CHAPTER XII
A MUTUAL SURPRISE
“Davy Jones!” gasped Joe Weldon, as he too looked into the boat he had towed to the derelict, and saw the man. “Another passenger!”
“And a dead one, too, I reckon,” added Abe, grimly.
“Let’s make sure,” suggested Tom. “We must get him aboard here, unless that boat is better than the derelict. Maybe we had better take to that.”
“No,” decided Joe, after a careful look. “She’s stove in, and only her water-tight compartments keep her afloat. It wouldn’t be safe to get into her. Our own craft is better.”
“Then we must get him aboard here,” went on Tom. “That is, if he’s alive.”
“And we must get some of that drinking water out of the boat, too,” went on Abe. “It’s just what we need.”
“Maybe there’s food, also,” suggested Joe. “It’s a good find all right, even if the boat is a wreck.”
“Is my daddy in it?” asked Jackie.
“No,” replied Tom sadly. “But, Jackie I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’ll make a little house out of part of that boat, and we can sleep in it.”
“Really and truly, Tom?”
“Surely.”
“And we can camp out?”
“Yes. Now you go away up, on that high part of our ship and stay there while we pull the sick man out of the boat.”
Tom put Jackie on the highest part of the derelict over which the waves did not break. In fact, now that the sea had gone down, their situation was not so bad, for they were getting dry.
“Come on now, mates, all together,” proposed Joe. “We’ll haul the man out first, and then see what’s in the boat that’s of any use to us. All together, now!”
It was no easy task to get an unconscious man from the boat, nearly awash, to what might be called the deck of the derelict. But they managed it, and he was made as comfortable as possible.
“Some of that canvas will come in handy,” remarked Joe, as he pulled a large piece of it from the lifeboat. “And here are two kegs of water, and some cases of tinned food. We won’t starve, or die of thirst, right away.”
“Right you are, mate,” agreed Abe. “Now if we could only get this boat up on the derelict, we might use the planks for making a shelter, as Tom said. Let’s try.”
It was even harder work than hauling the unconscious passenger up on the deck, but the sailors knew their business, and with Tom to help them and taking advantage of the swell of the sea, and an occasional big wave, they did manage to get the wrecked lifeboat up on the derelict by hauling on ropes attached to her.
“And it’s a good thing we didn’t try to go to sea in her,” commented Abe, as he looked at the holes stove in the craft. “Even with the water-tight compartments we couldn’t have gone far. She must have been rammed by some of the wreckage after this man was in her. Do you know him, Tom?”
“Yes, I know him,” was the quiet answer. “Let’s get the boat a little higher up.”
“All together—heave!” cried Joe, and they worked the craft farther up on the derelict.
“There’s an axe!” cried Tom, as the bottom of the lifeboat became exposed, when the water ran from her through the rents and gashes. “That will come in handy.”
“That’s what,” agreed the sailors.
Now that they had their prize secure, they turned their attention to the passenger who had so unexpectedly come to them. He seemed to be still unconscious, but Tom, feeling of his wrist, detected the movement of a pulse.
“He’s alive,” he said.
“Then the sooner we get the water out of him the better,” spoke Abe. “Though I don’t believe he got much into him, for he was sitting high in the boat, and she hadn’t shipped so very much.”
Then they began to work over the unconscious man, Tom thinking meanwhile of the irony of fate that had again thrown him into contact with the character in whose life he had played so strange a part.
“He’s coming around,” announced Joe, after a bit.
“Yes, I guess so,” assented Abe.
The man sat up. His eyes roved about as though he could not understand where he was. He looked first at Abe, then at Joe, and then sought little Jackie, who was seated on the highest part of the derelict where Tom had sent him. Then the gaze of the man went to Tom’s face.
Over the countenance of the man came a tinge of fear, and Tom smiled grimly. He saw the features of the man as they had been on the day when he came aboard the Silver Star in such a hurry—a smooth-shaven face—the face on which Tom had seen the man adjusting a false beard in his stateroom that day.
The mysterious passenger gasped. Then he said:
“You—you here—Tom—Tom Fairfield?”
“Yes, I’m here, Professor Skeel,” announced our hero calmly, as he faced the former Latin instructor of Elmwood Hall—the teacher against whom he had led such a successful revolt. “I’m here, and I’m surprised to see you here.”
“No more—no more than I am to be here—and to see you,” came the grim answer. “It’s a mutual surprise I fancy.”
“Yes,” agreed Tom simply.
“Do you know this man?” asked Joe. “This Mr. Trendell?” for, somehow, the sailor had learned the name by which the renegade professor had gone.
“I don’t know him by that name,” spoke Tom, “but it doesn’t matter I fancy. We have other things to consider now.”
“All right,” agreed the sailor. “It’s none of my affair. Only when a man goes by two names—”
“What business of yours is that?” snapped Mr. Skeel, with a return of his old, overbearing classroom manner.
“Nothing, of course. But I’ve got a right to make a remark, and whoever you are, I’d remind you that we’ve saved your life.”
