Pandemonium broke loose. There came a crash of glass from the laboratory. Out of the darkness a bulk loomed at her. As she attempted to rise the thing appearing to spring at her, knocked her down. Then some other thing buried her deep.
The thing that had struck her was a heavy chair. She was buried beneath the blanket and mattress from her own berth.
As she attempted to extricate herself it seemed that the entire contents of the cabin played leapfrog over her head. Careening like a deserted airship the O Moo appeared to plunge prow first down an endless abyss, only to climb laboriously up on the other side.
This did not last for long. There was no engine going, no driving power. Suddenly she slipped into the trough of a huge wave and wallowed there helplessly, while tons of rushing water swept across her deck.
“The engine!” gasped Florence. “It should be started.”
Struggling to free herself, she thought of Lucile.
“May have been thrown from her berth,” she groaned.
Groping about she found Lucile’s berth, clung there while the yacht gave a wild, circling lurch, then felt for her sick companion.
Clinging to the rail of her berth, Lucile lay there silently sobbing.
Securing two blankets, Florence twisted them into ropes, then bound them across Lucile, one at her knees, the other at her chest.