It was a terrible night. None of the passengers ventured upon deck. Indeed, such was the motion that it would have been dangerous, as even the sailors found it difficult to keep their footing. Harry was pale and quiet, unlike his friend from Brooklyn, whose moans were heard mingled with the noise of the tempest.
It was about three o’clock in the morning when those below heard, with terror, a fearful crash, and a trampling of feet above. One of the masts had fallen before the fury of the storm, and the shock made the good ship careen to a dangerous extent. What happened, however, was not understood below.
“I wonder what has happened,” said the professor, nervously. “I think I will go up and see.”
He got out of his berth, but only to be pitched helpless to the other end of the cabin.
“This is terrible!” he said, as he picked himself up.
“I will try my luck, professor,” said Harry.
He scrambled out of his berth, and, with great difficulty, made his way upstairs.
One glance told him what had occurred. The crippled ship was laboring through the sea. It seemed like a very unequal combat, and Harry might be excused for deciding that the ship was doomed. All about the sea wore its fiercest aspect. Harry returned cautiously to his cabin.
“Well?” said the professor.
“One of the masts is gone,” answered the boy. “The ship is having a hard time.”