“And what’s more,” went on Abe, “we’re all equal here. We’re not on board a ship now, and there’s no captain, unless we elect Tom here, which I vote we do.”
“Second the motion,” came from Joe. “How’s that, Captain Tom?”
“I—I’ll not serve under him!” muttered Burton Skeel. “I won’t take orders from him.”
“Then you can go adrift again, and shift for yourself if you like,” spoke Joe sharply. “The majority rules here, and Abe and I vote for Captain Tom.”
“Oh, I don’t know enough about a ship to be captain,” spoke our hero.
“You don’t have to know much about a ship to navigate this water-logged craft,” said Joe. “Captain we’ve voted you, and captain you’ll be. There has to be some one to give orders, and you’re him. If this Professor Skeel, as you call him, or Mr. Trendell, as we knew him, doesn’t like it he can go elsewhere.”
“Oh, I suppose I must give in,” said the new passenger bitterly.
“That’s all that need be said,” commented Abe, “and if you’ve got a secret you can keep it. We won’t ask any questions, will we mate?”
“Not I,” growled Joe. “Now then, Mr. Trendell—”
“You might as well call me Skeel,” said the owner of that name. “Since Tom Fairfield knows me there is no use trying to hide my identity. Not that I have anything to conceal,” he added hastily.
“All right,” agreed Joe. “Now then, let’s make this lifeboat fast in a little better shape, and then we’ll chop off some of the planks and build a sort of shelter. Then we can think about breakfast—that is if the captain says so.”
“Surely,” assented Tom with a smile. “Do as you think best. You know much more about it than I do.”
The two sailors busied themselves, while Jackie looked on interestedly. Mr. Skeel, who was rapidly regaining his strength, after a drink of water, and a bite of biscuit and meat, crawled to Tom.
“Are—are you going to inform on me?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” replied our hero. “I’m done with you. I have no wish to trouble you further. I think you acted very unfairly toward our class, and what you did to my friend Bruce Bennington was criminal, but he does not want to prosecute you, so neither do I.”
“You little knew the temptation I was under,” said the former professor humbly. “I make no explanations, but I will say that I have decided to live a better life. I was going to try in a new country to redeem the past. I had no idea you were on the Silver Star when I engaged passage under another name, and when I saw you, after I had disguised myself, I was greatly startled. I kept to my room, and even thought of adopting another form of false beard and moustache so you would not know me.”
“I recognized you,” said Tom simply. “However, you need not fear me. I will say nothing, and I hope that you can better yourself in your new situation. That is all that need be said.”
“I suppose so,” spoke Mr. Skeel gloomily. “This is a bad beginning for a new life, though—a wreck.”
“How did you come to get in the boat?” asked Tom.
“I hardly know. There was so much confusion. I came up on deck after the crash, and waited for the order to get into the boat. Some one helped me in. I was the only one in it when the second crash came, and suddenly the boat seemed to fall into the sea. I received a blow on the head, and then I knew no more until I found myself aboard this derelict. I suppose I must thank you for saving my life.”
“Not at all. It was Joe who swam out and brought in your boat. I am sorry for you. We will say no more about it. There is a hard enough task ahead of us as it is, to save ourselves.”
“Do you think we can?”
“I don’t know. It all depends on whether we can get to an island where the natives will be friendly enough to give us aid, or if we are picked up by some vessel. We will hope for the best. We have food and water, but not much of a craft under us. However, since your boat is here, possibly we can make some kind of a structure to shelter us.”
The two sailors, with the piece of canvas that had been found in the lifeboat, and with some pieces of lumber which they managed to chop out of the derelict, were constructing a shelter on the after portion of the wreck—on the highest part.
“Oh, Tom!” called Jackie, who sat beneath this improvised awning, “come under my tent!”
“I will,” answered our hero with a smile.
“And bring me something to eat,” commanded Jackie. “I’m hungry. I want my breakfast, and I want my daddy. When will he come, Tom Fairfield?”
“I don’t know. Soon, I guess. Now we’re going to play at soldiers, camping out, and we’ll have breakfast in our tent. Won’t that be fun, Jackie?”
“Indeed it will. Hurry up, Tom!”
Tom smiled sadly, as he collected some food and water from where the stores had been put. And yet, in a way he was glad he had this little boy in charge now, for it kept him from brooding over his own troubles.
“I don’t see how I’m ever going to rescue dad and mother when I’m wrecked myself,” reflected Tom. “But it’s too soon to give up yet,” and he closed his teeth grimly, to keep back the tears that wanted to come.
CHAPTER XIII
UNDER SAIL
“Now, Jackie, what will you have?” asked Tom briskly, as he sat under the canvas shelter with the little lad. “Will you have ice cream, or bread and milk, or a boiled egg or some cut-up pineapple, or cup custard, or any of those things for your breakfast?”
“Oh, Tom, have you really got ’em?” asked the child eagerly.
“Why, yes, of course. We always have those things on wrecks—make-believe, I mean,” added Tom quickly.
“Oh, make believe,” and Jackie was a trifle disappointed.
