The boys regarded each other with white, frightened faces. There was something terrifying in the realization that the yacht had ceased to struggle with the waves. It was as if, despairing of weathering the storm, she had given up the struggle.
Suddenly the door was flung open. The form of Medway, shrouded in dripping oil-skins, stood framed in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn and, at least so Jack thought, not a little frightened.
“You kids understand machinery?” he asked roughly, holding on to the door-frame to steady himself against the yacht’s crazy rolls.
“A little,” responded Jack.
“Then come with me, and no monkey tricks if you want to get out of this alive,” he shot out, brusquely.
“Only you two. Not that red-headed kid,” he added, as all three of the boys arose to follow him.
[CHAPTER VII.]
THE BOYS FIND NEW JOBS.
Wonderment was the feeling uppermost in the minds of both Jack and Tom as, clutching at hand-holds and rails, they followed their conductor. He led the way up the companionway and to the deck, with a gruff caution to “hang on” when they came into the open.
The warning was necessary. A wind that seemed to force their breath back down their throats was sweeping across the sea, which, running mountain high, looked grim and pitiless, under the pallid gray dawn. No land was in sight, nothing but giant combers amidst which the yacht seemed no more than a helpless chip. Looking at the sea the boys found themselves wondering how the craft had kept above water as long as she had. But almost immediately when they emerged on deck their attention was distracted from the sea and from every other impression but one.