CHAPTER VII
THE STORM
Filled with his new idea, and alarmed at the possible menace tohimself, Tom turned, and was about to retrace his steps up on deck tospeak to the captain. Then he paused.
"Hold on a minute, Tom Fairfield," he told himself. "And don't doanything in a hurry. You came off on this voyage in a rush, and maybethat was a good thing. But just wait a minute now, and see if this isthe best step to take."
He turned again, and once more walked past the stateroom of thesuspected man. The door was closed this time, and Tom was rather gladof it, for he did not want to meet the passenger, now that he knew whohe was.
"I'll just wait a bit about telling the captain," reflected Tom. "WhenI tell him the story he's bound to take some action, seeing that Mr.Trendell is sailing under false colors. And that's bound to make arow. It won't be pleasant for me, either, seeing that I've got to stayon this ship with him for some time yet. And a ship isn't like dryland--you can't get away from a person when you want to.
"No, it's better for me as it is, I think. As long as he stays shut upin his stateroom he won't bother me, though he knows that I'm on board.That's why he acted so queer, and why he's been in retirement. Now he'splanning some new move.
"Yes, I'll just lay low for a while, and see what happens. There's timeenough I guess. I'll go develop this picture."
Tom found the dark room well fitted up, and he was soon at work, takingthe films from his camera, and putting them in the developing bath.As soon as the yellow coating began to dissolve he saw, coming outof the shadows, as it were, the dim image of the waterspout, and theshattering of it by the cannon ball.
"Say! That's a crackerjack snapshot!" he exclaimed. "As soon as it'sdry enough I'm going to print some views and show 'em. I don't believeanyone on board has any better pictures than these."
In his enthusiasm over his views he forgot, for the time being, thematter that was troubling him. He found that he had a number ofexcellent negatives of the waterspout, showing it approaching, itsdestruction, and the raging sea after it had subsided into the waves.
"Good! That's great!" exclaimed Mr. Blake, one of the passengers towhom Tom showed his views a few hours later. "I hope mine come out asfine as yours. How did you print them so quickly?"
Tom explained how he had dried his negatives by dipping them inalcohol, and pinning them in front of an electric fan, so that he couldmake prints a comparatively short time after developing. He even usedthe dark room for some of the other passengers, making some prints fromtheir films, but none of them were as good as those of our hero.
"You ought to make a set for the captain," suggested Mr. Blake. "Ibelieve he'd like them to hang in his cabin, as a souvenir of theoccasion."
"I will," declared Tom, and this brought up anew in his mind thequestion as to whether or not he ought to inform the commander of thesecret he had unexpectedly stumbled upon.
"I guess I'll take a chance, and tell him," mused the lad. "I'vethought it all over, and I'll feel better if I tell. If I don't, andanything happens, I'd feel as if I was to blame. I'll tell CaptainSteerit."
But an unexpected obstacle developed. First, when Tom went to look forthe captain the latter was working out some reckonings, and could notbe disturbed. And then, a little later, it was time for supper, and aconcert was to be given afterward, the captain having arranged for itamong the musical members of his passengers. He was really too busy forTom to see him in private.
"Oh, well, morning will do," decided our hero, little knowing what wasto happen between night and dawn.
The concert was a great success, though it was strictly amateur. Therewere songs and instrumental numbers, for the _Silver Star_ carried apiano. Some one discovered that Tom was a school lad, who had been amember of the glee club at Elmwood Hall, and nothing would do but thathe must sing some songs. He did not want to, but was finally prevailedupon to do so, and he had a better voice than he himself suspected.
"Great! Fine!" complimented Mr. Blake. "If there were more of us herewe could charge admission and make a fund for the sailors. Now, Mrs.Ford, another of your piano solos."
Thus the evening went on in gaiety until even the gayest were ready fortheir staterooms.
"Maybe I'll get a chance to speak to the captain now," thought Tom,wishing to get the unpleasant matter off his mind before he went tobed, if possible. But Captain Steerit was still busy, and when he didhave a moment's leisure, after the main cabin had been put to rightsfollowing the concert, he was summoned to the bridge by an unexpectedcall.
"I wonder if anything can be wrong?" asked Mr. Blake of Tom.