“Surely. Now here is some nice pineapple to start off with,” and Tom shredded up some canned tongue, put it between two ship biscuits, and passed it to the boy. Jackie laughed as he took it, and soon was eating hungrily.
“Is it good—that pineapple?” asked Tom.
“Fine.”
“Then try some of this nice mooley-cow milk to wash it down with,” suggested our hero, as he passed over a tin cup full of water. “The milkman just left it for you.”
“Oh, Tom!” cried Jackie, “it’s just like a story in a book.”
“And I hope you keep on thinking so,” murmured Joe as he nodded at Abe while they further made fast the canvas shelter.
Mr. Skeel helped himself to some of the food, as did the two sailors when they had finished with their temporary work, and Tom ate also.
“Now, Jackie,” he said, when he had finished, “here is my knife,” and he took it from his pocket. “It got all wet when I had to swim last night, but it will cut yet, and I want you to whittle out some wooden soldiers, and we’ll play a game pretty soon. You just sit here and whittle, and take care not to cut yourself.”
“What are you going to do, Tom?”
“Oh, I’m going to get ready to make a wooden house for us to live in,” was the answer.
Tom motioned for the two sailors to follow him to the other end of the wreck. It was lower there, but now that the sea had gone down the waves did not break over it. The stern was really well out of the water.
“What is it?” inquired Joe when he and his shipmate had joined our hero.
“I think we had better take an account of stock,” suggested Tom. “See how much food and water we have, how long it will last us, and what we had better do.”
“Right you are, captain!” exclaimed Abe admiringly. “I knowed we didn’t make no mistake when we elected you.”
“First then, the food,” suggested Tom. “How long will it last us?”
Joe and Abe collected it—that which they had brought with them on the abandoned life-raft, and that which had been in the boat in which Professor Skeel had been found. That individual was sitting on the stern, gazing moodily off into the distance.
“Well, if we don’t stuff ourselves too much, and keep at the drinking water every time we’re thirsty,” said Abe, “we’ll have enough here for a week, at least.”
“Good!” exclaimed Tom. “In that time something ought to turn up.”
“If we don’t turn up ourselves,” commented Joe grimly.
“Here! Stow that kind of talk,” said his mate quickly. “We’ve got a captain who’ll navigate us anywhere we want to go.”
“I only wish I could,” spoke Tom. “The next thing to think of is making some better kind of a shelter. Can we do it out of the wood we have at hand?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Abe. “Joe here used to be a sort of carpenter, and I’ve worked at the trade too. We have only an axe, but that’s better than nothing.”
“Then let’s make a sort of deck house,” suggested Tom. “That canvas awning won’t be much good in a storm.”
“Right, captain!” exclaimed Abe. “What next?”
“That’s all for the present. And I guess that’s enough.”
They first put the food and water in a safe place, on the highest part of the derelict, lashing it fast with ropes found in the lifeboat, so that it would not wash away. Mr. Skeel wanted to help in the work, but at the first knot he tied Abe exclaimed:
“That’s too land-lubbery for me! It would fetch away at the first roll of the derelict. You’d better take the axe and see if you can get out some planks.”
It was hard work, but to the credit of the former teacher be it said that he did manage to chop out some of the planks. He worked through a hole in what had been the deck of the lumber vessel, for she had been laden with planks in all her holds.
Soon quite a number of planks were at the service of the sailors, who had finished securing the food. Jackie was still cutting away at the toy soldiers, producing a vast quantity of shavings but not much else.
It was no easy task to make a wooden shelter, with no nails with which to fasten it. But they made pegs of wood, chopped out with the axe and whittled with the sailors’ knives and these served to hold the planks together and to the deck of the derelict.
An inverted “V” shaped structure was made, with one end closed by boards, and the other by a square bit of canvas. This had been built over the place where the stores had been lashed fast, and made a sort of deck house.
“Now then,” said Tom, “we don’t need the canvas awning, and so we might as well take it down. It will do for beds.”
“Beds!” cried Joe. “Something better than that.”
“What?” asked Tom.
“For a sail! Look, we aren’t moving anything to speak of now, only as the currents make us drift. Why not make some sort of a sail, and take advantage of the wind?”
“Of course!” agreed Tom, wondering why he had not thought of that before.
“And we’ll need a rudder to steer with,” added Abe.
“Certainly,” assented his mate. “We can rig up one out of some of the planks.”
“Then hoist the sail, by all means!” cried Tom.
It was no easy work to chop out a rude mast from one of the planks, set it upright and bend a sail to it, made from the canvas shelter. But they did it at last. Then a rudder was made from another plank—a crude and unsatisfactory affair but which served in a measure to guide the derelict.
The canvas was hoisted. Its end was made fast. It filled with wind, flapped and then bellied out.
“Hurray!” cried Tom in delight.
“We’re under sail!” shouted Abe.
“And now to lay a course,” added Joe. “Maybe we can get somewhere with this ship after all.”
