While they stood there, talking in low tones and discussing their perilous situation, the storm perceptibly weakened in force. Like most tropical hurricanes it had spent its fury in a few hours and was now sweeping north, having inflicted irreparable damage to the once staunch yacht. In another hour’s time the wind had died down to a stiff breeze, and the sea was no longer raging as it had when the Valkyrie struck.
“I vunder vot has become of dot feller Medvay?” said the professor presently. “Ach! dot rascal, he has broken my beautiful yachts und ruined mein expedition.”
“It is odd that he doesn’t show up,” said Mr. Chadwick.
“I haven’t noticed anyone about for some time,” declared Tom. “I wonder what has become of him. Maybe he is up to some fresh mischief.”
“Dunno as there’s much more the pesky varmit kin do,” commented Captain Sprowl, a down-easter from Maine, and the veteran of many tempestuous voyages. “Consarn him,” he went on angrily, “he’d look uncommon well decorating the end of a yard arm, according to my way of thinking.”
“I know a few that ought to keep him company,” declared Jack, the way in which they had been treated rankling within him. “Tell you what,” he continued presently, “I’m going to have a look about the deck.”
“Be careful,” warned his father, “those rascals are capable of any mischief.”
“As if Tom and I didn’t know that!” responded Jack. “But I’ll be on the lookout, dad. Don’t worry. Come on, Tom.”
The two boys made off into the darkness which was now illumined only by an occasional fitful flash from the departing storm. It was some little time before they returned. When they did the news they brought gave the little party a galvanic shock.
“They’ve gone! Deserted! Left us cold!” cried Tom.