“I wonder if I hadn’t better give Mr. Blake, and some of the others, a little warning,” reflected Tom. “No, I guess I won’t. The women might get all excited. Captain Steerit will surely take no chances. But now what had I better do? I’m going to take my money with me, anyhow, if we have to leave the ship.”
Tom had provided himself with a money belt before coming on his trip, and he now strapped this about his waist with the pockets filled. He also took a few personal belongings that would not take up much room, nor be heavy. He had on warm but light clothing, and light shoes.
“If worst comes to worst, and I have to swim for it, I can do it this way,” he reflected. “It won’t be cold, that’s one good thing, and there aren’t any icebergs in this part of the Pacific. Still I hope nothing happens.”
Once more he made his way up on deck. He saw none of the other passengers there, and, taking his place in a sheltered spot, he watched the storm.
It was certainly growing worse. Every now and then big seas came crashing over the bow, sending a shower of spray up to the bridge where Captain Steerit kept unceasing watch. The Silver Star was pitching and tossing more than ever. Now she would poke her nose toward some big, dark billow, and it seemed as if she must bury herself beneath it. But she would rise to it, and ride on the crest, being poised there for a moment with her bow and propeller clear of water.
At such times the engines raced, the screw having no resistance, and the whole vessel quivered from stem to stern. Then the staunch craft would slide down the inclined plane of water into the valley below, only to repeat the process at the next huge wave.
Then, when some big comber came aboard, the ship would stagger under the blow, until it seemed as if she must be crushed. But ever she would emerge from the battle with the sea, to stagger on once more.
It was magnificent, but terrifying, and Tom, who had never been in such a storm, was not a little frightened. But when he looked toward the bridge, and saw the commander there in his glistening oilskins, as calm and undisturbed as though he was but guiding his vessel on a summer day, our hero felt reassured.
“The ship’s in good hands,” thought Tom. “We’ll pull through yet, barring accidents, and even with a leak, and one pump useless.”
Yes—“barring accidents.” That is the one thing on which sailors cannot count.