The Moving Picture Girls at Sea
L >> Laura Lee Hope >> The Moving Picture Girls at Sea"Well, where is the schooner, if you can see her?" growled Pepper Sneed.
"Steer for her if you can sight her--I can't!"
He seemed morose and angry. Perhaps it was just fear. Russ did not stop
to determine that point. The operator took the steering wheel, first
standing up to get an idea of his course.
"Say, it _is_ getting dark!" he cried. "Well, we'll have to go it blind.
We'll pick up the schooner in a minute or two, I expect. She ought to be
right over there," and he pointed.
"Where?" asked Mr. Sneed.
"There," said Russ again.
"Humph! You're away off!" declared his companion. "The last I saw her,
and I was headed right for her, she was over there," and he indicated a
direction differing from that Russ had shown by at least forty-five
degrees.
"I wish they'd show a light!" Russ murmured as he tried to peer through
the mist and the gathering darkness. "Why don't they show a light? We
could see that!"
"Maybe they don't know we're lost," suggested Pepper Sneed.
"Lost!" cried Russ. "We're not lost! We'll be up to them in a minute or
so, but I do wish they'd show a light."
The motorboat _Ajax_ was chugging over the heaving water at good speed,
but as far as the eyes of either of her occupants could see, she might
have been driving straight into the utter desolation of a vast ocean,
for not an object was in sight.
The wind had again taken up that nerve-racking moaning and groaning
sound, as of an unseen giant in distress, and the spray from the crests
of the waves blew in the faces of the two young men, as they crouched
down behind the shelter of the half-cabin.
It seemed as though the storm had begun, had halted in its purpose, or
had gone off momentarily in some other direction, and was now headed
back, to sweep destruction down on those aboard the _Mary Ellen_, and
the two in the motorboat.
But where was the _Mary Ellen_?
That was a question Russ and Mr. Sneed asked of themselves over and over
again as they drove into the very teeth of the storm. They had to head
into it, as in the small boat no other course would have been safe.
Fortunately the _Ajax_ was built dory-fashion, with high bow and stern,
after the pattern of the skiffs in which the fishermen of the New
Foundland banks go out in heavy weather.
"What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Sneed, as Russ increased the speed
of the engine, so that the small craft fairly tore up the inclined hills
of green waters, which the waves represented, and slid down them with
sickening speed on the other slope.
"I'm going to keep on until I find her--find the schooner," Russ said,
grimly. "That's all we can do. But I can't understand why they don't
show a light."
"Maybe they're having troubles of their own," suggested the actor.
"Well, they could shout, so as to let us know where to steer," Russ went
on, rather provoked.
"We could do that ourselves," Pepper Sneed said.
"Do what?" asked Russ, hardly conscious of what he was saying, for just
then a heavy wave threatened to swamp the dory, and it required skillful
handling to keep her from being swamped.
"We could yell," suggested Mr. Sneed. "Come on, give 'em a call!"
Russ agreed to this, and, standing up, so their voices would carry
better, and bracing themselves against the tumbling, swaying motion of
the craft, they sent out a cry for aid--and yet not so much a cry for
aid, as they were not yet in distress, but a cry for direction.
"If I could only see where to steer," Russ exclaimed, when they had
paused in their yelling, well-nigh exhausted, "it wouldn't be so bad!
But I can't see a thing. It's getting darker every minute. I never saw
such a funny storm."
"It's coming up all right," declared the actor. "Going to blow great
guns soon."
"It's blowing them now," said Russ, grimly, as he clung to the wheel.
"I can hardly keep her on the course."
"What's the use of steering a course when you don't know whether it's
right or not?" asked the actor.
"Well, I'm not going to give up," Russ said, grimly. "I think I'm headed
for the schooner, though I ought to have fetched her sooner than this,
at the speed we're going."
"Perhaps she's blowing away from us," suggested Mr. Sneed.
"That's it!" Russ cried. "Why didn't I think of that before? She's
running away from us. She can't help it, though, for she must scud
before this storm. We've got to increase our speed to catch up to her.
The wind and our engine ought to be more than a match for her sails
alone. I'll put on more speed."
