He did not find anything: Henry, whatever his failings, was of a cunning nature when it came to his own desires and he seemed to know of places on the boat that the chums could never think of. As Tom searched, he felt the boat rising and falling more violently, and lurching in a half-roll, half-plunge that was not very pleasant. The cabin was stuffy and close, and he opened the portholes, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant odor in the small space; but a dash of salt spray flung itself in his face and hastily he closed the small brass-bound port glasses and fastened them securely, then went on deck, clinging to the companion rail to avoid being thrown down.
“She’s blowing up for a storm,” said Henry, clinging to the port rail as Tom came into view, and lurching wildly. “We’re due for a storm, my hearty! Oh—I’m a buc—buc——”
“You’d better stop being a ‘buc’ and get up to the wheel house,” Tom said snappishly. “Maybe the course ought to be changed.”
“What do I care?” Henry cried with a hoarse, choking guffaw. “Many’s the pirate has piled up on the rocks. ’Cause—— ’Cause Why? I’m a rowdy-dowdy buc—ca——”
Just then a comber, its green crest froth-flecked, reared its great top on their starboard quarter. “Look out!” yelled Tom. “Grab something!” for Henry was starting in a lurching gait toward the enclosed cabin companionway.
Tom, himself, caught a stanchion and clung, holding his breath. The Porto Bello lurched and staggered under the impact of a huge wave, and there came a gurgling yell, cut short, the surge of powerfully dragging water rushing at Tom.
Before it struck, almost burying him, tugging at his arms, he saw Henry meet the wave, spinning around in a mad, fruitless effort to clutch at the cabin coaming.
Down went Henry, and along the deck he was washed by the wave. Tom, at the risk of being himself torn loose and washed away, released one hand. He made a swift, reaching grab. His fingers caught Henry’s coat, in the surging inferno of water that swung along the deck. It seemed as though his arm would be torn from its socket: his face was stung and flailed by spume and great gouts of hard-flung water.
He braced and clung as the washing water swung Henry along: the check of his clutch slowed Henry’s body and Tom’s arms ached with the pull. He dared not let go until the wave should pass. Henry, caught off his guard, and with his brain befuddled, was helpless.
Came the thud of the companion door as Mr. Gray slammed it shut in bare time to prevent the cabin from being inundated.