From the wheelhouse door, now beyond the higher wash of the receding water, Bill leaped, with Cliff at his heels, Nicky clinging madly to the spokes of the wheel and fighting to hold the cruiser on her way, nose to wind and wave.
Gripping every foot and hand hold, Bill and Cliff fought through the swirl of water, while Tom clung grimly. The water receded and Henry was dumped, inert and gasping, onto the deck just as the hold Tom had was broken by the strain. Swiftly Bill grasped Henry’s shoulder and began to drag him toward the cabin companionway, while Cliff caught Tom and steadied him.
Another huge wave was rearing its white curl to the quarter. In the wheelhouse Nicky, a little frightened at his responsibility, and yet manfully rising to the occasion, knew that the boat must not be allowed to pay off so that she would catch the waves on her side—she would be rolled over, and over. He bore with his whole weight on the spokes, holding the rudder hard over as the valiant craft struggled against the rush of waters and the roar of the swiftly rising wind.
With Cliff aiding him, while Bill dragged at the gasping Henry, Tom got to the cabin. His father opened the door, and all three grasped Henry and fairly flung him in through the door and down the several steps. Then in they plunged, and just in time to close the door before the tumult of water was over the decks again.
The brave little vessel shuddered and groaned under the water, and Nicky said a little prayer for strength to hold the wheel against his enemies of wave and rushing air. Tom sputtered and got rid of some water he had taken in, while Henry, sitting up, gulping and choking, began to thank him.
“You saved my—” he began.
Totally unconscious that he was taking the command, or that his words rang with the authority of anger and just censure, Tom cried, “Never mind. Get yourself together and get to that wheel. Nicky’s alone there. Joe’s calling. Cliff, go help Joe. Bill, you drag this Henry up to that wheel and stand over him. Cliff’s father is battening down the ports. We’re all safe inside, but we don’t know what’s going to happen. Get going, you Henry!”
As if every one of them recognized the voice of command, Bill caught Henry’s collar and almost yanked him to his feet. Henry, sobered and now beginning to recover himself, and with the just rebuke and the evident menace of their position clearing his mind, obediently staggered along with Bill, while Cliff raced past them on the other side of the churning, coughing engine, to help Joe.
“What will you do, Tom?” asked Mr. Gray, thrusting home a heavy steel bar across the companion door, although, being aft, it was not subjected to the crushing force of the waves.
“I’ll find that Henry Morgan’s ‘tonic,’ if it’s my last act!” cried Tom and began flinging things out of the lazarette, or storage cubby in the floor, where their food was kept.