Dressing was a difficult matter; but, helping one another, they managed to get their things on at last and, holding hands, staggered out of the cabin to the companionway between it and the saloon. Tommy was the first to climb the ladder, but when she came to the top she gave a cry of dismay.
"The hatch is on!" she called. "Uncle has battened us down, mean old thing!"
She beat on the hatch with her fist, and called shrilly for her uncle; but the sounds were smothered by the greater noises above, and by and by she desisted, and tottered disconsolately down the steps. "Let's go into the saloon," she said. "There's more room there than in the cabin. You don't think there's any danger?" she added, as the light of the swinging lamp fell on Elizabeth's pale face.
"I don't know; I hope not," replied Elizabeth.
"It's a shame to batten us down," said Tommy indignantly. "I'd rather be on deck and know the worst."
The three girls went into the saloon, and sat huddled together on a sofa, which was fixed firmly to the wall. They found that only by keeping a tight grip on the sofa, and each other, could they save themselves from being dashed across the room. Moment by moment the storm increased in fury. Now and again there was a tremendous shock, under which the Elizabeth quivered in every plank, and sometimes a sharp report as of woodwork wrenched away.
The girls were now thoroughly scared. Pressed close together they shivered as they heard these ominous noises. None of them spoke, but Tommy gave a little gasp whenever a more than usually heavy sea struck the vessel, and Mary gulped down a lump that would keep rising in her throat.
Hours passed. Presently the movements of the vessel became less violent, and at last Tommy gave a cry of delight as she heard the battens being struck away from the hatch, and her uncle's voice as he descended the ladder.
"Ah! There you are, my dears," he said cheerily, as he entered the saloon. "I guessed these little tantrums would have wakened you."
"Is the storm over, Uncle?" asked Elizabeth.