Before either could reach Frank the youth had turned over and was trying to raise himself to his feet. But now the steamer rolled once more and in a flash Frank was thrown almost on top of the rail. He caught the netting below with one hand but his legs went over the side.
“Oh!” burst out Mark, and could say no more, for his heart was in his throat. He thought Frank would be washed away in a moment more. The spray still continued to fly all over the deck and at times his chum could scarcely be seen.
“Stay where you are,” called out Professor Strong, to Mark. Then he turned and in a moment more was at the rail and holding both Frank and himself. Following the advice given, Mark held fast to a nearby window.
By this time a couple of deck hands were hurrying to the scene, one with a long line. One end of the line was fastened to the companionway rail and the other run out to where the professor and Frank remained. The boy was all out of breath and could do but little toward helping himself. But Professor Strong’s grip was a good one, and it did not relax until one of the deck hands helped the lad to a place along the rope. The deck hand went ahead and the professor brought up the rear, with Frank between them. In a moment more they were at the companionway and Frank fairly tumbled below, with the others following him.
“Gracious, but that was a close shave!” panted the boy, when able to speak. “I hadn’t any idea the steamer would roll so much.”
“After this when it blows heavily you must remain in the cabin,” said Professor Strong, rather severely. “And if your cap wants to go overboard—”
“I’ll let it go,” finished Frank. “I won’t do anything like that again for a train load of caps, you can depend on that.”
The storm increased, and by nightfall it was raining heavily. The boys had expected a good deal of thunder and lightning, but it did not come, and by sunrise wind and rain were a thing of the past and the steamer was pursuing her course as smoothly as ever.
On board the ship were half a dozen passengers bound for Curaçao, including Herr Dombrich, the merchant who occupied a portion of Professor Strong’s stateroom. One of the number going ashore at the little island was a man from Baltimore, a fellow with Dutch blood in his veins, who had formerly been in the saloon business, and who was far from trustworthy. His name was Dan Markel, and, strange as it may seem, he had formed a fairly close acquaintanceship with Jake Hockley.
“I wish I had the money you have,” said Dan Markel to Hockley, one afternoon, as the two were sitting alone near the bow of the steamer. “There are lots of openings in Curaçao for a fellow with a little capital. The Dutchmen down there don’t know how to do business. With five hundred dollars I could make ten thousand in less than a year.”