“Ouch!” cried my big chum, bumping his head against a deck beam. “Bend your back, Jerry. This is worse than crawling under a barn.” [[21]]
Pretty soon we were settled in our blankets. It was pouring now. The wind was blowing a gale. I could feel the Sally Ann tugging at the anchor ropes.
Would our stage be blown down? I sort of counted the seconds, worried-like, expecting any moment to hear a crash. But none came. And after a bit the wind died down.
“Hum-m-m-m!” yawned Peg, stretching in the dark and swatting me on the nose. I told him to cut it out.
Patter! patter! patter! There was lulling music in the dancing raindrops. A sleepy feeling crept over me. I was glad in the moment that it was Peg’s turn to watch. I closed my eyes. And then.…
I must have slept for more than an hour. Anyway, when I awoke there was no sound of raindrops on the deck above my face. The storm had passed over. Through a crack I could see a shimmering star.
Something had awakened me. Suddenly. I had a frightened, jumpy feeling. I rubbed my eyes, trying to remember what I had dreamt. A ghost! That was it. I had dreamt of a whispering ghost.
What was that? I listened, breathless, raising [[22]]myself on my hands. My heart was thumping. Footsteps. Near by. Guarded and stealthy.
“Nobody here,” a low voice spoke up. “They must have gone home.”
It was the Strickers! The enemy had out-tricked us—had caught us napping and now were in possession of our boat. I went cold, sort of, in the knowledge of our humiliating predicament.