"Wrong? How? What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean that the wind has been rising rapidly in the last hour,and the barometer is falling. I heard one of the crew say so."
"That means a storm," suggested Tom.
"I guess so. Notice how we're pitching and rolling."
"That's right," agreed our hero, for, now that his attention was notoccupied with the music and songs he could observe that the ship washeeling over at a sharper angle. And, too, she seemed to be climbing upsome mountain of water, only to slip down into the hollow on the otherside of it.
"It is a little rough," spoke Tom, "but I don't believe it will amountto much. Let's go up and look around."
The motion on deck was more pronounced than it had been below, andthe two had some little difficulty in keeping their feet as they gotoutside. They felt the strong wind in their faces, a wind that seemedto be momentarily increasing in violence.
"Better get below!" shouted Captain Steerit to Tom and Mr. Blake, fromthe bridge. "We're in for a spell of bad weather I fancy."
"Any danger?" yelled Mr. Blake, above the roar of the wind, which washumming through the mast and funnel stays. "My wife is very nervous."
"No danger," answered the commander, and then he disappeared into thecharthouse that opened off the bridge.
The vessel pitched and tossed, but Tom had been in worse blows thanthis, and he saw nothing to be alarmed about. The sky was overcast withclouds, for no stars were visible, and the wind was strong, but asidefrom these indications there did not seem to be anything to be alarmedabout.
"Well, I'll have to wait until morning, all right," mused Tom, as hetook a turn about the deck before going in. Mr. Blake left him with agood-night.
"I'll go tell my wife there's nothing to be alarmed about," he said,"but she's that nervous that it'll be just like her to sit up dressedall night."
"Oh, I guess the _Silver Star_ can weather this little blow," said Tom.
Remaining on deck for about half an hour longer Tom was beginning tofeel sleepy enough to turn in. The wind had not increased. If anythingit had gone down, though the lad could see, over the rail, that thewaves were running high. They did not break, however, being more likehuge oily swells that heaved up in the darkness, showing dimly thereflection of the ship's lights.
"Some power to those waves," reflected our hero. "A lot of power therewhen it's needed, but the trouble is it can't be controlled. Well, Ihope we don't run into a worse blow by morning."
A little saddened as he looked off across the black waste, andreflected that somewhere on that heaving ocean his father and mothermight be helplessly drifting, Tom went below.
As he did so he cast a look at the bridge. He saw Captain Steeritstanding there with the first mate, their figures being brought out inrelief against the glow of light from the charthouse. The two seemedto be in earnest conversation, and Tom, who was unaccountably nervous,could not but wonder if there was any danger in their situation.
As he passed the room of the mysterious passenger Tom saw that the doorwas closed, though a light showing over the transom indicated that theoccupant was still up.
It must have been past midnight when Tom was suddenly awakened bybeing pitched sharply against the side of his berth.
"Hello! What's up?" he cried.
There was no answer, but he felt himself tossed in the oppositedirection
, while some loose objects in his room rolled about the floor.
"Something's going on!" said Tom aloud, as he reached out and turnedthe electric switch, flooding his room with light.
As he did so he became aware that the vessel was rolling and pitchingat what, even to his accustomed senses, was an alarming degree. Tomsprang out of bed, and brought up with a bang on the opposite side ofhis little apartment, giving himself quite a severe knock.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed, rubbing his elbows. He forgot to hold on tosomething, and felt himself sliding back toward his berth, but hehad sense enough to put out his hands and save himself from anothercollision.
"Some motion here!" thought Tom.
At the same time he became aware of a rushing of feet on the deck abovehim, while hoarse commands were cried out, coming but faintly to hisears.
Without waiting to dress, Tom cautiously opened his porthole a trifle.In an instant, even through the small crack, he was drenched with aspray of salty water.
"Say! It must be a blow!" he cried, screwing the porthole glass backinto place. "It's a storm all right! I'm going to get dressed, and goon deck. No telling what might happen."
Steadying himself with one hand, he sorted out his clothes with theother. He could hear the passengers in the stateroom adjoining hismoving about, and he thought he detected a woman crying.
Tom Fairfield at Sea; or, The Wreck of the Silver Star Page 7
