Tom Fairfield at Sea: or, The Wreck of the Silver Star

“Well, yes, I reckon so,” was the answer. “There’s islands a-plenty around here, if we can fetch one. And there ought to be more or less of vessels making in and out, for there is lots of trade with these same islands. So if we don’t hit an island we may be picked up, if we keep moving.”

“Then we’ll move, as long as there’s wind,” decided Tom with a laugh.

“Can I sail the ship?” asked little Jackie, abandoning his play of cutting out soldiers. “I want to steer.”

“You may help me,” promised Tom. “Come and help push.”

The rudder, if such it can be called, had been hung over the stern of the derelict. It was like some huge sweep, or oar on a raft, but it served the purpose. While Tom and his little charge were at this task, Joe and Abe further made secure the wooden deck house they had made. Professor Skeel helped them, but he was a moody assistant, and while the two sailors joked and sang he maintained a glum silence.

“Well, we’re in pretty good shape, considering what happened to us,” finally announced Joe. “What time does the dinner gong ring, captain? It looks to me like eight bells now.”

“My watch has stopped,” said Tom, taking his water-soaked timepiece out of his pocket, “but – ”

“The sun is good enough bell for me,” laughed Abe. “It’s twelve now, if I’m any judge,” and he looked up at the ball of yellow fire in the sky.

“Then we’ll eat,” decided Tom. “Shall I steer while you – ”

“No sir!” exclaimed Joe. “Captain’s table is first, always. I’ll mind the wheel, not that there’s much steering to be done, only we might as well have things ship-shape while we’re at it, I suppose.”

The meal was not an elaborate one, but there was no disposition to find fault – at least on the part of the more mature members of the shipwrecked party. As for Jackie, Tom played the “pretend” game with him once more until the child was satisfied that canned beef was roast chicken.

The water they had to drink was warm, and not very palatable, but they made the best of that, too, thankful that they had any with which to cool their parched throats.

After dinner they made a more complete survey of the derelict, which had not been possible earlier in the morning, as the sea was still running rather high. Now the ocean was like the proverbial millpond, and only occasionally a wave washed slightly over the submerged bow of the craft.

“The forward companionway is almost out of water,” observed Joe, looking thoughtfully at it. “If we could lighten the ship a bit I believe I could get into it.”

“What good would it do?” asked Tom.

“Well, I might be able to fetch up something. Maybe some stores – something to eat. Tinned stuff keeps a good while, even under water.”

“How long do you think this vessel has been wrecked?” asked Tom.

“No telling. A year maybe, longer perhaps. It’s in pretty good shape. I can’t see anything to tell her name by or anything like that.”

They all looked about them at the mystery of the sea. Whence had the vessel sailed, and to where? What had become of her captain and crew? They were questions that could not be answered.

“She’s a mystery, the same as what has become of the rest of the folks of the Silver Star,” remarked Abe. “I wonder if that lifeboat got away safely? Was the captain saved? Them things always comes to a man after he’s been saved.”

“Hush!” exclaimed Tom, nodding toward the child.

“That’s right,” agreed Abe. “We’ve got to keep it from him, poor little kid.”

But at present Jackie seemed happy enough, and he gave no thought to the possible loss of his father. He was content to be with Tom, and help to steer the derelict, which task he assigned himself with whoever was at the wheel. That is all but with Mr. Skeel, and, somehow or other, Jackie took a dislike to the stern man. Nor did the former Elmwood Hall instructor seem to care. He performed his duties in solemn silence.

All that afternoon they sailed on, eagerly watching for the sign of a sail, or the sight of some island. But nothing rewarded their gaze.

“I guess we must be in a pretty watery part of the ocean,” remarked Abe grimly.

“Oh, we’ll fetch up somewhere, sooner or later,” declared his mate.

“Where am I going to sleep to-night, Tom?” asked Jackie, as it began to get dusk, the sun sinking down behind the waves in a glory of gold that promised a fair day on the morrow.

“With me, of course, Jackie,” answered our hero. “We’ll sleep under the wooden tent.”

“In the dark?”

“Oh, yes, in the dark.”

“But I don’t like the dark.”

“It’s better than the light, Jackie dear. The mosquitoes can’t find you to bite you in the dark.”

“All right. I don’t like the dark, and I don’t like the miskeeters, either. Will you hold my hand?”

“Yes, Jackie.”

