The schooner was indeed in danger of wallowing in the trough of the big waves.

Pausing only for a moment, the sailors who had labored so valiantly at cutting loose the broken mast, sprang to get more sail on the craft. She was deprived of the reefed, or shortened, one that had been on the stick which was now overboard, and the jib was not enough to hold her head to the waves.

"What is it? Oh what is it?" gasped Miss Pennington as Alice fell, rather than walked down the companionway into the cabin.

"Are we sinking?" demanded Miss Dixon.

"Not at all!" answered Alice, catching her breath, and, with a shake of her head freeing her face from the salty spray that had drenched her.

"It isn't anything at all."

She determined to make light of it, even though her own heart was beating like a hammer at the thought of her narrow escape from possible death.

Alice really did not know whether there was any danger or not from the fall of the mast. She had often read of such things happening, and she remembered that the masts were always "cut away." So she supposed, as long as this was being done, that the proper course was being followed.

"There's no danger at all," she said, speaking more calmly now.

"No danger!" cried Miss Pennington. "Listen to that!"

It was the noise of sailors on deck chopping away the mast-gear.

"Oh, one of those upright sticks, that they hang the sails on, fell over. Not enough glue on it, I guess," said Alice, calmly.

"Not enough glue!" gasped Paul. "Well, I never--"

"Can't you take a joke?" Alice whispered to him, as she saw that her minimizing of the accident was having its effect.

"Oh, yes, of course!" Paul exclaimed. "Not enough glue on it--Oh yes!"

and he had to turn away to keep from smiling at the idea of a mast,--that is the most firmly set of anything on a ship, (being indeed almost an integral part of it)--the idea of that being stayed with glue was enough to make almost anyone smile, even in the midst of danger.

The sounds on the deck gradually became more quiet. The danger seemed to be over for the time being. The moving picture actors and actresses crowded around Alice to hear her story of the accident. She carefully avoided mentioning her own peril, but she resolved to properly thank old Jack later. Just now Alice did not want her father to worry. His throat was troubling him, because of the amount of salt spray in the air.

On deck Captain Brisco and Jack Jepson took charge of matters until the wreckage had been cleared away. And a lot of wreckage there was. The _Mary Ellen_ looked little like the trim, schooner that had left New York a few weeks before.

Jack Jepson stepped close to the stump of the mainmast. He gave one look at it, and uttered a single word.

"Rotten!" he exclaimed.

"What's that?" cried Captain Brisco sharply.

"Rotten!" repeated the mate. "That mast had dry rot to the very core.

Only the varnish held her together."

"What's that to you?" cried the captain in angry tones. "You keep your opinions to yourself! When I want 'em, I'll ask for 'em! Now get below and see if we're taking in any water."

"Very well, sir," was the answer, but Jack gave the captain a queer look.

He found some water coming in, but not more, he thought, than the pumps could take care of, so he reported the matter only to Captain Brisco.

"That's good," the commander said, seemingly well pleased. "I guess they can have their fake shipwreck after all, if the weather clears."

As the day advanced, the storm lulled slightly, but it was still rough.

Those of the moving picture company who ventured up on deck went below again with white, scared faces at the sight of the wreckage of the mainmast. For it did look doleful.

"This shipwreck comes pretty near being real," said Mr. Pertell. "If we could only photograph it now, it would make a fine film."

"Can't you?" asked Alice.

"Yes, I suppose I could make some views."

A few hundred feet of film were exposed by one of the operators, but the pretended shipwreck would need to be taken from a small boat, and the sea was too rough to admit of that.

Then the storm, that had given them a brief respite, began again, worse than before. The schooner was tossed about like a toy, and the mizzenmast was sprung so that no sail could be rigged on it.

Then when a great wave struck the craft, washing over her from stem to stern, the work of the ocean and the storm elements seemed completed.

The _Mary Ellen_ staggered under the blow like some living thing, and she did not rise to it as buoyantly as she had before.

Jack Jepson came rushing up from below.

"We're leaking fast!" he cried. "We'd better take to the boats, Captain Brisco! The pumps won't work!"

"The boats! Nonsense!" the captain cried. "We'll ride it out here. The schooner is all right!"

"I tell you she's sinking!" yelled Jack. "We must take to the boats."

"What? Do you dare give orders in my face!" stormed Captain Brisco.

"This is mutiny, sir! This is mutiny! I'll put you in irons!" and with raised fist he started toward the old sailor.

CHAPTER XXIII

HELP AT LAST

Jack Jepson was a brave man. He proved it then by standing unflinchingly in front of the angry captain, when shrinking back might have meant a blow that would have brought about a general fight. Seeing him standing there fearlessly, made Captain Brisco pause. And that gave the others time for action.

"What does this mean?" cried Mr. Pertell.

"He is trying to start a mutiny as he did once before!" fairly yelled Captain Brisco.

"I never started a mutiny before, and I'm not trying to do so now!"

retorted Jack, and he seemed to have lost much of his timid simplicity.

"I tell you the ship is sinking, and we had best take to the boats while there is time."

"And I tell you that you are wrong!" snarled Captain Brisco. "I order you below!"

"And I won't go, until I have told these people what is going on here!"

retorted Jack Jepson.