CHAPTER XIV
DREARY DAYS
Like some castaways on a desert island, when they have discovered a sail in the distance, so it was with Tom and the others when they found that their water-logged craft was really making headway with the rude sail they had hoisted. It seemed to them that now they could really navigate to some place where they would be saved from death at sea.
“She’s really slipping along,” remarked Joe.
“And with some speed, too,” added his mate.
“She answers the helm,” observed Tom, who was in temporary charge of the rudder, as he shifted the rough handle and noted a change in the course of the derelict.
“Well, yes, she does, but you can’t count on it much, captain,” spoke Abe. “That is to say we’ve got to keep more or less dead before the wind. No fancy tacking, sailing great circles, or anything like that. No frills; it’s plain sailing for us.”
“And that will do as well as any other I reckon,” put in Joe. “If we keep on dead ahead long enough we’re bound to fetch up somewhere or other, I lay you that, and you’ve sailed in these seas as much as I have, Abe Weldon. How about it?”
“Well, yes, I reckon so,” was the answer. “There’s islands a-plenty around here, if we can fetch one. And there ought to be more or less of vessels making in and out, for there is lots of trade with these same islands. So if we don’t hit an island we may be picked up, if we keep moving.”
“Then we’ll move, as long as there’s wind,” decided Tom with a laugh.
“Can I sail the ship?” asked little Jackie, abandoning his play of cutting out soldiers. “I want to steer.”
“You may help me,” promised Tom. “Come and help push.”
The rudder, if such it can be called, had been hung over the stern of the derelict. It was like some huge sweep, or oar on a raft, but it served the purpose. While Tom and his little charge were at this task, Joe and Abe further made secure the wooden deck house they had made. Professor Skeel helped them, but he was a moody assistant, and while the two sailors joked and sang he maintained a glum silence.
“Well, we’re in pretty good shape, considering what happened to us,” finally announced Joe. “What time does the dinner gong ring, captain? It looks to me like eight bells now.”
“My watch has stopped,” said Tom, taking his water-soaked timepiece out of his pocket, “but—”
“The sun is good enough bell for me,” laughed Abe. “It’s twelve now, if I’m any judge,” and he looked up at the ball of yellow fire in the sky.
“Then we’ll eat,” decided Tom. “Shall I steer while you—”
“No sir!” exclaimed Joe. “Captain’s table is first, always. I’ll mind the wheel, not that there’s much steering to be done, only we might as well have things ship-shape while we’re at it, I suppose.”
The meal was not an elaborate one, but there was no disposition to find fault—at least on the part of the more mature members of the shipwrecked party. As for Jackie, Tom played the “pretend” game with him once more until the child was satisfied that canned beef was roast chicken.
The water they had to drink was warm, and not very palatable, but they made the best of that, too, thankful that they had any with which to cool their parched throats.
After dinner they made a more complete survey of the derelict, which had not been possible earlier in the morning, as the sea was still running rather high. Now the ocean was like the proverbial millpond, and only occasionally a wave washed slightly over the submerged bow of the craft.
“The forward companionway is almost out of water,” observed Joe, looking thoughtfully at it. “If we could lighten the ship a bit I believe I could get into it.”
“What good would it do?” asked Tom.
“Well, I might be able to fetch up something. Maybe some stores—something to eat. Tinned stuff keeps a good while, even under water.”
“How long do you think this vessel has been wrecked?” asked Tom.
“No telling. A year maybe, longer perhaps. It’s in pretty good shape. I can’t see anything to tell her name by or anything like that.”
They all looked about them at the mystery of the sea. Whence had the vessel sailed, and to where? What had become of her captain and crew? They were questions that could not be answered.
“She’s a mystery, the same as what has become of the rest of the folks of the Silver Star,” remarked Abe. “I wonder if that lifeboat got away safely? Was the captain saved? Them things always comes to a man after he’s been saved.”
“Hush!” exclaimed Tom, nodding toward the child.
“That’s right,” agreed Abe. “We’ve got to keep it from him, poor little kid.”
But at present Jackie seemed happy enough, and he gave no thought to the possible loss of his father. He was content to be with Tom, and help to steer the derelict, which task he assigned himself with whoever was at the wheel. That is all but with Mr. Skeel, and, somehow or other, Jackie took a dislike to the stern man. Nor did the former Elmwood Hall instructor seem to care. He performed his duties in solemn silence.
All that afternoon they sailed on, eagerly watching for the sign of a sail, or the sight of some island. But nothing rewarded their gaze.
“I guess we must be in a pretty watery part of the ocean,” remarked Abe grimly.
“Oh, we’ll fetch up somewhere, sooner or later,” declared his mate.
“Where am I going to sleep to-night, Tom?” asked Jackie, as it began to get dusk, the sun sinking down behind the waves in a glory of gold that promised a fair day on the morrow.
“With me, of course, Jackie,” answered our hero. “We’ll sleep under the wooden tent.”
“In the dark?”
“Oh, yes, in the dark.”
“But I don’t like the dark.”
“It’s better than the light, Jackie dear. The mosquitoes can’t find you to bite you in the dark.”
“All right. I don’t like the dark, and I don’t like the miskeeters, either. Will you hold my hand?”