The wind was now a howling gale.
Suddenly, as they drove on, the motor seemed to increase its speed.
"What's that?" asked Mr. Sneed. "I thought you had her running at her
limit."
"So did I," Russ answered, bending over the machinery. Then he cried:
"She's racing! We've lost our propeller! We're disabled in this storm!"
CHAPTER XX
IN THE VORTEX
"Haven't we looked distressed long enough?"
"I'm going below. I can't bear to watch that storm!"
The speakers were Alice and Ruth DeVere respectively, and they were
leaning over the rail of the _Mary Ellen_, peering off into the swirl of
driving mists, and across the heaving waters toward where the motorboat
had been last seen.
"Yes, I think Russ has enough pictures," Mr. Pertell said in answer to
the remark of Alice. "I think you all looked sufficiently distressful.
If the scenes of the shipwreck itself go as well as the first part of
the drama has gone, we'll have a fine film."
"Then may I go below?" asked Ruth. "I don't like the looks of the
weather."
"It does seem as though we'd get the storm after all," her father
remarked.
"Go below, by all means," assented the manager. "We have done enough for
today, and I'll signal Russ to come in, if he hasn't already started to
do so. My, but this wind is blowing a regular gale!"
Others than Ruth found it uncomfortable on deck, and there was a general
movement toward the cabins which had been fitted up with considerable
comfort, even if the craft was an old one.
But just then, when there was a partial calm before another burst of
fury on the part of the storm, something occurred that threw the ship
into a flurry of excitement for a time. The sailors were making some
changes in the craft's canvas, when suddenly the throat and peak
halyards of the mainsail either parted, or, coming loose from the
cleats, came down on the run. The effect was to lower the sail so
quickly, and in such a fashion, with the wind blowing hard against it,
that there was a crash, a banging and booming of the canvas, and the
boom and gaff. The first mate, who was standing near the mast, was
knocked down, narrowly escaping going overboard.
"Oh, what has happened?" cried Ruth.
"Be still!" commanded Alice, clutching her sister by the arm. "Yelling
isn't going to do any good. We're not hurt."
They were standing near a companionway, well out of reach of the falling
sail.
"Oh, we're sinking! We're sinking!" screamed Miss Dixon.
"And the sharks! The terrible sharks in the water!" hysterically added
her friend.
The other ladies of the party were very much frightened, naturally, not
only by the accident to the sail, but by the screams of the two former
vaudeville actresses.
"Lively now, men!" called Jack Jepson, who happened to be nearest the
confusion of tangled ropes and sail. "Get him below. He doesn't seem to
be much hurt."
He pointed to the motionless body of the first mate. A quick examination
showed that the man was badly stunned, but that seemed to be the extent
of his injuries, as far as could be told.
"Up with her now! Up with her!" the second mate cried, as he gave orders
for hoisting the sail again, for the schooner was not under proper
control with the main canvas down, and a storm coming up rapidly. The
sail had been reefed, so the gaff had not fallen as far as otherwise
would have been the case.
"What's the matter?" shouted Captain Brisco who came up from his cabin
with Hen Lacomb. The two were seldom apart of late. A glance served to
tell the commander what had happened. He saw that Jack Jepson had
matters well in hand, and though Alice guessed that Captain Brisco had
no love for his second mate, the commander knew seamanship when he saw
it.
"Lively now!" he cried. "That's the idea! We'll run before the gale
now."
"But the motorboat!" cried Ruth, who had conquered her desire to flee to
the cabin, and hide her eyes and ears from such nerve-racking sights and
sounds. "Where is the _Ajax_--and Mr. Sneed--and--Russ?" she faltered.
"They'll probably be coming in now," the captain said, but he did not
take the trouble to look around and see. "We can't wait for them in this
wind," he went on.
"But we _must_ wait for him!" Ruth cried, getting excited. "We can't go
off and leave them in that motorboat, on the ocean, in a storm! We must
wait!" She started toward Captain Brisco, with her hands held out
appealingly.
Alice was wildly looking around for a sight of the smaller craft. She
had seen it just before the sail fell, but now there was nothing about
the schooner but a bare waste of waters.
