“Bah! Well, we’ll see. If he can’t serve the food properly cooked I’ll be glad to get rid of him.”
After that an all-around discussion ensued, lasting quarter of an hour. Led by the boys the passengers were very outspoken, and as a consequence the next meal was fairly good, although not exactly first-class.
“We tuned him up, that’s certain,” said Sam.
“I am glad you did,” said a passenger sitting opposite. “I was afraid I should be starved to death before we reached land.”
“He’ll have it in for us,” said Fred. “Every time he looks at me he glares like a wild beast.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” said Dick. “But I don’t think he’ll do anything. He knows we were in the right. I reckon he’s more of a talker than anything else,” and in this surmise the eldest Rover was correct.
During the afternoon a heavy mist swept over the gulf and the speed of the Mascotte had to be slackened. Two men were placed on watch besides the pilot, but they could see little.
“This is going to delay us still more,” said Tom, and he was right. About six o’clock they came near crashing into another steamboat, and after that the forward movement was almost checked entirely.
All on board felt it would be a night of more or less peril, and consequently the trouble over the meals was forgotten. The captain paced the deck nervously, and the pilot and other watchers strained their eyes to pierce the gloom.
“I must say, I don’t feel much like turning in,” remarked Sam. “I can’t tell why it is, either.”
“I feel myself as if something unusual was in the air,” answered Tom.
“Boys,” said Dick to his brothers, “if anything should happen, stick together.”
“To be sure,” came from Sam and Tom.
“But do you think something will really happen?” added the youngest Rover.
“I don’t know what to think. I know this steamer is worse than an old tub, and I know that the mist is getting so thick you can cut it with a knife.”
“I wish we were on shore again, Dick.”
“So do I.”
“Py chiminatics!” came from Hans. “Owit on der deck you can’t see your face before your nose alretty!”
“Of course you know what this means, Hans,” answered Tom, who was bound to have a little fun in spite of the seriousness of the situation.
“Vot does dot mean?”
“You know they have great earthquakes down here, and great volcanoes.”
“Vell, vot of dot?”
“When it gets so misty as this then look out for a fearful earthquake and a great volcanic eruption.”
“You ton’t tole me!” gasped the German youth. “Say, I ton’t vont no earthkvakes, not much I ton’t!”
“Maybe it won’t do much harm—only sink the ship,” put in Sam, taking his cue from Tom.
“Sink der ship? Den ve peen all drowned, ain’t it? Say, Sam, how kvick you dink dem earthkvakes come, hey?”
“Oh, some time tonight,” answered the youngest Rover.
“Mine cracious! Ve peen all killed asleep!” groaned Hans. “Say, I dink I ton’t go py der ped, not me!” he added, earnestly.
At that moment came a cry from the deck. It was followed by a thump and a crash that threw all of the boys flat on the floor of the cabin of the steamer.
CHAPTER XV
THE CASTAWAYS OF THE GULF
“It vos der earthkvake!” yelled Hans, as he scrambled to his feet. “Der oceans vos all busted up alretty! Safe me!” And he ran for the cabin doorway.
“We must have struck something in the fog!” cried Dick, as he, too, arose. “Oh!”
Another crash had come, heavier than the first, and the Mascotte careened far over to port. Then came wild screams from the deck, followed by orders delivered in rapid succession. All in a moment the passengers were in a panic, asking what had been struck and if the steamer was going down.
The Rovers and their friends tried to make their way on deck, but another shock threw Fred and Songbird back into the cabin and partly stunned them. Then Harold Bird ran to his stateroom, to get a pocketbook containing his money.
Out on the deck all was misty, the lights gleaming faintly through the darkness. To one side loomed up another steamer, of the “tramp” variety, heavily laden with a miscellaneous cargo from Central American ports.
“The Mascotte is going down!” was the cry, as the steamer gave a suspicious lurch. Then came another crash, and before he knew it Dick Rover went spinning over the side, into the dark and misty waters of the gulf!
