A HAND IN THE NIGHT
“Thanks, Abe,” gasped Tom, when he could speak, for the fright and fear
of again being flung into the ocean had taken his breath.
“That’s nothing, lad,” came the calm answer. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. But this is a terrible storm, isn’t it?”
“It might be worse. It was worse when the _Silver Star_ foundered.
We’ll weather it, I hope.”
A cry came from the interior of the shelter. It was Jackie.
“Tom! Tom! Where are you?” he called.
“Coming!” answered Tom, and he staggered into the place where his
little charge was lying.
Tom, groping about in the dark, found Jackie. The little fellow had
rolled from the hollow in the pile of sail cloth that made his bed.
“All right, Jackie, it’s all right,” spoke Tom soothingly. “We’re
riding on top of the waves like a merry-go-’round. Go to sleep now.”
And, so tired was the little fellow, and such was his confidence in
Tom, that he did slumber again.
The storm grew worse, and at times the spray from the big waves flew
over the top of the wooden shelter, and dripped down inside. The wind
blew aside the canvas that closed the front and threatened to lift,
bodily, the structure itself.
But the sailors had done their work well. The rope lashings held,
though they were strained to their limit. The lifeboat, moored as it
was to the deck, tried in vain to break loose to join with the waves
in their revelry of the storm. Joe and Abe looked to it, testing every
knot, however, and their seamanship told. For the present they could
defy the storm.
Mr. Skeel fairly whimpered when he saw the big seas all about them,
but no one paid any attention to him and he had to make out as best he
could. He tried to shirk his trick at the helm, but Abe, taking hold of
his arm, marched him to the rude steering apparatus, and bade him hold
to it for his life.
“But I--I may be washed overboard,” objected the former professor.
“You’re in less danger here than any of us,” declared the sailor. “You
stay here until your time is up,” and Mr. Skeel dared not disobey. His
spirit had been broken when Tom, and his chums of Elmwood Hall, had
successfully gone on their strike.
How they got through that night the castaways hardly knew afterward.
Several times it seemed as if the wind would carry away either the
structure they had built on deck, or the lifeboat that had been
reconstructed with such labor. But the two sailors, with Tom to help
them, made lashing after lashing, as one or another tore away and so
they held to that which they needed most.
Little Jackie proved himself a hero, for when Tom had explained that
he must stay alone part of the time, the little fellow obeyed, though
he had hard work to choke back the sobs when his companion was out on
deck, doing what he could to keep the boat from being carried away.
When the storm had been raging for an hour or more there was a sudden
tilt to the derelict, and a grinding crashing sound somewhere in her
depths.
“What’s that?” cried Tom in alarm.
“Her cargo is shifting!” shouted Abe, above the roar of the storm. “I
hope it doesn’t shift too much.”
Almost immediately afterward there seemed to be less spray coming aft.
“She’s risen by the head!” cried Joe, who managed to make an
observation at great risk to himself. “The lumber below decks has
shifted aft and her bow is higher out of water. That makes it good for
us. We’ll be drier now.”
And this was so. With the bow higher out of the water the craft
presented a better front to the breaking seas, and what at first seemed
a calamity turned out to be a great blessing.
The remainder of the night, though the storm did not abate, was not
such a source of worry to the refugees. True, the wind was as violent,
and it even shifted their shelter from where it was lashed on deck, but
the waves did not bring so much discomfort, for the higher bow sent
them hissing away on either side.
Somehow morning broke, and in the gray dawn they looked about on a
storm-tossed waste of waters. Now they would be down in a hollow of the
waves, and again high on some crest, at which latter time they looked
anxiously for a sail. But they saw none.
It was just a little after day had broken that the improvised mast gave
way with a snap, and would have gone overboard with their precious
sail, had not Abe and Joe made a hasty grab, saving it.
“We need that in our boat--if it ever gets calm enough to calk it,”
declared Abe.
“What about breakfast?” asked Tom a little later. “I guess we can all
eat.”
“Right you are, my hearty!” cried Joe. Even the terrible storm could
not dampen the spirits of the sailors. Little Jackie was happier
too, now that daylight had come, and only Mr. Skeel seemed moody and
depressed. He looked at his companions without speaking.
The storm seemed to have spent its fury in the night, for, as the day
grew, the wind lessened and the waves went down. The mast was mended
and set up again, but a reefed sail had to be used, for the gale was
too strong to risk another accident with the frail gear they had.
“It may blow us to some island, and then we won’t have to use the
boat,” said Joe.
“Oh, don’t talk that way,” begged Abe.
“Why not? Don’t you want to be rescued?”
“Yes, but I’d like a chance to use the boat I’ve made,” was the
rejoinder. “Come on, now, we’ll try and calk it.”
They started this work after a meager breakfast, during which Mr. Skeel
looked hungrily at the rations passed around. Even less was given than
before, for the provisions were getting alarmingly low, though there
was still plenty of water, for which they were thankful.
It was no easy task to calk the boat, with such tools and material as
Abe and Joe had, but it was a credit to their seamanship that they made
a good job of it. They tested it by pouring water into the craft as it
was lashed to the deck.
“She doesn’t leak much!” exclaimed Abe in delight as he watched a few
drops trickle out. “When she swells up she’ll be all right, and we can
bail if we have to. Now for a sail.”
He and his companion rigged up a mast, and the sail was taken down from
the derelict and fitted to it. This took another day, during which the
storm’s traces vanished, and the weather became once more calm.
“We’ll launch her to-morrow,” decided Abe that night. “I guess she’s
all right.”
“Will it be hard to put her into the sea?” asked Tom.
“Easy enough, the way the derelict is listed now,” was the answer. “All
we’ll have to do will be to get into her, cut the retaining rope, and
let her slide. Then we’ll be off.”
Tom heard some one behind him as the sailor told him this, and he
turned to see Mr. Skeel regarding him curiously. There was a strange
look on the former professor’s face.
They went to rest that night filled with thoughts of the prospects
before them on the morrow. It seemed, after all, as if they might
be saved, for both Joe and Abe declared that they must be near some
island, and a day’s sail would bring them to it, if they could sail
fast enough.
Tom stretched out beside little Jackie that night with a thankful heart.
“I’ll find dad and mother yet!” he whispered to himself.
Mr. Skeel was slumbering on the other side of the shelter, at least if
heavy breathing went for anything he was. Abe and Joe were out on deck,
putting the spare provisions and water into the lifeboat, for they had
decided to leave as soon as possible in the morning.
Tom fell into a doze. How long he slept he hardly knew, but he was
suddenly awakened by feeling a hand cautiously moving over his body.
It was on his chest first, and then it went lower until the fingers
touched the money belt he had worn since the loss of the _Silver Star_.
“Who’s that? Is that you, Jackie?” asked Tom, and his hand went quickly
over to the head of his little charge. Jackie was sleeping quietly.
“Who was that?” asked Tom.
There was no answer. It was too dark to see, and he could strike no
light. Someone moved across the floor of the shelter.
“Abe! Joe!” called Tom cautiously. Then he added: “Mr. Skeel!”
A snore answered him from the former professor’s sleeping place. Tom
stole cautiously to the opening of the shelter. He could hear the two
sailors talking together at the helm.