She knew enough about the technical side of moving pictures to realize
that for some time, it had been too dark to take any film. Russ must
have known that, too, and would have started back for the schooner. But
if he had, where was he now?
Alice asked herself that question as she looked around.
"You must wait for him!" cried Ruth.
"Who? What's this?" demanded Mr. Pertell, for he had been hurrying to
and fro, making sure none of the members of his company had been injured
in the slight accident.
"Russ hasn't come back," volunteered Alice, who almost always spoke
ahead of her sister.
"He's out there!" Ruth found voice to say, "and Captain Brisco isn't
going to wait for him."
"You can't hold a ship still on the ocean, and a storm coming up!" the
commander cried, as though to justify himself. "We've got to run for it.
It would be madness now to lay to."
"But we can't desert Russ and Mr. Sneed!" cried the manager. "I thought
he was coming in. What shall we do? We must do something! I shouldn't
have asked him to risk it!"
The schooner was rapidly forging ahead, even under reefed sails, so
powerful was the wind.
"We could work around," said Jack Jepson, who had come up on deck after
seeing the first mate comfortably bestowed in his berth. "We could work
around and----"
"Who's in charge of this ship; you or me?" snapped Captain Brisco.
"You are, of course," was the quiet answer.
"Well then, have the goodness to keep still and let me manage matters.
I'm giving orders--not you!"
Poor Jack slunk back, smarting under the undeserved rebuke.
"I don't care who is in command!" cried Mr. Pertell. "This is my ship
and you're under my orders, Captain Brisco. I order you to pick up that
motorboat!"
"And I tell you we can't do it! They've got to come to us, we can't go
to them. They're not dependent on the wind as we are. They can travel
any direction they like, and they'll have to head for us."
"But we must make some effort to find them!" cried the manager. "It
would be wicked--criminal not to."
"Look here!" cried Captain Brisco. "You are the owner of this schooner,
it is true, and as such you are my superior, but the law gives me
supreme command of this craft at sea, unless I'm dead, or otherwise
deposed. And I tell you I won't risk all these lives by trying to beat
back in the teeth of this wind, to pick up a motorboat. It would be
worse than criminal--worse than wicked to do it. It would endanger all
on board!"
There was some logic in that. Even Mr. Pertell, exercised as he was by
the threatened danger to Russ, could appreciate that.
"But we must do something," the manager repeated.
"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 mass 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 bumps 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."
"She's a good deal better 'n some," said Jack Jepson coming into the
cabin then to report something to Captain Brisco.
"Then you would not advise us to put on life preservers?" asked Mr.
DeVere.
"Not now, at least," the captain replied. "I have done everything
possible, and the only thing now is to run before the storm. We are in
good shape. The _Mary Ellen_ is a better craft than I gave her credit
for being. The only thing to do is to wait, and hope for the best."
"Have you plenty of lifeboats?" the old actor wanted to know.
"Yes, enough for all hands. They are provisioned and watered, and are
staunch craft. My men have orders to stand by in case of any real
danger, and put the small boats over. But we will stick to the ship
until the last, though that is not saying, mind you, that we will have
to desert her."
"Oh! I couldn't think of going in one of those small boats!" cried Miss
Dixon. "They are so low in the water. I should faint every time I looked
over the side."
"Well if she looked once, and fainted and stayed so, it would be a good
thing for all hands," murmured Paul Ardite.
"Oh, don't say that," Alice reproached him.
"That's how I feel about her," he answered.
"What can be done about picking up the motorboat?" asked Mr. DeVere.
They all looked anxiously toward Captain Brisco.
"I have a man on the lookout," answered the commander. "It may seem to
some of you heartless to go away and leave her."
"It was," murmured gentle Ruth. But she only whispered the words. There
were tears in her eyes.
"But I could do nothing else," resumed Captain Brisco. "As I told you, a
vessel can't remain stationary on the sea. We had to move on before the
gale. And, as I also said, the motorboat has a better chance of going
where she wants to than have we, who must depend on our sails. I have no
doubt but that the two in the _Ajax_ are safe."
