CHAPTER XXIII
TROUBLE—PLENTY
Even Ruth Fielding had paid no attention to the warning of the Reef Island hermit regarding a change in the weather, in spite of the fact that she was anxious to return to the camp near Herringport. It was not until the Stazy was outside the inlet late in the afternoon that Skipper Phil Gordon noted the threatening signs in sea and sky.
“That’s how it goes,” the one-armed mariner said. “When we aren’t dependent on the wind to fill our canvas, we neglect watching every little weather change. She’s going to blow by and by.”
“Do you think it will be a real storm?” asked Ruth, who sat beside him at the steering wheel and engine, watching how he managed the mechanism.
“Maybe. But with good luck we will make Beach Plum Point long before it amounts to anything.”
The long graybacks were rather pleasant to ride over at first. Even Aunt Kate was not troubled by the prospect. It was so short a run to the anchorage behind the Point that nobody expressed fear.
When the spray began to fly over the bows the girls merely squealed a bit, although they hastily found extra wraps. If the Stazy plunged and shipped half a sea now and then, nobody was made anxious. And soon the Point was in plain view.
To make the run easier, however, Skipper Gordon had sailed the motor-yacht well out to sea. When he shifted the helm to run for the entrance to the bay, the waves began to slap against the Stazy’s side. She rolled terrifically and the aspect of affairs was instantly changed.
“Oh, dear me!” moaned Jennie Stone. “How do you feel, Henri? I did not bargain for this rough stuff, did you? Oh!”
“‘Mister Captain, stop the ship, I want to get off and walk!’” sang Helen gaily. “Don’t lose all hope, Heavy. You’ll never sink if you do go overboard.”
“Isn’t she mean?” sniffed the plump girl. “And I am only afraid for Henri’s sake.”
“I don’t like this for my own sake,” murmured Aunt Kate.
“Are you cold, dear?” her niece asked, with quick sympathy. “Here! I don’t really need this cape with my heavy sweater.”
She removed the heavy cloth garment from her own shoulders and with a flirt sought to place it around Aunt Kate. The wind swooped down just then with sudden force. The Stazy rolled to leeward.
“Oh! Stop it!”
Bulging under pressure of the wind, the cape flew over the rail. Jennie tried to clutch it again; Henri plunged after it, too. Colliding, the two managed between them to miss the garment altogether. It dropped into the water just under the rail.
“Of all the clumsy fingers!” ejaculated Helen. But she could not seize the wrap, although she darted for it. Nor could Ruth help, she being still farther forward.
“Now, you’ve done it!” complained Aunt Kate.
The boat began to rise on another roller. The cape was sucked out of sight under the rail. The next moment the whirling propeller was stopped—so abruptly that the Stazy shook all over.
“Oh! what has happened?” shrieked Helen.
Ruth started up, and Tom seized her arm to steady her. But the girl of the Red Mill did not express any fear. The shock did not seem to affect her so much as it did the other girls. Here was a real danger, and Ruth did not lose her self-possession.
Phil Gordon had shut off the power, and the motor-boat began to swing broadside to the rising seas.
“The propeller is broken!” cried Tom.
“She’s jammed. That cape!” gasped the one-armed skipper. “Here! Tend to this till I see what can be done. Jack!” he shouted to his crew. “This way—lively, now!”
But Ruth slipped into his place before Tom could do so.
“I know how to steer, Tommy,” she declared. “And I understand the engine. Give him a hand if he needs you.”
“Oh, we’ll turn turtle!” shrieked Jennie, as the boat rolled again.
“You’ll never become a turtle, Jen,” declared Tom, plunging aft. “Turtles are dumb!”
The Stazy was slapped by a big wave, “just abaft the starboard bow,” to be real nautical, and half a ton of sea-water washed over the forward deck and spilled into the standing-room of the craft.
Henri had wisely closed the door of the cabin. The water foamed about their feet. Ruth found herself knee deep for a moment in this flood. She whirled the wheel over, trying to bring up the head of the craft to meet the next wave.
“Oh, my dear!” groaned Jennie Stone. “We are going to be drowned.”
“Drowned, your granny!” snapped Helen angrily. “Don’t be such a silly, Jennie.”
Ruth stood at the wheel with more apparent calmness than any of them. Her hair had whipped out of its fastenings and streamed over her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks aglow.
Helen, staring at her, suddenly realized that this was the old Ruth Fielding. Her chum had not looked so much alive, so thoroughly competent and ready for anything, before for weeks.
“Why—why, Ruthie!” Helen murmured, “I believe you like this.”
Her chum did not hear the words, but she suddenly flashed Helen a brilliant smile. “Keep up your pluck, child!” she shouted. “We’ll come out all right.”
Again the Stazy staggered under the side swipe of a big wave.
“Ye-ow!” yelped Tom in the stern, almost diving overboard.
“Steady!” shouted Skipper Gordon, excitedly.
“Steady she is, Captain!” rejoined Ruth Fielding, and actually laughed.
“How can you, Ruth?” complained Jennie, clinging to Henri Marchand. “And when we are about to drown.”
“Weeping will not save us,” flung back Ruth.
Her strong hands held the wheel-spokes with a grip unbreakable. She could force the Stazy’s head to the seas.
“Can you start the engine on the reverse, Miss?” bawled Gordon.
“I can try!” flashed Ruth. “Say when.”
In a moment the cry came: “Ready!”
“Aye, aye!” responded Ruth, spinning the flywheel.
The spark caught almost instantly. The exhaust sputtered.
“Now!” yelled the skipper.
Ruth threw the lever. The boat trembled like an automobile under the propulsion of the engine. The propeller shaft groaned.
“Ye-ow!” shouted the excited Tom again.
This time he sprawled back into the bottom of the boat, tearing away a good half of Jennie’s cape in his grip. The rest of the garment floated to the surface. It was loose from the propeller.
“Full speed ahead!” shouted the one-armed captain of the motor-boat.
Ruth obeyed the command. The Stazy staggered into the next wave. The water that came in over her bow almost drowned them, but Ruth, hanging to the steering wheel, brought the craft through the roller without swamping her.
“Good for our Ruth!” shouted Helen, as soon as she could get her breath.
“Oh, Ruth! you always come to our rescue,” declared Jennie gratefully.
“Hi! I thought you were a nervous wreck, young lady,” Tom sputtered, scrambling forward to relieve her. “Get you into a tight corner, and you show what you are made of, all right.”
The girl of the Red Mill smiled at them. She had done something! Nor did she feel at all overcome by the effort. The danger through which they had passed had inspired rather than frightened her.
“Why, I’m all right,” she told Tom when he reached her. “This is great! We’ll be behind the shelter of the Point in a few minutes. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“You’re all right, Ruth,” Tom repeated, admiringly. “I thought you’d lost your grip, but I see you haven’t. You are the same old Ruthie Fielding, after all.”