“Yes, Jackie.”
“No, we can’t make a light, worse luck,” murmured Abe. “I’ve got some matches, that I always carry in a water-tight case, but it might not be altogether safe to make a light on a lumber derelict, even if she is partly water-logged. She might take fire.”
“What was your idea of a light?” asked Tom.
“A signal, my lad. Our sail, small as it is, can be pretty well seen in the daytime, but at night we’re just nothing, and if a vessel should happen along, and we were in her path—”
“However, we’ll trust to luck,” went on Abe.
He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant.
“We can’t kick against Providence. Now let’s have grub and turn in. Captain, will you name the watches?”
“Name the watches?” asked Tom.
“Yes, some one has to be on duty all night, for we might sight a light and a hail would bring help.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I think you or Joe had better do that, knowing more about it.”
“Very well, then I’ll take from eight to eleven, Joe can take from eleven to two, and Mr. Skeel from two to five. By that time it’ll be light.”
“But where do I come in?” asked Tom.
“You’ll stay with him,” whispered Abe, winking his eye, and nodding at little Jackie. Then Tom understood.
The night passed without incident, the child sleeping peacefully with Tom. Some pieces of the canvas served as a bed, and little was needed in the way of covering, for it was quite warm, and their clothing had dried out.
“No vessels sighted?” asked Tom in the morning, as they prepared for the simple breakfast.
“Not a one,” answered Mr. Skeel shortly. “I don’t believe we’ll ever be rescued.”
“Oh, stow that kind of talk,” commanded Abe, half roughly. “Of course we will. Why, our voyage has only just begun.”
Dreary days followed. The food and water was divided with scrupulous care, for there was no telling how long the scanty store of each would have to last. They went on three-quarter rations—that is, all but Jackie, who had his full share, though in the matter of water he did not use as much as any of the others.
The hours and days passed, and their straining eyes saw no sign of a sail, and no welcome land loomed into view. Their progress was slow—slower than they had any idea of, for the sail was small and the derelict low in the water, and heavy. Dreary and more dreary became the time.
“I’ll be jib-boomed if I don’t think some one has moved the blessed islands!” exclaimed Abe, one day.
“It does look so,” admitted his mate. “I thought sure we would sight one before this. If we could only make a bigger sail we could move faster.”
“We can’t, unless we take our clothing, and we need that to protect us from the sun,” declared Abe. “Not being blooming cannibals that can stand any great amount of heat on our own skins.”
“Then what we need is a smaller boat,” decided Joe.
“What’s that, matie?” asked Abe.
“I said we needed a smaller boat, and then this sail would do.”
For a moment Abe stared at his companion, and then, bringing his hand down on his thigh with a report like a pistol, he cried:
“That’s it! You’ve struck it! A smaller boat is what we need, and we’re going to have it! We’ll set sail in that and make three times the speed we can in this bulk. Hurray for a smaller boat!”
Joe looked at him anxiously for a moment, and then said gently:
“Come in out of the sun, matie. Take a drink of water, do, and lie down. I’ve been touched that way myself once or twice. Just take it easy and you’ll get over it.”
CHAPTER XV
MAKING A BOAT
“Say, what’s the matter with you?” burst out Abe. “Do you think I’m crazy, Joe?”
“There, there now. It’s all right. You’ll be over it in a little while. Just lie down,” begged his mate.
“He sure does,” murmured Abe smiling. “He sure thinks I’m touched in the head. Ho! Ho! That’s a good one. Joe thinks I’m crazy!” and he laughed heartily.
Joe looked at Tom, and shook his head sadly. Even Tom himself began to believe that perhaps the hardships of their position, and the horror of what might come, had turned the sailor’s brain. But his laugh seemed natural.
“I’m all right!” insisted Abe, seeing that they were looking at him curiously.
“Then what do you mean by that talk about a smaller boat, and leaving the derelict?” demanded Joe half angrily.
“I meant just what I said.”
“And I say anybody’s crazy that talks like that. Where are we going to get a smaller boat?”
“It’s right here with us now,” declared Abe. “There she is,” and he pointed to the half smashed lifeboat. “We can cut that in two, use the stern and bow that ain’t a bit damaged, fasten ’em together in the middle, with the airtight compartments in each end, and we’ll have as fine a small boat as we could wish.
“We can hoist the sail on it and then we can make some speed, instead of just drifting along. I wonder I didn’t think of it before, but it only sort of just came to me now, and that’s why I got excited I guess.”
“I sure thought you were raving,” declared Joe. “It didn’t seem natural.”
“And you thought I was touched by the sun; eh, mate?”
“I sure did.”
“Ho! Ho! That’s a good joke! A good one! It’ll do to tell the boys when we see ’em again.”
“If we ever do,” put in Joe half gloomily.
“Of course we will!” insisted Abe. “Wait until I get the boat made and you’ll see.”
“But do you think you can do it?” asked Tom. “Won’t it leak?”
“Not when I get through with it,” declared Abe. “I can calk the seams with some of our clothes, and part of the sail cloth. You will see.”
