The motion on deck was more pronounced than it had been below, and the two had some little difficulty in keeping their feet as they got outside. They felt the strong wind in their faces, a wind that seemed to be momentarily increasing in violence.
“Better get below!” shouted Captain Steerit to Tom and Mr. Blake, from the bridge. “We’re in for a spell of bad weather I fancy.”
“Any danger?” yelled Mr. Blake, above the roar of the wind, which was humming through the mast and funnel stays. “My wife is very nervous.”
“No danger,” answered the commander, and then he disappeared into the charthouse that opened off the bridge.
The vessel pitched and tossed, but Tom had been in worse blows than this, and he saw nothing to be alarmed about. The sky was overcast with clouds, for no stars were visible, and the wind was strong, but aside from these indications there did not seem to be anything to be alarmed about.
“Well, I’ll have to wait until morning, all right,” mused Tom, as he took a turn about the deck before going in. Mr. Blake left him with a good-night.
“I’ll go tell my wife there’s nothing to be alarmed about,” he said, “but she’s that nervous that it’ll be just like her to sit up dressed all night.”
“Oh, I guess the Silver Star can weather this little blow,” said Tom.
Remaining on deck for about half an hour longer Tom was beginning to feel sleepy enough to turn in. The wind had not increased. If anything it had gone down, though the lad could see, over the rail, that the waves were running high. They did not break, however, being more like huge oily swells that heaved up in the darkness, showing dimly the reflection of the ship’s lights.