“No, we can’t make a light, worse luck,” murmured Abe. “I’ve got some matches, that I always carry in a water-tight case, but it might not be altogether safe to make a light on a lumber derelict, even if she is partly water-logged. She might take fire.”

“What was your idea of a light?” asked Tom.

“A signal, my lad. Our sail, small as it is, can be pretty well seen in the daytime, but at night we’re just nothing, and if a vessel should happen along, and we were in her path – ”

“However, we’ll trust to luck,” went on Abe.

He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant.

“We can’t kick against Providence. Now let’s have grub and turn in. Captain, will you name the watches?”

“Name the watches?” asked Tom.

“Yes, some one has to be on duty all night, for we might sight a light and a hail would bring help.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I think you or Joe had better do that, knowing more about it.”

“Very well, then I’ll take from eight to eleven, Joe can take from eleven to two, and Mr. Skeel from two to five. By that time it’ll be light.”

“But where do I come in?” asked Tom.

“You’ll stay with him,” whispered Abe, winking his eye, and nodding at little Jackie. Then Tom understood.

The night passed without incident, the child sleeping peacefully with Tom. Some pieces of the canvas served as a bed, and little was needed in the way of covering, for it was quite warm, and their clothing had dried out.

“No vessels sighted?” asked Tom in the morning, as they prepared for the simple breakfast.

“Not a one,” answered Mr. Skeel shortly. “I don’t believe we’ll ever be rescued.”

“Oh, stow that kind of talk,” commanded Abe, half roughly. “Of course we will. Why, our voyage has only just begun.”

Dreary days followed. The food and water was divided with scrupulous care, for there was no telling how long the scanty store of each would have to last. They went on three-quarter rations – that is, all but Jackie, who had his full share, though in the matter of water he did not use as much as any of the others.

The hours and days passed, and their straining eyes saw no sign of a sail, and no welcome land loomed into view. Their progress was slow – slower than they had any idea of, for the sail was small and the derelict low in the water, and heavy. Dreary and more dreary became the time.

“I’ll be jib-boomed if I don’t think some one has moved the blessed islands!” exclaimed Abe, one day.

“It does look so,” admitted his mate. “I thought sure we would sight one before this. If we could only make a bigger sail we could move faster.”

“We can’t, unless we take our clothing, and we need that to protect us from the sun,” declared Abe. “Not being blooming cannibals that can stand any great amount of heat on our own skins.”

“Then what we need is a smaller boat,” decided Joe.

“What’s that, matie?” asked Abe.

“I said we needed a smaller boat, and then this sail would do.”

For a moment Abe stared at his companion, and then, bringing his hand down on his thigh with a report like a pistol, he cried:

“That’s it! You’ve struck it! A smaller boat is what we need, and we’re going to have it! We’ll set sail in that and make three times the speed we can in this bulk. Hurray for a smaller boat!”

Joe looked at him anxiously for a moment, and then said gently:

“Come in out of the sun, matie. Take a drink of water, do, and lie down. I’ve been touched that way myself once or twice. Just take it easy and you’ll get over it.”

CHAPTER XV

MAKING A BOAT

“Say, what’s the matter with you?” burst out Abe. “Do you think I’m crazy, Joe?”

“There, there now. It’s all right. You’ll be over it in a little while. Just lie down,” begged his mate.

“He sure does,” murmured Abe smiling. “He sure thinks I’m touched in the head. Ho! Ho! That’s a good one. Joe thinks I’m crazy!” and he laughed heartily.

Joe looked at Tom, and shook his head sadly. Even Tom himself began to believe that perhaps the hardships of their position, and the horror of what might come, had turned the sailor’s brain. But his laugh seemed natural.

“I’m all right!” insisted Abe, seeing that they were looking at him curiously.

“Then what do you mean by that talk about a smaller boat, and leaving the derelict?” demanded Joe half angrily.

“I meant just what I said.”

“And I say anybody’s crazy that talks like that. Where are we going to get a smaller boat?”

“It’s right here with us now,” declared Abe. “There she is,” and he pointed to the half smashed lifeboat. “We can cut that in two, use the stern and bow that ain’t a bit damaged, fasten ’em together in the middle, with the airtight compartments in each end, and we’ll have as fine a small boat as we could wish.

“We can hoist the sail on it and then we can make some speed, instead of just drifting along. I wonder I didn’t think of it before, but it only sort of just came to me now, and that’s why I got excited I guess.”