“But with only an axe, I don’t see how you’re going to cut the boat in two, and fasten the two ends together,” insisted Tom.
“I’ve done harder jobs than that, matie,” declared Abe. “Wait until I get to work.”
He then explained his plan. The lifeboat was badly damaged amidships, but both the bow and stern, where the airtight compartments were located, were in good shape. By cutting the boat in twain, severing the damaged portions and bringing the sections together again, lapping them and making them fast with the copper nails drawn from the useless parts, Abe hoped to make a serviceable craft, though crude.
“It may leak some,” he admitted, “but I’ll stuff the cracks up with ravelings from the sail cloth, and our clothes that we need least. Between us we can spare enough. Then I’ll make a mast for the sail, and we can leave this hulk and get somewhere. And Joe thought I was touched by the sun! Ho! Ho! A good joke! A good one!”
“All right,” assented Joe. “If you make that boat you’ll be a good one. I’ll help, of course, but I don’t believe it can be done.”
“I’ll show you!” exclaimed Abe defiantly.
Forthwith they began to work, even Mr. Skeel doing his share. He had settled into a gloomy silence, scarcely speaking unless spoken to, and he seemed to pay little attention to those about him. Clearly the shipwreck, and the unexpected meeting with the lad who had exposed his villainy at Elmwood Hall, had dispirited him. Yet at times he showed a flash of his old manners.
It was harder work than even Abe had imagined, to cut the boat in two, and get out the damaged part. Especially with only an axe to use. Yet the old sailor handled the implement with skill, and showed that he knew his business.
Tom looked after the meals, though he had not much to do, for the menu was not very varied. He had to keep Jackie amused, too, and invented such little games as fishing over the broken rail of the ship with a string for a line, and no hook, and making fairy castles out of the splinters that Abe knocked off the lifeboat.
Several days passed, and though they looked almost every other minute for a sail or a sight of land they saw nothing. They were borne on by the currents and the light winds that at times scarcely filled their clumsy sail.
The watches were kept as before, Tom not being allowed to share in them. But the darkness of the night was not relieved by any welcome light. The days seemed to become more dreary as they passed, and only for the work of making the boat they might not have stood the time so well. But the work was a blessing to them.
Tom looked anxiously at the store of food, and as he saw it diminishing, and no help of rescue at hand he spoke to the two sailors about it.
“Well, we’ll have to reduce rations, that’s all, matie,” said Joe, and he spoke cheerfully.
“Of course,” assented Abe. “I’ll have the boat done in a few more days, and then we can set sail. Reduce rations! If I only had a saw I could work faster, but I’ll do the best I can. Reduce rations, that’s all. I’m getting too fat as it is.”
He laughed at his joke, and a grim joke it was, for his belt had been taken in several holes, and could stand more. They were all becoming thin.
When the next meal, after the reduced ration decision had been arrived at, was served, Mr. Skeel looked at the portion handed him on the top of a beef tin.
“Is that all I get?” he demanded roughly. “That isn’t enough for a man.”
“It’s all that can safely be given,” spoke Tom, quietly.
“Well I want more. I demand my fair share.”
“That’s your fair share, mate,” said Joe grimly. “It’s as much as any of us have. We’re on short rations, don’t you understand?”
“Huh! That may be so, but I notice that you have charge of the food,” and he sneered at Tom.
“Because we voted him to do so,” put in Abe. “And what the majority says goes!”
“The boy has more than I have!” snarled the former professor, and he glanced at Jackie who, under a little tent he had made from a spare piece of the sail, was eating his lunch at a “play party,” as he called it.
“That’ll do you!” snapped Joe, shaking a menacing finger at Mr. Skeel. “You eat what you’ve got, and be thankful on your bended knees that you’ve got that much. And if I hear any more talk that the boy has more than you, why I’ll—”
“Easy matie,” cautioned Abe. “Easy.”
Tom looked distressed, but said nothing. When the water was passed, that too had dwindled in amount. Mr. Skeel looked at his share, and seemed about to make a protest, but a glance from Joe stopped him.
The weather had been fine for several days; too fine to last, Abe declared as he worked away at the boat.
“We’re in for another storm, I’m thinking,” he said to Joe.
“Well, keep still about it,” suggested his companion. “No use making Tom and the kid worry. I guess we can weather it.”
“The waves’ll sweep over this old hulk, once they get running high,” went on Abe. “And that deck house won’t stand much. The boat, too, is likely to be washed away. If I only had a saw I could make twice the speed. But I don’t reckon I could get one.”
“Leastways not unless there’s one aboard, down in the carpenter’s quarters,” said Joe, “and I don’t see how it’s to be come at. We’ll have to do the best we can.”
“I reckon so. Catch hold of that plank now, and hold it while I chop it off.”
They resumed work, pausing now and then to look at the sky. It clouded up in the afternoon, and there came a heavy rain storm, unaccompanied by much wind, for which last fact they were thankful.
“This is just what we need!” cried Abe, as he saw the big drops come down. “Spread out the sail cloth, mates, and catch all the water we can. We’ll need it.”
