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.