It was certainly a time of extreme peril, and had not poor Dick kept his wits about him he must surely have been drowned. Down he went over his head and it was fully quarter of a minute before he came to the surface once more, spluttering and clashing the water from his eyes. He looked around, felt something hard hit him, and then went under once more.
He knew he was near the bottom of some ship and held his breath as long as possible. When he again arose it was to gasp for air. Now he was free of the ship, and the rolling waters of the Gulf of Mexico lay all around him.
His first impulse was to cry out for help, and again and again he raised his voice. But the confusion on board the Mascotte and the other steamer was so great that nobody heard him, or, at least, paid any attention.
Dick strained his eyes and could make out the steamer lights dimly. He was about to yell again, when something floated near and struck him down once again. But as he came up he caught at the object and held fast to it. It was a large crate, empty, and with considerable difficulty he climbed on top.
“This is better than nothing,” he thought. And then, catching his breath, he set up a long and lusty cry, in the meantime watching with a sinking heart the lights of both steamers as they faded from view.
A quarter of an hour passed—it seemed much longer to poor Dick,—and the lights disappeared entirely. His heart sank like lead in his bosom.
“They won’t come back for me now,” he reasoned. “Perhaps the steamboat is sinking and the others have enough to do to think of saving themselves.”
The crate Dick was upon was not extra large, and it merely allowed him to keep his head and shoulders out of water. Fortunately the night was not cold, so he suffered little from his involuntary bath. But he realized the seriousness of his situation and was correspondingly sober.
“I must be a good way from land,” he reasoned. “I’ll have my own troubles saving myself, even if the mist clears away.”
Another quarter of an hour went by and then Dick thought he heard voices. He strained his ears.
“I think Dick went overboard too, although I am not sure,” came, in Sam’s tones.
“Yah, I dink dot,” answered Hans Mueller. “Und I dink Tom he falls ofer also alretty!”
“Hullo, there!” cried Dick.—“Is that you, Sam?”
“Who calls?” came the answering query. “It is I, Dick Rover!”
“Dick!” came from Sam and Hans.
“Where are you?”
“This way!” called Sam, and kept on calling until Dick drew closer and at last made out his brother and the German boy clinging to another crate.
“This is lucky—as far as it goes,” said Sam. “Are you hurt?”
“Not at all. And you?”
“I got a scratch on my wrist, that is all, and Hans says he twisted his left ankle a little. But we are glad we weren’t drowned.”
“What of the others?”
“I am almost sure Tom went overboard. I think the others remained on the steamer.”
“Was she sinking?”
“I think she was. I heard somebody say there was a big hole stove in her near the port bow.”
After that the three youths pulled the two crates together. A grass rope was fastened to
one of the affairs and they used this in joining the two, and then the castaways made themselves as comfortable as possible on their improvised raft.
The thought that Tom might have been drowned cast a gloom over Sam and Dick and also made Hans feel bad. Consequently but little was said for the next few hours. All kept their eyes strained for the sight of some friendly light, but none came to view.
“How many miles do you think we are from shore?” asked Sam, presently.
“I haven’t any idea,” answered Dick. “At least fifty or a hundred.”
“Ve vill nefer see der land again!” groaned Hans. “I vish ve had gone to dot Dampa py railroad drain, ain’t it!”
“Well, even railroad trains occasionally have smash-ups,” answered Dick, philosophically.
At last it began to grow light and with the coming of morning the mist lifted a trifle, so that they were able to see around them. A gentle breeze was blowing, causing the bosom of the gulf to ruffle up. Sam climbed up to the top of the crates.
“See anything?” queried his brother.
“Well, I never!” ejaculated the youngest Rover. “If that doesn’t beat the nation!”
He pointed off to their left and then all looked—and actually laughed. And well might they do so.
