DAYS OF SUFFERING
“Does she leak any?” asked Joe anxiously. He was up forward, attending
to the sail, while Abe was at the helm.
“A few drops coming in,” replied the other sailor. “But nothing to
speak of. She’ll swell up when she’s been in the water a while, and be
as tight as a drum.”
“Good! We’ve got a right proper little boat, I’m thinking.”
“And she sails well, too,” declared Tom, observing the behavior of the
craft with a critical glance. “She can go close to the wind, too, I
believe.”
“Right you are, matie,” exclaimed Abe. “If we had a compass now we
could lay as good a course as any ocean liner.”
But they did not have this aid to navigation, though the two sailors
could manage to get along without it. They held a consultation, and
decided that to steer in a general southwesterly direction would be the
proper course.
“There’s islands there, if they’re anywhere,” declared Abe; “and there
ought to be ships we could speak.”
“We ought to be somewhere near the equator, if the heat goes for
anything,” declared Tom. In fact in the last few days the sun had
become unbearably hot.
“I shouldn’t wonder but what we were, matie,” assented Joe. “We drifted
and sailed quite some distance in the derelict, and we were headed for
the equator when the poor old _Silver Star_ went down to Davy Jones’s
locker. So I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d soon cross the line, if we
haven’t done so already.”
“It sure is hot enough,” agreed Abe.
It was indeed, and being in the open boat they missed the wooden
shelter they had had while on the wreck. Still there was a fine breeze
that sent the sailboat along at a good speed, and served to make the
atmosphere more endurable.
They had brought along all the sailcloth, and once they were well under
way the sailors rigged up a little shelter where Jackie could rest out
of the glaring sun. The small chap was delighted with the change to the
sailboat, and laughed and chatted as if being shipwrecked was a big
joke.
“Though if we get into a blow it won’t be so safe in this craft as on
the other,” commented Abe. “Still I think we’re in for a spell of good
weather now, and we’re somewhat out of the region of storms, if I’m any
judge.”
Now that they were fairly under way again they made their plans for
standing watch. Of course Mr. Skeel was left out of it, save during the
day, when he was to take his trick at the helm. He seemed to realize
this, and, though he did not say much, he acted differently. He seemed
much more humble.
At night Tom was to take the early trick, so as to enable him to remain
near Jackie during the later hours. Joe and Abe divided up the rest of
the night watch.
“We’ll keep sailing night and day,” Abe said, “for we want to get to
land as soon as we can, or speak some vessel, and that may happen after
dark as easily as during the day.”
“The sooner the better,” murmured Joe, with a glance at the rapidly
dwindling store of provisions.
They took an account of the stock when it came time to serve dinner,
and the total quantity of food left was less than they had imagined.
“What’s to be done?” asked Tom gravely.
“Have to go on shorter rations--that’s all,” decided Abe. “That is, us
grown folks.”
“Shorter rations!” exclaimed Mr. Skeel. “I don’t see how I can live on
any less.”
“It’s a question of living several days, or dying sooner--that’s what
it is,” said Joe, half savagely. “We’ve got to keep alive until we
sight land, or until a ship rescues us, and the only way to do it is to
eat as little as possible. Just enough to keep from starving.”
“Then we’ll do it,” said Tom simply, and he proceeded to deal out much
reduced portions of food. Fortunately there was no need to shorten the
water supply yet, though they did take less, for they all knew the
horror of thirst.
All that day they sailed before a fair wind, and not a moment but what
they looked eagerly for a sight of some sail on the horizon, or the
smudge of smoke that would tell of a steamer. But they saw nothing.
They were more anxious than they had been on the derelict, for, though
the weather was calm, and seemed likely to remain so, there was no
telling when a storm would sweep over the ocean. And a storm in an open
boat was a different matter from one on the big, though water-logged,
hulk of the lumber vessel.
True, the lifeboat had water-tight compartments, and would not be
likely to sink, but seas breaking over her would mean the almost
certain destruction of some, if not all, of the little band of
shipwrecked ones. So they looked anxiously for a rescue.
Night came--a beautiful night with a calm sea, and a great silver moon
riding over head. It seemed an augury of good luck and they all felt
their hearts beat a little lighter. Even Professor Skeel looked less
gloomy and sour, though he did not mingle nor talk with the others,
sitting by himself.
