“Can’t we stop that hole?” asked Fred.
“No, no, lad! Don’t try it!” warned the old sailor. “You’d be swept off by a wave before you knew what hit you. Stay where you are, and when she gits too low I’ll let you know and we kin take to the raft.”
Another half hour passed, and then without warning came a resounding crash on the keel of the Coryanda. The vessel seemed to slide along on something and then slid off again into deep water.
“Gracious! what was that?” gasped Andy, in new alarm.
“We struck a key, I think,” answered Ira Small. “An’ if so, we must be somewhere near land. You know, the West Indies are full of keys of all kinds.”
They had the ship’s lanterns lit, and now tried to pierce the darkness ahead with the searchlight. But this hand instrument was too feeble to show them anything. Then came another crash from underneath the steam yacht, and there followed a wild roaring, screaming and chattering from the wild beasts and parrots below decks.
“Sounds as if something had broken loose down there!” exclaimed Fred. “Gee, if they come up here, we sure will be in a pickle!”
“I don’t see how they can break out on deck with all those doors and hatchways shut tight,” answered Jack. Everything had been closed with care to keep out the elements. Only the door to the cabin was open, so that they might enter from time to time to shelter themselves from the fury of the hurricane.
One crash now succeeded another on the bottom of the steam yacht as the vessel was driven furiously forward by the force of the wind. The roaring, screaming and chattering below continued, showing that the wild beasts and birds were in great terror and doing their best to gain their liberty.
“We’re certainly among some keys,” said the lanky sailor. “But of course, lads, you got to remember they may not be above water. There’s thousands of places down in the West Indies where the keys are all beneath the surface of the ocean. If we—— Gosh! that’s the time we struck a big one!”