There, on the waters, rode a rude raft made of several empty boxes and crates. On the top of this affair stood a campstool, and on the stool sat Tom Rover, making himself as comfortable as possible.
“Tom!” the others yelled in concert, and the fun-loving Rover looked around eagerly.
“Hello, you!” he called back. “How many?”
“Three,” answered Sam. “Dick, Hans, and myself.”
“Good enough.”
“You certainly seem to be taking it easy,” said Dick, as the two rude rafts floated close to each other.
“Well, why not take it easy if it doesn’t cost any more?” demanded Tom, coolly. “I either had to sit on the chair or in the water, and I preferred to sit on the chair.”
“Do you know anything about the others, Tom?”
“No, but I am afraid they are drowned,” and now the fun-loving Rover became serious. “What makes you think that?” asked Sam.
“I think the steamer went down with nearly everybody on board.”
“Dot is terrible!” burst out Hans. “Poor Fred! Und poor Songpird! Vot vill der folks say ven da hear dot?” And he shook his head, dubiously.
“And poor Harold Bird!” added Dick. He had taken a strong liking to the young Southerner.
As it grew lighter those on the bosom of the gulf looked vainly for some sign of land or a sail, but hour after hour passed and nothing came to view but the waters under them and the mist and sky overhead.
“I am more than hungry,” grumbled Tom. “I didn’t get half enough to eat on that steamer and now I could lay into almost anything.”
“Ditto here,” answered his younger brother.
“Der poat must haf gone town,” said Hans. “Of not, den da vould look aroundt and pick us ub, hey?”
“I don’t believe Captain Fretwood would put himself out to look for us,” answered Dick. “He hated our whole crowd and would gladly get rid of us.”
A little later Sam shifted his position and chanced to place a hand in one of his coat pockets.
“Here’s luck!” he cried. “Not much, but something.” And he drew forth a thick cake of sweet chocolate, done up in tinfoil and paper.
“Oh, it’s salted and will make us thirsty,” said Dick.
The chocolate was examined and found to be in fairly good condition, and despite the salt they could not resist the temptation to divide the cake and eat it up. As my readers must know, chocolate is very nourishing and they felt much better after the brief lunch, although very thirsty.
“I bought that on the train from Bay St. Louis to Mobile,” explained the youngest Rover. “Sorry now I didn’t get half a dozen.”
“And a bottle of lemon soda with it,” added Tom, who was bound to have a little fun no matter how serious the outlook.
Slowly the morning wore away. About eleven o’clock it looked as if the sun might come out, but soon it clouded over as before and then the mist began to crawl up.
“This is terrible,” sighed Sam, at last. “Dick, what can we do?”
“I don’t know, Sam. If we knew in what direction the land lay we might make some effort to reach it.”
“We couldn’t paddle the rafts fifty or a hundred miles.”
“I am in hope that some steamer or sailing vessel will come this way and pick us up,” answered Dick.
Then a silence fell on the little crowd. Matters were growing serious indeed, and all wondered how the adventure would end.
CHAPTER XVI
A DESERTED STEAM YACHT
“Dick, am I mistaken, or do I see a vessel over yonder?”
Tom asked the question, as he suddenly straightened up and took a long look over to where the mist had temporarily lifted.
“It certainly does look like a ship of some sort,” answered Dick, gazing forward with equal eagerness.
“Shall ve call owid?” asked Hans.
“It is too far off.”
“Is she coming this way?” asked Sam, who had gotten so much salt water in his eyes that he could not see very well.
“I am not sure if it is a ship,” said Tom. “But it is certainly something.”
“Let us try to paddle closer,” suggested his older brother, and all set to work; Tom using the folded campstool, and the others some bits of boards from the crates.
Very slowly they approached the object, until they felt certain it was a vessel, a steam yacht, as they made out a few minutes later. But no smoke curled from the funnel of the craft, nor could they make out anybody on the deck.
“Yacht ahoy!” yelled Dick, when he felt that his voice might be heard.