But if Captain Brisco, or any of those then huddled in the cabin of the
_Mary Ellen_, could have seen Russ and Mr. Sneed just then they would
not have envied them.
With the racing of the engine, indicating to Russ that the propeller had
dropped off into the sea, he at once shut off the power. Without the
resistance of the screw the machine would soon have racked itself to
pieces.
"Well, what's to be done?" asked Mr. Sneed.
"That's the way to talk," was the response. "We've got to do something,
that's sure."
The storm which at that moment was enveloping the _Mary Ellen_ was, at
the same time, buffeting about the smaller motorboat. When she lost
headway by the stopping of her engine she no longer took the seas head,
or bow, on. She fell into the trough, and was in imminent danger of
being swamped.
"We've got to bring her up, the first thing we do," Russ decided. "What
we need is a drag anchor. That will bring her head on to the waves, and
we can ride them better until help comes."
"Will help ever come?" asked the actor, despondently.
"Of course it will. Or else we'll find the schooner, or they us!"
responded Russ.
While he was talking, he was looking about for something to use as a
drag anchor.
"That will do!" Russ decided as he saw a heavy wooden box. "I'll use
that." Quickly he tied a rope to it, and tossed the box out.
"This is better!" exclaimed Russ. "Now let's take an account of stock,
and see what else we can do. We may be here for some time."
"We can't live very long in this awful weather!" groaned, rather than
spoke, Mr. Sneed.
"Oh, don't give up so easily," said Russ.
But when the storm grew worse, and the tiny craft was buffeted about,
shipping considerable water, even stout-hearted Russ was not as hopeful
as he had been. He had stowed the camera in a safe place, and put the
films in a water-tight box well forward. Then the only thing to do was
to wait. In vain he scanned the sea through the storm for a sight of the
schooner. He could catch no glimpse of her.
Meanwhile the lookout on the _Mary Ellen_ was eagerly watching for any
signs of the _Ajax_, but he had even less chance of seeing her than Russ
and Mr. Sneed did of sighting the larger vessel.
The storm was constantly growing worse. As old Jack had said, the
schooner had actually been caught in the very vortex of it, but the
whirling motion, imparted by the meeting of two different wind
currents, had been the saving of the craft. She had been shunted to the
outer edge, as a cork, going around in a whirlpool, is sometimes tossed
to safety by the very violence of the motion.
Then she had scudded before the gale.
All that night they scudded before the storm, not knowing where they
were, and when morning came there was a wild and tumultuous waste of
waters all about them. Alice ventured up on deck, against the advice of
her father and sister.
She saw Jack Jepson and some sailors amidships. They seemed to be in
earnest consultation. Alice drew near them, intending to ask if there
were any news.
As she came near the mainmast, there was a sudden veer to the craft, a
snapping, splintering sound, and the mast, with its gear of sail, boom
and gaff crashed over the side, smashing the stout bulwarks.
"Look out, gal!" hoarsely cried Old Jack, and he snatched Alice back
only just in time, for the mast splintered down right in front of her.
With the crash and splintering of the wood, and the breaking of the side
of the schooner, there arose the cry of:
"We're wrecked! We're wrecked!"
CHAPTER XXII
"MUTINY!"
Jack Jepson's first thought was to get Alice to a place of safety.
"You shouldn't have come up!" he shouted in her ear, as he fairly
carried her along the sloping deck. He had to shout to be heard above
the roar of the wind, the pounding of the broken mast against the side
of the schooner, and the swish of the salt water whipped into spray by
the powerful gale.
Jack set Alice down at the head of the companionway, and indicated by
gestures, rather than words, that she was to go below. As she descended
the sloping stairs, holding to the rope rail to prevent stumbling, she
saw Captain Brisco spring forward. Whatever else he was, the commander
did not shrink from any emergency.
"Cut away that mast!" he cried. "She'll have us stove in if we don't cut
her loose!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Jack.
He and several other sailors had seized axes as soon as the result of
the crash was seen, and now sprang to the broken bulwarks, over which
the mainmast lay, the jagged end of it in the water, pounding against
the side of the schooner at every roll, and threatening to punch a hole
in her as a battering ram punctures a wall.