“I sure thought you were raving,” declared Joe. “It didn’t seem natural.”

“And you thought I was touched by the sun; eh, mate?”

“I sure did.”

“Ho! Ho! That’s a good joke! A good one! It’ll do to tell the boys when we see ’em again.”

“If we ever do,” put in Joe half gloomily.

“Of course we will!” insisted Abe. “Wait until I get the boat made and you’ll see.”

“But do you think you can do it?” asked Tom. “Won’t it leak?”

“Not when I get through with it,” declared Abe. “I can calk the seams with some of our clothes, and part of the sail cloth. You will see.”

“But with only an axe, I don’t see how you’re going to cut the boat in two, and fasten the two ends together,” insisted Tom.

“I’ve done harder jobs than that, matie,” declared Abe. “Wait until I get to work.”

He then explained his plan. The lifeboat was badly damaged amidships, but both the bow and stern, where the airtight compartments were located, were in good shape. By cutting the boat in twain, severing the damaged portions and bringing the sections together again, lapping them and making them fast with the copper nails drawn from the useless parts, Abe hoped to make a serviceable craft, though crude.

“It may leak some,” he admitted, “but I’ll stuff the cracks up with ravelings from the sail cloth, and our clothes that we need least. Between us we can spare enough. Then I’ll make a mast for the sail, and we can leave this hulk and get somewhere. And Joe thought I was touched by the sun! Ho! Ho! A good joke! A good one!”

“All right,” assented Joe. “If you make that boat you’ll be a good one. I’ll help, of course, but I don’t believe it can be done.”

“I’ll show you!” exclaimed Abe defiantly.

Forthwith they began to work, even Mr. Skeel doing his share. He had settled into a gloomy silence, scarcely speaking unless spoken to, and he seemed to pay little attention to those about him. Clearly the shipwreck, and the unexpected meeting with the lad who had exposed his villainy at Elmwood Hall, had dispirited him. Yet at times he showed a flash of his old manners.

It was harder work than even Abe had imagined, to cut the boat in two, and get out the damaged part. Especially with only an axe to use. Yet the old sailor handled the implement with skill, and showed that he knew his business.

Tom looked after the meals, though he had not much to do, for the menu was not very varied. He had to keep Jackie amused, too, and invented such little games as fishing over the broken rail of the ship with a string for a line, and no hook, and making fairy castles out of the splinters that Abe knocked off the lifeboat.

Several days passed, and though they looked almost every other minute for a sail or a sight of land they saw nothing. They were borne on by the currents and the light winds that at times scarcely filled their clumsy sail.

The watches were kept as before, Tom not being allowed to share in them. But the darkness of the night was not relieved by any welcome light. The days seemed to become more dreary as they passed, and only for the work of making the boat they might not have stood the time so well. But the work was a blessing to them.

Tom looked anxiously at the store of food, and as he saw it diminishing, and no help of rescue at hand he spoke to the two sailors about it.

“Well, we’ll have to reduce rations, that’s all, matie,” said Joe, and he spoke cheerfully.

“Of course,” assented Abe. “I’ll have the boat done in a few more days, and then we can set sail. Reduce rations! If I only had a saw I could work faster, but I’ll do the best I can. Reduce rations, that’s all. I’m getting too fat as it is.”

He laughed at his joke, and a grim joke it was, for his belt had been taken in several holes, and could stand more. They were all becoming thin.

When the next meal, after the reduced ration decision had been arrived at, was served, Mr. Skeel looked at the portion handed him on the top of a beef tin.

“Is that all I get?” he demanded roughly. “That isn’t enough for a man.”

“It’s all that can safely be given,” spoke Tom, quietly.

“Well I want more. I demand my fair share.”

“That’s your fair share, mate,” said Joe grimly. “It’s as much as any of us have. We’re on short rations, don’t you understand?”

“Huh! That may be so, but I notice that you have charge of the food,” and he sneered at Tom.

“Because we voted him to do so,” put in Abe. “And what the majority says goes!”

“The boy has more than I have!” snarled the former professor, and he glanced at Jackie who, under a little tent he had made from a spare piece of the sail, was eating his lunch at a “play party,” as he called it.

“That’ll do you!” snapped Joe, shaking a menacing finger at Mr. Skeel. “You eat what you’ve got, and be thankful on your bended knees that you’ve got that much. And if I hear any more talk that the boy has more than you, why I’ll – ”

“Easy matie,” cautioned Abe. “Easy.”

