“It is pitching!” she exclaimed in an awed whisper.
Her mind whirled. What had happened? Was the storm so violent that the O Moo was being rocked from side to side on her trestle. Would she soon topple over, to go crashing on the frozen sand? Or had they in some way been blown out to sea?
This last seemed impossible. She thought of the block beneath the wheels of the car on which the O Moo stood, then of the strong cable fastened to her prow.
“It is impossible!” she muttered.
There was one way to prove this. She proceeded to apply the test.
Turning a screw which held her porthole closed, she swung the metal framed glass wide open.
Instantly she slammed it shut. She had been soaked with a perfect deluge of water.
Her heart stopped beating. She tried to shout to the other girls, but her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. There could no longer be any doubt concerning the nature of the catastrophe which had come over them. How it had happened, she could not even guess. This much she knew: They were afloat.
“Girls! Girls!” Her own voice shouted to her like that of a ghost, “Marian! Lucile! Wake up! We’re afloat! The O Moo’s adrift!”
Marian groaned; sat up quickly, then as quickly fell back again. Her head had collided with a beam.