The Last Cruise of the Spitfire Part 33

"He can't be to land yet. Wonder if all the sailors are with him?"

"I suppose so. I'm sure there wasn't a soul left on the s.h.i.+p."

Instead of letting up, the sky grew darker and the wind increased in fury. The Hasty bounded up and down over the mighty swells, and many were the times that I thought our last moment had come. Yet each time the clumsy raft righted herself, ready to battle with the next wave.

Not without considerable danger I managed to tie the planks more tightly together. That rude structure now seemed to be our only hope for safety.

And thus the night of awful peril wore on.

"This is the very worst storm I ever saw."

It was Phil who uttered the words. He was lying flat on the top of the cask, holding on tightly to the ropes that held the mast. He had been in that position for fully two hours, and it was plain to see that he was nearly exhausted.

"Keep up your courage," I replied. "The worst is over, I'm certain. This storm wouldn't appear so bad if we were on s.h.i.+pboard."

The box of provisions had become thoroughly water-soaked, and it was now resting on the flooring of the raft, and I was using it to lie upon, so that the waves might not wash over me so freely.

Far over in the east I could see a faint break in the clouds, and to this I laid my hope of a change for the better. But the cabin boy shook his head.

"Storms don't clear that way."

"Yet this one may."

"Hope you're right, but I don't think so."

An instant after these words there was a terrible clap of thunder, and following it a deluge of rain that almost swept us from the raft.

"I'll venture to say that's the end of it," said I.

After the downpour was over it began to brighten, and in the course of half an hour there were several rifts in the clouds. We watched them eagerly.

"Don't know but that you were right," said Phil at last. "See! see! the storm is drifting southward!"

"Thank fortune for it," was my reply. "I never want to pa.s.s through another like it!"

In another hour the rain had ceased. I judged it was now about four o'clock, and I was not far out of the way, for about an hour or so later the sun rose and peered dimly through the haze.

It was not long before it was as bright and clear as ever. But the water was still in a turbulent state, and every minute or two a wave would break over us with a swash and a crack decidedly unpleasant.

As soon as I was able to do so I overhauled the provision box with a view to saving what might still be fit to eat.

It was in a sad mess, and the salt water had made most of the things worthless. The crackers and bread I threw away at once, and this left us with nothing but some potted beef, a jar of pickles and some canned corn and asparagus--rather an odd collection, but decidedly better than nothing.

"We will have to live on closer mess than ever," I said, as I viewed the stuff.

"I won't mind that so long as we have enough to drink," returned Phil.

"I can stand hunger, but I can't stand being dry."

"You're not very dry now," said I, with a faint attempt at humor.

The cabin boy gave a laugh.

"I don't mean that way. Guess our clothes will dry fast enough when the sun gets up."

The morning proved a long and warm one. We did all we could to pa.s.s the time pleasantly, but it was a failure. There was no concealing the fact that we were both anxious about our situation.

It must not be supposed that because I write so calmly of this involuntary cruise that we were not frightened, for such is not a fact.

Both of us were greatly alarmed, and would have given about all we owned to be once more on dry land.

About every hour one or the other of us would climb up to the top of the mast and look in all directions for a sail or land. This we did until we were almost ready to give it up, as nothing appeared.

Our dinner was a curious one, some potted beef and cold green corn, washed down with a cup of cold water.

"Funny we didn't think of this corn when we were so thirsty," said Phil.

"It would have done pretty well for a time."

"I didn't know it was there," I returned. "Never mind; it's over now, and I hope we don't have any such experience again."

CHAPTER XXIV.

PICKED UP.

The afternoon drifted into evening, and somewhat disheartened we prepared to pa.s.s another night on the Hasty. We arranged that Phil should sleep first for about three hours, and then I was to take my turn.

"Tie yourself fast," said I, "or you may roll off."

He followed my advice, and it was not long before he was in a sound slumber. I sat on the cask, steering as well as I could by the stars.

Suddenly from out of the gloom ahead an object loomed up. I started to my feet and strained my eyes.

It was a steam yacht!

For an instant I could hardly believe my eyes. Then I gave a wild cry that caused Phil to jump up in alarm.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously.

"A s.h.i.+p!"

"A s.h.i.+p! Where?"

"Dead ahead. Let us hail her."

And together we called out as loudly as we could: