“Some power to those waves,” reflected our hero. “A lot of power there when it’s needed, but the trouble is it can’t be controlled. Well, I hope we don’t run into a worse blow by morning.”
A little saddened as he looked off across the black waste, and reflected that somewhere on that heaving ocean his father and mother might be helplessly drifting, Tom went below.
As he did so he cast a look at the bridge. He saw Captain Steerit standing there with the first mate, their figures being brought out in relief against the glow of light from the charthouse. The two seemed to be in earnest conversation, and Tom, who was unaccountably nervous, could not but wonder if there was any danger in their situation.
As he passed the room of the mysterious passenger Tom saw that the door was closed, though a light showing over the transom indicated that the occupant was still up.
It must have been past midnight when Tom was suddenly awakened by being pitched sharply against the side of his berth.
“Hello! What’s up?” he cried.
There was no answer, but he felt himself tossed in the opposite direction, while some loose objects in his room rolled about the floor.
“Something’s going on!” said Tom aloud, as he reached out and turned the electric switch, flooding his room with light.
As he did so he became aware that the vessel was rolling and pitching at what, even to his accustomed senses, was an alarming degree. Tom sprang out of bed, and brought up with a bang on the opposite side of his little apartment, giving himself quite a severe knock.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, rubbing his elbows. He forgot to hold on to something, and felt himself sliding back toward his berth, but he had sense enough to put out his hands and save himself from another collision.