The sail was hastily taken down, and with another piece of the canvas was spread out in the form of a huge bowl. The rain filled it, and, making a sort of channel at one end, the precious water was run into the nearly empty kegs. Thus their supply was replenished, and with lighter hearts they resumed their task, the two sailors and Mr. Skeel working at the boat, while Tom steered.
It was about a week since they had taken refuge on the derelict, and the signs of an approaching change in the weather were increasing. In all that time they had not seen a sail, and what was more remarkable, they had not sighted an island, though they were in that part of the Pacific where many are located.
“Either we are passing in and out among them, just far enough away so as to miss ’em, or we can’t pick ’em out on account of the mist,” explained Joe. “I was sure we’d sight one before this.”
“Same here,” murmured Abe. “It’s middling queer, though. But if our grub holds out we’ll soon be afloat in a better craft.”
“It doesn’t look like it,” declared Joe. “You’ve get a lot of work on it yet.”
“I know I have, and if only there was a saw I’d make double speed.”
Joe did not answer but walked forward to where the hatchway, opening down into the lower regions of the ship, showed. It was more out of water than at any previous time, and it could be seen that there was a passage leading into the crew’s quarters. Joe stood contemplating this, and then slowly began taking off his shoes, and some of his garments.
“Hi! matie, what are you up to?” hailed Abe, seeing his actions. “Going for a swim? If you are you’d better look out for sharks. I see some big fins in the offing this morning.”
“No, I’m not going to swim—I’m going to have a dive.”
“A dive?”
“Yes. I’m going down and see if I can’t fetch up a saw, or something so you can finish that boat quicker.”
Abe dropped the axe and hurried toward his companion.
“Say, don’t you do it,” he gasped. “You might not be able to get up again, and we can’t afford to lose you.”
“No danger! If I get into a place, Abe, I can get out again. I’m going to dive and get you a saw.”
“Don’t do it!” urged the other. “I can make out some how.”
“Here goes!” cried Joe, and with that he walked down the half-submerged companion steps and dived into the water-filled forecastle quarters.
CHAPTER XVI
WIND AND WAVE TOSSED
Abe stood looking anxiously down into the dark opening where his mate had disappeared. Tom, understanding that something unusual was taking place, also hurried up to look on, and Mr. Skeel and Jackie followed.
“Is—is it safe?” asked our hero, for it was as if some one had gone down a well.
“Well—er—hardly—that is to say, of course it is!” exclaimed Abe, quickly changing his mind, as he saw the little boy regarding him curiously. “Joe’ll come up in a minute with just the very thing we need—maybe.”
Tom caught the alarmed note in the sailor’s voice.
“Why did you let him do it?” he asked in a whisper.
“There was no stopping him,” answered Abe. “He would do it. He knew that I needed a saw, but, pshaw! I’d rather he hadn’t done it. I could have made out, only the storm that——”
Then he stopped at the look of alarm on Tom’s face.
“What storm?” demanded the lad.
“Oh, Joe had a notion that a storm was coming up, and he wanted us to get the boat done before then, so we’d have a chance to scud before the wind. But, bless my jib-boom! there ain’t going to be no storm, in my estimation,” and Abe cast a hasty glance about the heavens, now cloud-encumbered. “No storm at all—leastways not soon,” he added.
Amid a strained silence they all watched the opening into the ship, waiting for the reappearance of Joe. A minute went by, and he did not come up. A minute and a half,—two minutes!
“He can’t stay under much longer,” murmured Abe.
“No man can hold his breath that long under water,” spoke Mr. Skeel, “at least not an ordinary man. Maybe something has——”
He hesitated, Abe began taking off his shoes, ready for a rescue.
“Hadn’t we better tie a rope to you?” suggested Tom, understanding the danger.
“I—I’ll——” began Abe, and then there was a commotion in the water, and Joe shot up. He did not seem to be in distress. In one hand he held up a carpenter’s hammer.
“We were just getting worried about you,” said Tom, with a breath of relief.
“How’d you manage to stay down so long?” asked Abe.
“I—I found air down there,” explained Joe, pantingly. “The cabin isn’t quite full of water, and I stuck my nose up close to the ceiling and got a breath in an air space.”
“Did you locate a saw?” asked Abe.
“Not yet. But I will. I found the carpenter’s quarters all right. I’ve got to go by feeling, but I’ll get a saw sooner or later. Here’s a hammer, anyhow.”
He tossed it to Abe and then, after a rest, he went down again. This time he remained under longer than before and coming up brought an adze, which would come in useful. It was on his third trial that he located a saw, quite rusted, it is true, but nevertheless a saw.
“Hurray!” cried Tom.
“Now I can do something!” declared Abe. “I can work quicker now.”
“There are some more tools down there,” said Joe. “I’m going to bring some up.”
Which he did, after a number of trials, and some other things that would prove useful, including several coils of strong rope. But he could find no food, and, probably had he come upon any it would have been spoiled.