Tom looked distressed, but said nothing. When the water was passed, that too had dwindled in amount. Mr. Skeel looked at his share, and seemed about to make a protest, but a glance from Joe stopped him.

The weather had been fine for several days; too fine to last, Abe declared as he worked away at the boat.

“We’re in for another storm, I’m thinking,” he said to Joe.

“Well, keep still about it,” suggested his companion. “No use making Tom and the kid worry. I guess we can weather it.”

“The waves’ll sweep over this old hulk, once they get running high,” went on Abe. “And that deck house won’t stand much. The boat, too, is likely to be washed away. If I only had a saw I could make twice the speed. But I don’t reckon I could get one.”

“Leastways not unless there’s one aboard, down in the carpenter’s quarters,” said Joe, “and I don’t see how it’s to be come at. We’ll have to do the best we can.”

“I reckon so. Catch hold of that plank now, and hold it while I chop it off.”

They resumed work, pausing now and then to look at the sky. It clouded up in the afternoon, and there came a heavy rain storm, unaccompanied by much wind, for which last fact they were thankful.

“This is just what we need!” cried Abe, as he saw the big drops come down. “Spread out the sail cloth, mates, and catch all the water we can. We’ll need it.”

The sail was hastily taken down, and with another piece of the canvas was spread out in the form of a huge bowl. The rain filled it, and, making a sort of channel at one end, the precious water was run into the nearly empty kegs. Thus their supply was replenished, and with lighter hearts they resumed their task, the two sailors and Mr. Skeel working at the boat, while Tom steered.

It was about a week since they had taken refuge on the derelict, and the signs of an approaching change in the weather were increasing. In all that time they had not seen a sail, and what was more remarkable, they had not sighted an island, though they were in that part of the Pacific where many are located.

“Either we are passing in and out among them, just far enough away so as to miss ’em, or we can’t pick ’em out on account of the mist,” explained Joe. “I was sure we’d sight one before this.”

“Same here,” murmured Abe. “It’s middling queer, though. But if our grub holds out we’ll soon be afloat in a better craft.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” declared Joe. “You’ve get a lot of work on it yet.”

“I know I have, and if only there was a saw I’d make double speed.”

Joe did not answer but walked forward to where the hatchway, opening down into the lower regions of the ship, showed. It was more out of water than at any previous time, and it could be seen that there was a passage leading into the crew’s quarters. Joe stood contemplating this, and then slowly began taking off his shoes, and some of his garments.

“Hi! matie, what are you up to?” hailed Abe, seeing his actions. “Going for a swim? If you are you’d better look out for sharks. I see some big fins in the offing this morning.”

“No, I’m not going to swim – I’m going to have a dive.”

“A dive?”

“Yes. I’m going down and see if I can’t fetch up a saw, or something so you can finish that boat quicker.”

Abe dropped the axe and hurried toward his companion.

“Say, don’t you do it,” he gasped. “You might not be able to get up again, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

“No danger! If I get into a place, Abe, I can get out again. I’m going to dive and get you a saw.”

“Don’t do it!” urged the other. “I can make out some how.”

“Here goes!” cried Joe, and with that he walked down the half-submerged companion steps and dived into the water-filled forecastle quarters.

CHAPTER XVI

WIND AND WAVE TOSSED

Abe stood looking anxiously down into the dark opening where his mate had disappeared. Tom, understanding that something unusual was taking place, also hurried up to look on, and Mr. Skeel and Jackie followed.

“Is – is it safe?” asked our hero, for it was as if some one had gone down a well.

“Well – er – hardly – that is to say, of course it is!” exclaimed Abe, quickly changing his mind, as he saw the little boy regarding him curiously. “Joe’ll come up in a minute with just the very thing we need – maybe.”

Tom caught the alarmed note in the sailor’s voice.

“Why did you let him do it?” he asked in a whisper.

“There was no stopping him,” answered Abe. “He would do it. He knew that I needed a saw, but, pshaw! I’d rather he hadn’t done it. I could have made out, only the storm that – ”

Then he stopped at the look of alarm on Tom’s face.

“What storm?” demanded the lad.

“Oh, Joe had a notion that a storm was coming up, and he wanted us to get the boat done before then, so we’d have a chance to scud before the wind. But, bless my jib-boom! there ain’t going to be no storm, in my estimation,” and Abe cast a hasty glance about the heavens, now cloud-encumbered. “No storm at all – leastways not soon,” he added.

