“It sure is a humdinger of a night!” exclaimed Ira Small, when he came in from his watch on deck. “The sea is gettin’ worse an’ worse ev’ry minute.”
“How long do you think this storm will last, Small?” questioned Jack.
“Can’t say, lad. It may blow itself out by mornin’, and it may last two or three days. We ain’t in the worst of it—the worst seems to be farther down the coast.”
To the dismay of the boys, the storm at daybreak was as bad as ever. The sea was now running strong and the Hildegarde could hardly keep on her course despite the fact that some sail was set and the auxiliary engine was being used.
The storm seemed to have a bad effect on the sailors. As much as possible they remained in the forecastle, and three or four of them insisted upon drinking heavily. Soon there was a violent quarrel, and one man was hit on the head with a bottle and knocked unconscious. Then the captain and the mate were called in, and two of the sailors were placed in irons until they could sober up.
“I must say I’m disgusted with the bunch sailing with me,” said Captain Gilsen to Ferguson, after the quarrel had quieted down. “If we can make that bunch of money we spoke about out of those kids, I’ll be willing to discharge every one of them.”
“Well, we’d better hold ’em together the best we can until we’ve put our plan through,” answered Ferguson.
All day long and the following night the wind kept up, and the Hildegarde had all it could do to keep on its course. But to the delight of the boys, they learned that the motor boat was still in tow and right side up.
“The tarpaulin kep’ most o’ the water out,” explained Ira Small. “I think she’ll be as good as ever when the storm clears away.”
“Let’s get what sleep we can,” said Jack, to his chums. “All of the others on board the schooner will be worn out because of the storm. Then, when it calms down, they’ll want to sleep, and that maybe will give us a chance to see what we can do.”