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.”