“Is there danger?” asked the professor, anxiously.
“I am afraid so,” said Harry, gravely.
At length the night wore away. The violence of the storm seemed to have abated, for, after a time, the motion diminished. More enterprising than the rest of the passengers, Harry resolved to go on deck.
“Won’t you come with me, Mr. Clinton?” he asked.
“I—I couldn’t, ‘pon my honor. I’m as weak as a rag. I don’t think I could get out of my berth, really, now.”
“I’ll go with you, my young friend,” said Mr. Stubbs.
Harry and his Yankee friend set foot cautiously on deck. The prospect was not reassuring. The ship rolled heavily, and from the creaking it seemed that the timbers of the hull were strained. The sailors looked fagged out, and there was a set, stern look on the face of the captain, whom, nevertheless, Mr. Stubbs ventured to accost.
“What’s the prospect, captain?” he asked.
“You’d better make your will,” said the captain, grimly.
“That’s cheerful,” commented Stubbs, turning to Harry.