“Never mind,” said Abe, when his partner had commented on this failure. “We’ll make out somehow. And we’ll soon be afloat in a better craft. Can you spare me a bit of that canned beef fat, Tom, so I can grease up this saw?”
Tom passed him a chunk that was hardly edible, but Mr. Skeel seemed to eye it greedily. He was a large man, and had a big appetite that was far from being satisfied on the meager rations that were available.
The saw was soon in shape to use, and then Abe and Joe could work to better advantage. That night the boat sections were joined together, and the next day would see the practical completion of the craft.
“It’ll have to be well calked,” said Abe, as he looked critically at his handiwork in the gathering dusk. “Them seams ain’t just what I’d like ’em to be, though it was the best I could do. But if I stuff ’em well with rags and such-like I guess it’ll answer. We’ll get at that the first thing in the morning.”
“And we’ll lash the boat well down to-night,” spoke Joe in a low voice to his companion.
“Yes, I shouldn’t wonder but what we were in for a blow,” was the rejoinder. “But don’t say anything to Tom.”
“You don’t need to. I begin to suspect something,” exclaimed our hero, with a grim smile, as he came up behind the two. “I’m not afraid to know the worst,” he went on. “In fact I want to know it. I’ll be better prepared then. Do you think we’re in for a blow?”
“I come pretty near knowing it, matie,” said Joe in a low voice. “We weren’t to tell you, but we’re in the storm region now, and I don’t need one of them barometers to tell me we’re going to have plenty of wind and water soon. But don’t worry. The old derelict has gone through many a one, and she’ll stand another blow or two I guess. We’ll make everything as snug as we can. You just look after the kid and yourself.”
“Poor little chap,” murmured Abe. “I wonder where his father is?”
“Lost, I reckon, like most of the other poor souls that were on the Silver Star,” spoke Joe, gloomily.
“Oh, you get out!” cried his mate. “You’d have us all in Davy Jones’s locker if you had your way. Maybe the boy’s dad is saved, and maybe all the rest were picked up. And we’ll be all right soon, you see if we’re not.”
The cheerfulness of the old sailor was infectious, and Tom felt better after hearing his cheery talk. True, our hero had his moments of sadness, particularly when he thought of his missing parents. And often he found himself wondering what might be their fate, and where they were. At night, as he stretched out beside little Jackie, under the rude shelter, he spent many hours of wakefulness. But he tried not to show his feelings to the others.
There was a moaning and sighing to the wind as darkness came on, and the sailors, with Tom and Mr. Skeel to aid them, used the ropes to lash fast the reconstructed boat and the wooden shelter. The rude sail filled out and urged the derelict on at a faster pace.
“If this kept up we’d get somewhere,” observed Tom, as he relieved Abe at the helm.
“Yes, but we’ll make twice the speed in our boat,” said the old sailor proudly.
The wreck was rising and falling on the swell, the big oily waves seeming to curl after her as though in time they would reach up and pull her down into their depths. There were no white-caps yet—they would come later.
“We are going to have a storm, aren’t we; a violent storm soon?” demanded Mr. Skeel, when it was almost dark, and the wind was sighing more mournfully than before.
“I reckon so,” answered Abe calmly.
“Then can’t we do something more to make ourselves secure?”
“Nary a thing more,” spoke the old sailor. “We’ve done all we can.”
The face of the former professor was white, and he paced up and down that portion of the deck less exposed to the waves. He was a coward and he showed it.
The derelict dipped her half-buried bow farther under a wave. It broke, running well up on the deck, and breaking against the lashed lifeboat, sent a shower of spray aft.
“Oh, it’s raining! It’s raining!” cried Jackie. “If we only had umbrellas now, Tom.”
“We’ll need more than umbrellas before morning, I’m thinking,” murmured Joe.
All that could be done had been, and when the last remnant of daylight faded, earlier than usual because of the clouds, Tom took his little charge inside the shelter. They stretched out on the canvas bed, and Tom joined silently with the child, who said aloud his simple prayers, asking that they might all be looked after by the All-seeing Providence.
The derelict forged ahead through the waves, blown by the ever increasing wind. She rose sluggishly on the swell—all too sluggishly—for she was not buoyant enough to escape the breaking swells. But still, aft, it was comparatively dry.
“It’s going to be a bad night—a bad night,” murmured Joe, who had the first trick at the helm.
Tom managed to get some sleep, holding Jackie’s hand, but about midnight he was awakened by being fairly rolled out of the shelter.
“What—what’s the matter?” he cried.
“It’s the storm!” cried Abe, springing up. “It’s broke for fair, I guess!”
Tom sprang to his feet and looked out. He could dimly see the big waves all around them, and he felt the derelict pitching and tossing in a swirl of water. It was at the mercy of the storm.
Then came a fiercer burst of the elements, a dash of rain, and a tearing howl of the wind. The derelict heeled over, while a flood of water washed over the bow and came curling aft.
“Look out!” yelled Abe, as he saw Tom roll forward, and he grabbed our hero in time to save him from once more pitching overboard.
CHAPTER XVII
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.