"I'm doing all I can," Captain Brisco replied. "I'll shorten sail down to the minimum; that will keep us before the wind, and out of the trough of the sea! More I can't do. We must depend on them to pick us up. They ought to be able to do it. You told me Dalwood could manage a boat."

"So he can--but--"

There was ominous meaning in the broken-off sentence.

"Well, we'll do the best we can," concluded Captain Brisco. "They will have to take chances, as we're doing."

He went forward to give some orders.

Those aboard the schooner peered anxiously over the storm swept waters for a sight of the motor craft, but they saw nothing. They shouted and called, but only the wind howled back at them.

Then, with a suddenness that was appalling, they seemed to be flung into the midst of a hurricane. The wind lashed the sea to fury, and the _Mary Ellen_ spun around like some gigantic top.

"We're in the vortex!" cried Jack Jepson. "We're in the vortex of a cyclone! All hands look to themselves!"

CHAPTER XXI

WRECKED

Confusion on board a ship in a storm may be real confusion and riot, or it may only seem so to those not used to the sea. Often what is a hopelessly tangled ma.s.s of sails, ropes, spars and gears to the landsman, is as clear to a sailor as a skein of yarn is to an experienced knitter, who can ply her needles in the dark.

It was so on the _Mary Ellen_ when the storm, that had been so long threatening, and half-performing, broke in all its fury.

There was a tangle of ropes, a banging and slamming of canvas, which, stretched taut and to its utmost, was as stiff as a board. There was a rattling of blocks and the creaking of the boom-crotches against the masts. The squeak of the gaffs higher up added to the din.

The shouting of Captain Brisco, and the answering calls of his men did not lessen the confusion.

"Lower away! Lower away!" the commander cried, ordering even the already doubly-reefed sails gotten down, so the powerful wind would have less resistance. Even with the small area of canvas shown, the craft was being heeled over until the scuppers--or the holes by which water runs off the deck--dipped under the waves, and there was plenty of sea aboard.

"Set that storm jib!" came the next order, when the main sails had been furled, and that was no easy task with the sharp pitching and tossing of the schooner. Not a very seamanlike job was made of it, but there was no time for the finer touches. The sails were just clewed up to prevent them from blowing away, until more time could be devoted to them.

The storm jib, which is the sail furthest front on a vessel, unless it be a flying jib, was set to give her enough way so she would respond to the helm, for it was necessary to keep the craft before the wind, and head on to the seas--that is, the big waves must be cut and broken by the sharp prow, or bow, for had they come at the schooner sideways, she would have been swamped instantly.

Even the small area of the storm jib was hardly necessary. The _Mary Ellen_, in that blow, would have scudded along fairly well "under bare poles," that is with no sails set at all. Even Captain Brisco had his doubts about the storm jib resisting. It might pull away from the holding ropes at any moment. But its loss would do no harm, for it would only be blown out to sea, and there were enough spare sails.

So, as I have said, order came out of confusion, but even the order was somewhat confused, at least to the members of the moving picture company. They had been ordered below, and had managed, somehow, to get there, though more than one received b.u.mps and bruises on the pitching, tossing companionway.

"Oh, what an awful storm!" complained Miss Dixon, when they were huddled in the cabin.

"Isn't it awful--terrible!" agreed her companion. "I am frightened to death. We may sink at any minute."

"Oh, not so much danger of that in a wooden ship," said Paul consolingly. He wished the two former vaudeville actresses would try to have a little courage.

"I am so frightened," murmured Miss Pennington. "I wish Captain Brisco would come down here."

"What for?" asked Alice, hardly able to keep the contempt out of her voice.

"So he could tell us if we are in any danger, and what we ought to do,"

was the selfish answer. "He _must_ save us!"

"He's trying to save the ship!" said Alice, "and you two ought to be ashamed of yourselves at a time like this. Think of poor Russ and Mr.

Sneed out in that motorboat all alone!"

"Oh, but they--they're men," faltered Miss Dixon.

"Then why don't you try to be women!" snapped Alice.

"Hush, my dear," said her sister gently.

"I can't!" was the answer. "When I think of poor Russ----"

"I'm going to put on a life preserver," exclaimed Miss Pennington, favoring Alice with a frosty stare.

"Perhaps that would be a good plan for us, my dears," said Mr. DeVere to his daughters. "It can do no harm, at all events."

"No," admitted Alice. "But we appear to be all right--for the time being, at least."

It seemed quieter up on deck now, for the sailors had ceased rushing about adjusting the canvas, though there was still plenty of noise.

There was the rattle and bang of blocks, the whipping about of ends of ropes, the slap, now and then, of the storm jib, as it was whipped back and forth. Now and then a heavy sea would fall on deck with a crash.

At such times the _Mary Ellen_, stout as she was, would tremble from stem to stern, and those in the cabin would shiver and look at one another apprehensively.

"Come on, Laura," called Miss Pennington to her companion. "Let's take all the precautions we can. We'll put on life preservers. But oh, I daren't think of being in the water with all those sharks."

"Don't talk that way!" said Paul in a sharp whisper, as he saw Ruth shrink back at the word "shark."

Miss Pennington did not deign to answer, but she and her friend were soon struggling with the straps of a life preserver. At this moment Captain Brisco came down into the cabin.

"What does this mean?" he asked, and his voice was stern.

"We--we are getting ready for an--an emergency," faltered Miss Pennington.

"Well, there won't be any emergency--at least not for a while," the commander said grimly "We are doing very well. If you want to be uncomfortable do so, and put on those cork jackets. But there is no need of it. I'll give you plenty of warning if the ship is likely to founder, and we'll lower the boats."

"Is there any real danger, Captain?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"Well, of course there always is, in a storm at sea. But we are in no more danger than hundreds of others. This is a wooden ship, and it will be a long time sinking, even if it gets to that point, which is far off.

We haven't leaked a drop yet, and we're running before the storm nicely.

You need have no fears."

"That's what I thought!" exclaimed Alice, with a look at the two former stage actresses.

"Humph!" sniffed Miss Dixon. "Any one would think you were a sailor."