To this hail there was no answer, and although the boys strained their eyes to the utmost, they saw nobody moving on the craft ahead.
“Yacht ahoy!” screamed Tom, using his hands as a trumpet. “Yacht ahoy!”
Still there was no answer, nor did a soul show himself. The curiosity of the castaways was aroused to the highest pitch, and as vigorously as they could they paddled to the side of the steam yacht. The craft was not a large one, but seemed to be of good build and in first-class trim. The wheel was lashed fast, causing her to ride fairly well in the faint breeze. Not a sail was set.
“Ahoy! ahoy!” yelled all of the boys in concert.
“Vos you teat, alretty?” asked Hans. “Of you vos, vy ton’t you tole somepoty?”
“Gracious, do you think all on board are dead?” cried Sam.
“Either that or else the owners belong to a deaf and dumb asylum,” responded Tom.
The castaways continued to call out and in the meantime brought their rude raft close to the side of the steam yacht. As the vessel slipped past them slowly, they threw a bit of rope to the rudder post and made fast.
“Everybody must be below and asleep,” said Dick, “although I never before heard of such strange proceedings.”
“Nor I,” came from Sam. “But the question is, Are we going on board or not?”
“Are we? Of course we are!” burst out Tom. “They couldn’t keep me off with a pitchfork. I want a drink of water if nothing else, and I am bound to have it.”
“Aboard the yacht!” yelled Dick again. “Why don’t you show yourselves and say something? Are you all deaf?”
Still no answer, and the boys looked at each other in amazement.
“Am I dreaming?” demanded Tom.
“Maybe the ship is a—a—phantom?” whispered Sam, and gave a little shiver.
“Well, I am going on board, even if it’s the Flying Dutchman himself,” cried Tom, bravely.
&nbs
p; “Flying Dutchmans?” queried Hans. “Der vos no Dutchmans vot fly, vos dare?”
“Tom is speaking of a phantom ship with a phantom crew, I guess,” said Sam. “Tom, how are you going to get on deck?” he added, to his brother.
This was a question Tom could not answer at once. The rail of the steam yacht was some feet above their heads and how to reach it was a problem.
“You can take the ropes from the rafts,” suggested Dick. “Perhaps we won’t want them any longer.”
They took the ropes, tied them together, and Tom threw one end upward. After several failures he got the rope around the rail and the end down within reach, and then he went up hand over hand, in true sailor fashion, for Tom had been a first-class climber from early childhood, “Always getting into mischief,” as his Aunt Martha had been wont to say.
“Don’t you fellows want to come up?” asked the fun-loving Rover, as soon as he was safe.
“Certainly we do,” answered Dick. “Go on, Hans and Sam. I can wait till last.”
It was not so easy for Hans to get up and Tom at the top and Dick at the bottom had to aid him. Then Sam went up like a monkey, and the eldest Rover followed, and the crates and boxes, with the campstool, were allowed to drift away.
Once on board the steam yacht the Rovers and Hans looked around with keen curiosity. Not a soul was on deck, in the upper cabin, or in the tiny wheelhouse.
“This is enough to give a fellow the creeps!” declared Sam. “I must say I almost hate to go below.”
“Just the way I feel,” added Tom. “Perhaps we’ve run into some great tragedy.”
“Everything on deck is in apple-pie order,” was Dick’s comment. “It certainly is a mystery. But I am going below.”
“Wait, Dick!” cried Sam. “Would it not be as well to arm yourself?”
“Perhaps,” was the reply, and then all of the “boys procured belaying pins or whatever was handy, with which to ward off a possible attack.
“Maybe they had a lion on board and he ate the whole crew up,” suggested Tom.
“Say, of der vos a lion—” began Hans, drawing back.
“Oh, Tom is fooling,” interrupted Dick. “They don’t carry a menagerie on a vessel like this. Why, this is a gentleman’s pleasure yacht.”
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