He stooped and picked it up.
“Stand back from the door inside there!” he shouted as he swung it over his head and brought it smashingly against the wood. Again and again his strong arms brought the heavy iron support of the swivel chair against the cabin door. At the fourth stroke the wood splintered, and in a few seconds the door was fairly burst from its hinges and three men rushed out from within, followed by a gush of water. The break in the yacht’s side had occurred in the plates outside the cabin in which Mr. Chadwick and his companions were confined. When Jack released them the water had already risen above the lower berth and was pouring in in an ever increasing stream. Fifteen minutes later and the boys might have been too late.
It was no time for explanations. The cabin floor was more steeply inclined than ever since the fresh subsidence of the stranded craft, and they made for the companionway stairs. As they reached the deck, Jack noticed that even in the brief space of time that they had been below, the wind had perceptibly decreased in violence.
But the lightning still played vividly, and in its glare they saw two figures advancing toward them. They were Medway and Hemming. Both had revolvers in their hands.
“Get back down below!” shouted Medway, as he drew near.
“But the whole place is awash!” cried Jack indignantly. “The deck is the only safe place.”
“I don’t care. You get below or——”
A sailor, one of the few left on board since the dereliction of the rest of the crew, approached Medway, and pulling his arm to attract attention, said something to him.
“Keep back there, you,” cried Medway with a threatening flourish of his pistol.
Then he and Hemming turned and followed the sailor to the stern of the boat. The group of rescued prisoners remained where they were. In the mood Medway was in, it didn’t appear safe to interfere with his wishes, and as they could not have bettered their condition by following the man, they made no move to do so.