With a thrill of hope, he felt the tug of the tiller—the indefinable touch when a boat is in motion. The “Gazelle” was making way at last! But still her decks sloped at the fearful angle and the squall blew undiminished.
The mate stood close to “His Nibs,” lashed on deck, bared knife in hand—ready to cut the ropes that bound her.
Her deck half submerged, her cockpit partly filled, the water creeping through the ports into the cabin, the “Gazelle” surged slowly along. The crew clung on the sloping decks, waiting for the last sickening lurch that precedes a capsize.
CHAPTER XX
HOMEWARD BOUND
The boys did not need the captain’s cry: “Look out for yourselves, boys; she’s going over!” to tell them that they were in fearful peril. It had come to the time when it was every man for himself, and each looked for a chance to escape.
But Ransom clung to the helm, and noted, with an awakening of hope, that his boat was increasing her speed. Little by little she gained, and inch by inch she straightened up, in spite of the knock-down blows she got from the blast. Faster and faster she slipped along, the energy of the wind driving her ahead, rather than over. The water was on a line with the rail once more, and the self-bailing valves in the cockpit began to empty it.
Arthur put his knife in his pocket and crouched down by the windward rail, while Frank assumed a natural attitude, and began to take a more cheerful view of things.
“Thank God!” exclaimed Kenneth, fervently. “We’re safe once more.”
“That was the closest call we ever had,” said the mate.