Amid a strained silence they all watched the opening into the ship, waiting for the reappearance of Joe. A minute went by, and he did not come up. A minute and a half, – two minutes!

“He can’t stay under much longer,” murmured Abe.

“No man can hold his breath that long under water,” spoke Mr. Skeel, “at least not an ordinary man. Maybe something has – ”

He hesitated, Abe began taking off his shoes, ready for a rescue.

“Hadn’t we better tie a rope to you?” suggested Tom, understanding the danger.

“I – I’ll – ” began Abe, and then there was a commotion in the water, and Joe shot up. He did not seem to be in distress. In one hand he held up a carpenter’s hammer.

“We were just getting worried about you,” said Tom, with a breath of relief.

“How’d you manage to stay down so long?” asked Abe.

“I – I found air down there,” explained Joe, pantingly. “The cabin isn’t quite full of water, and I stuck my nose up close to the ceiling and got a breath in an air space.”

“Did you locate a saw?” asked Abe.

“Not yet. But I will. I found the carpenter’s quarters all right. I’ve got to go by feeling, but I’ll get a saw sooner or later. Here’s a hammer, anyhow.”

He tossed it to Abe and then, after a rest, he went down again. This time he remained under longer than before and coming up brought an adze, which would come in useful. It was on his third trial that he located a saw, quite rusted, it is true, but nevertheless a saw.

“Hurray!” cried Tom.

“Now I can do something!” declared Abe. “I can work quicker now.”

“There are some more tools down there,” said Joe. “I’m going to bring some up.”

Which he did, after a number of trials, and some other things that would prove useful, including several coils of strong rope. But he could find no food, and, probably had he come upon any it would have been spoiled.

“Never mind,” said Abe, when his partner had commented on this failure. “We’ll make out somehow. And we’ll soon be afloat in a better craft. Can you spare me a bit of that canned beef fat, Tom, so I can grease up this saw?”

Tom passed him a chunk that was hardly edible, but Mr. Skeel seemed to eye it greedily. He was a large man, and had a big appetite that was far from being satisfied on the meager rations that were available.

The saw was soon in shape to use, and then Abe and Joe could work to better advantage. That night the boat sections were joined together, and the next day would see the practical completion of the craft.

“It’ll have to be well calked,” said Abe, as he looked critically at his handiwork in the gathering dusk. “Them seams ain’t just what I’d like ’em to be, though it was the best I could do. But if I stuff ’em well with rags and such-like I guess it’ll answer. We’ll get at that the first thing in the morning.”

“And we’ll lash the boat well down to-night,” spoke Joe in a low voice to his companion.

“Yes, I shouldn’t wonder but what we were in for a blow,” was the rejoinder. “But don’t say anything to Tom.”

“You don’t need to. I begin to suspect something,” exclaimed our hero, with a grim smile, as he came up behind the two. “I’m not afraid to know the worst,” he went on. “In fact I want to know it. I’ll be better prepared then. Do you think we’re in for a blow?”

“I come pretty near knowing it, matie,” said Joe in a low voice. “We weren’t to tell you, but we’re in the storm region now, and I don’t need one of them barometers to tell me we’re going to have plenty of wind and water soon. But don’t worry. The old derelict has gone through many a one, and she’ll stand another blow or two I guess. We’ll make everything as snug as we can. You just look after the kid and yourself.”

“Poor little chap,” murmured Abe. “I wonder where his father is?”

“Lost, I reckon, like most of the other poor souls that were on the Silver Star,” spoke Joe, gloomily.

“Oh, you get out!” cried his mate. “You’d have us all in Davy Jones’s locker if you had your way. Maybe the boy’s dad is saved, and maybe all the rest were picked up. And we’ll be all right soon, you see if we’re not.”

The cheerfulness of the old sailor was infectious, and Tom felt better after hearing his cheery talk. True, our hero had his moments of sadness, particularly when he thought of his missing parents. And often he found himself wondering what might be their fate, and where they were. At night, as he stretched out beside little Jackie, under the rude shelter, he spent many hours of wakefulness. But he tried not to show his feelings to the others.

There was a moaning and sighing to the wind as darkness came on, and the sailors, with Tom and Mr. Skeel to aid them, used the ropes to lash fast the reconstructed boat and the wooden shelter. The rude sail filled out and urged the derelict on at a faster pace.