwise your father wouldn’t have thought of coming from Savannah in
her.”
“It would be very much different if she was under steam.”
“I’m not so certain of that. So long as we keep steerage-way on, I can’t
see why she shouldn’t do just as well under sail.”
“Perhaps she will,” Roy replied with a sigh, and from his tone it was
easy to understand that he had his doubts regarding the possibility of
outliving the gale, if such it could be called.
An hour later Roy, weary of doing nothing, went into the kitchen to
clear away the dishes which had been left as each of the crew finished
his supper, and before he returned there was quite a change in the
weather.
The wind was veering around from north to east, and again Ned was forced
to change the course or call upon his companions to “tend sheets,”
something which he was not willing to do because of the danger that they
might be washed overboard.
When Roy came to the pilot-house again the helmsman said with a laugh
which had very little mirth in it:
“It looks as if we were doomed to box the compass this trip,” and he
motioned toward the binnacle.
“I would rather see that than know we were forced to run directly out to
sea all night,” Roy replied after a short pause.
“But the question is, where is this new course likely to bring us?”
“That’s what I don’t know; but it doesn’t seem possible there could be
any land in our way, certainly not before to-morrow morning.”
Ned made no reply.
The voyage was rapidly becoming so erratic that it was no longer
possible to so much as guess where it would end, and he tried to resign
himself to whatever the fates might have in store for him.
Time passed until the little clock marked the hour of midnight, but no
one could say how far that might be out of the way until when the sun
rose next morning.
Vance no longer had any anxiety of mind; the motion of the craft had
caused slumber to visit his eyelids, and the rolling and plunging was to
him like the rocking of a cradle.
Ned and Roy were both standing at the wheel with their eyes fixed upon
the inky blackness outside, when, as if she had come from the depth of
the ocean, the huge hulk of a ship or steamer loomed directly in front
of them, the lights on deck showing indistinctly the forms of several
men near the rail.
Had their lives depended upon it, neither could have so much as moved a
finger during that awful time when it seemed sure they were to be run
down.
Both clutched the spokes of the wheel, but without turning it, and stood
like statues, staring through the window until the huge mass disappeared
as suddenly as it had come, and the darkness seemed all the more intense
because of having been partially dispelled for an instant.
While one might have counted twenty the boys remained silent and
motionless after the stranger passed, and then Ned said in the tone of a
person who speaks in his sleep:
“If she had been twenty feet nearer we should have been crushed like an
egg-shell!”
“And perhaps those on board would hardly have known what had been done.
I can’t understand why she didn’t see our lights.”
“I don’t suppose they make much of a show on a small craft like this. It
was a danger I had never thought about, and now I shall be expecting an
accident of that kind until daylight comes once more.”
“I don’t think we are likely to have more than one such adventure in a
night, but if it should come we would be powerless. I’ve put some coffee
on to boil, and think you and I had better have a cup.”
“Go and get it; never mind milk or sugar. If we drink it plain it will
help to keep our eyes open.”
“Not much chance of their closing very soon after that sight,” Roy
replied mournfully as he carefully made his way below once more.