They slept by turns, though not as comfortably as on the derelict.
Still they realized that they were making better time, and time was a
great object with them now.
Morning came, and found them afloat on a still calm sea, a sea that
extended all around them, unbroken by any haze or mist that might mean
land, or any speck or cloud that might indicate a sailing or steaming
vessel. The sun beat down in a blaze of heat.
It was at noon, when Tom went to serve out the frugal meal, that he
made a discovery that alarmed him.
“Look here!” he cried to Abe. “One of the water kegs has sprung a leak,
and it’s empty.”
“Empty!” gasped the sailor, making his way to where Tom stood by the
water supply.
“Yes, not a drop in it.”
Abe shook the keg. There was no welcome sound of water splashing around
inside it. He drew the bung, and a few drops trickled out. Then, tying
a length of rope to it, the sailor lowered it overboard.
“What’s that for?” asked Tom.
“I want to see where the leak is,” was the quiet answer. “I don’t see
how a sound keg could spring a leak in the night.”
“Then you think----” began Tom.
“I don’t know what I do think--yet,” was the reply. He held the keg
aloft, and aside from the water that dripped from the outside none
came from it. “There’s no leak there,” half growled Abe. “Some one has
emptied that water butt!” He looked to where Mr. Skeel stood at the
helm.
“Do you think----” began Tom in a whisper.
“Wait. Don’t say anything yet,” cautioned Abe. “But we’ll keep our eyes
open.”
But if Mr. Skeel knew he was suspected he did not show it. He accepted
his small share of food and water with the others, and he did not
complain, as he usually did.
For three more days they sailed on, each hour adding to their
sufferings, for it was very hot. And they scarcely seemed to cool off
in the night before it was daylight again.
The water got lower, and to Tom’s horror, one day, as he went to serve
out the food, he saw that the supply was much lower than he had thought.
“I’m sure there was more than this,” he said to the sailors when the
professor was at the helm.
“There’s something wrong going on here,” decided Joe, “and I’m going to
see what it is. There’s got to be a search made.”
One was soon under way, but it revealed nothing. Mr. Skeel had been in
the habit of sleeping on a pile of the canvas and this was looked over.
The man was evidently aware of the suspicion in which he was held, but
he said nothing, and quietly moved away when the sailors looked under
his canvas bed.
“Unless some sort of a sea monster boarded us in the night, I don’t see
how the food and water could disappear,” said Tom.
“There’s no sea monsters that could do such a thing,” declared Joe,
knowing Tom was only joking. “And yet--well, we’ll have to get along
with less, that’s all.”
They were down now to almost the limit of human endurance in the
allowance of food and water. All but Jackie--he had nearly all he asked
for.
Half a week passed. Their sufferings had increased from day to day
with the heat of the sun. Their lips and tongues began to swell and
get black from lack of sufficient water, and their stomachs gnawed
constantly from hunger. They were days of suffering indeed.
Their eyes were strained from looking for a sail, or a sight of land.
They were weak and feverish. By dousing their bodies with sea water
some of the pangs of thirst were lessened, but the matter of food could
not be remedied.
Tom watched Mr. Skeel narrowly and it seemed that the professor did
not suffer as did the others. Yet he did not appear to have any secret
store of food or water. Indeed in a small boat it was difficult to
imagine where he could hide it. Yet Tom was suspicious.
It was one cloudy night when our hero made his important discovery.
It was his trick at the helm, and he had put Jackie to sleep, and
moved aft to take the rude steering sweep. Professor Skeel’s position
was well forward, in the bow, and the two sailors, worn out by their
suffering and hardships, were lying amidships.
Tom began to feel light-headed. He imagined he saw land ahead in the
darkness--a ship coming to their rescue--a ship filled with ice water
and good things to eat. He imagined he heard his father and mother
calling to him.
“Come, this won’t do!” he exclaimed, half aloud. “I must keep a better
grip on myself. Maybe we’ll be rescued to-morrow.”
He stretched himself, and tried not to think of cool water and tables
piled with food. And yet the more he tried to stop it, the more often
did visions of great glass pitchers filled with ice water come before
him. That day they had had only a single tin cup full of water
each--one cup full for the whole hot day!
“Oh, for a good, long drink!” whispered Tom.
And then he started. Surely that was the tinkle and drip of water that
he heard! Where did it come from?