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

“Here’s a piece of sail cloth, it’s more than you deserve,” growled Joe, as he tossed it to Mr. Skeel. “You won’t freeze, and you can sleep on that for the rest of the night. In the morning we’ll have a talk before we sail in the boat. We’ll decide then what’s best to be done.”

“Oh, don’t leave me behind! Don’t sail without me and leave me on this derelict!” begged Mr. Skeel.

“It would serve you right if we did,” declared Joe.

“And I don’t much fancy voyaging in a small boat with a man like him,” came from Abe.

“But we can hardly leave him behind,” said Tom in a low voice.

“No, I s’pose not,” agreed Abe. “Well, we’ll decide in the morning. Now, Joe, you and I’ll divide the rest of the night into two watches.”

“Let me take my share!” begged Tom. “I’m not a bit sleepy. In fact I don’t believe I can go to sleep again.”

“Well, lie down and rest then,” proposed Joe. “Abe and I will stand watch and watch. It will soon be daylight. Besides, we can’t take any chances with a desperate man like him. We’ve got to be on our guard.”

“That’s what,” assented Abe. “You go lie down, Tom.”

Which our hero did, and, in spite of the tumult of thoughts that crowded in his brain he managed to fall asleep beside Jackie.

The morning broke fair, and with a gentle wind.

“Hurray!” cried Joe, as he stretched himself. “Just the day for a launching. And the breeze is in the right direction too, if I’m any judge. We’ll fetch some island now. I’m sure of it, though why we haven’t done so before is a mystery to me.”

“That’s so – and we haven’t even sighted a ship,” added Abe. “I never heard tell of such a thing – drifting about in this part of the ocean as long as we have, and never a sight of the thousand and one islands that are scattered around here. It’s fair strange. But we’ll soon be all right.”

Mr. Skeel sat dejected and alone, some distance from the others, and they did not speak to him. Their hearts were too bitter against him. The scanty breakfast was served, Jackie alone getting a full ration, though naturally he did not eat much. There was plenty of water, however, but of food they must be sparing, for there was no telling how long their voyage might yet last.

“Well, what’s to be done about him?” asked Abe, when they had collected their scanty belongings in the lifeboat, and were about ready for the launching.

“That’s a problem,” declared Joe.

“We can’t leave him here, that’s certain,” decided Tom. “We have got to take him with us.”

“But he’s got to be told some plain facts,” insisted Abe. “He’s got to be made to understand that another treacherous move and overboard he goes!”

“Well, something like that,” admitted Tom. “But I guess he’s had his lesson.”

“Then you tell him,” suggested Abe. “You made him knuckle under once, and you can do it again.” For Tom had told the story of the revolt he led at Elmwood Hall.

Tom walked forward to where the renegade professor sat by himself.

“Mr. Skeel,” said our hero, “we are going to leave the derelict in a few minutes, and try our luck in the small boat. But – ”

“Oh, Tom Fairfield, don’t say that you’re going to leave me here to die!” cried the man. “Don’t say that! I’ll promise anything you like. I’ll row the boat, or do anything, only don’t leave me here alone.”

“We don’t intend to,” spoke Tom. “We’ll take you with us, but only on condition that you try no more treacherous tricks. Will you promise?”

“Yes, yes! Oh, I don’t know what made me do that! I don’t really believe I knew what I was doing. I’ll promise anything you ask. I’ll do anything you say, only take me with you, please!”

He seemed sufficiently sincere, and contrite, and both Abe and Joe agreed that the only thing to do would be to take him with them.

“But we’ll keep an eye on him, just the same,” declared Joe grimly, “and he can’t share in any of the watches.”

Their preparations were all made. Little Jackie was all excitement and childish anticipation over the change to the smaller boat. In fact of late he had even ceased to ask for his father, so interested was he in their strange life on the ocean.

“All aboard!” called Abe, who acted as master of ceremonies. “All aboard, and I’ll cut loose!”

They climbed in, taking the places assigned to them, for there was not much room to move about. The sail was ready to hoist, Joe and Abe having made a seamanlike job of this. The food and water had been stowed away, and the tools they had succeeded in getting from the carpenter’s quarters were put in place. A large tin was provided in case there should be necessity of bailing against leaks.

“All aboard!” called Abe again.

He was the last one in, and arranged to cut a single rope that held the boat fast, thus allowing it to slip into the sea from the sloping deck of the derelict.

There was a moment’s pause. They all took a last look at the wreck which had been their home for so many days.

“Give the word, Joe,” said Abe in a low voice. “Watch the waves, and give the word to cut when the sea’s calm.”

“Aye, aye,” answered his mate quietly.

Fortunately there was not much of a swell on, but certain waves were larger than others, and Joe watched for a favorable one on which to launch the craft.

“Cut loose!” he called suddenly.

With a hatchet Abe severed the line. The lifeboat held for an instant, poised on the sloping deck, and then quickly slid down into the water, taking the sea with a little splash.

“Hurray!” yelled Tom. “Now we’re off!”

“Afloat again, and with something like a proper craft under our feet!” added Joe. “Hoist the sail, Abe, and let’s see how she behaves!”

The sail was run up. It filled with wind and the boat swung around, falling off before a gentle breeze. In a moment they were some distance away from the derelict.

“Good-bye, old hulk!” cried Tom. “You served us a good turn.”

“And I wish we could blow it up, or sink it, so as to take it out of the way of other ships,” spoke Abe, “but we can’t. However, we’ll give information about it.”

On forged the sailboat, putting more and more distance between herself and the wreck.

“And now, once more, I’m off to rescue dad and mother,” murmured Tom. “I wonder if I’ll ever find them?” and a mist of tears came into his eyes.

CHAPTER XX

DAYS OF SUFFERING

“Does she leak any?” asked Joe anxiously. He was up forward, attending to the sail, while Abe was at the helm.

“A few drops coming in,” replied the other sailor. “But nothing to speak of. She’ll swell up when she’s been in the water a while, and be as tight as a drum.”

“Good! We’ve got a right proper little boat, I’m thinking.”

“And she sails well, too,” declared Tom, observing the behavior of the craft with a critical glance. “She can go close to the wind, too, I believe.”

“Right you are, matie,” exclaimed Abe. “If we had a compass now we could lay as good a course as any ocean liner.”

But they did not have this aid to navigation, though the two sailors could manage to get along without it. They held a consultation, and decided that to steer in a general southwesterly direction would be the proper course.

“There’s islands there, if they’re anywhere,” declared Abe; “and there ought to be ships we could speak.”

“We ought to be somewhere near the equator, if the heat goes for anything,” declared Tom. In fact in the last few days the sun had become unbearably hot.

“I shouldn’t wonder but what we were, matie,” assented Joe. “We drifted and sailed quite some distance in the derelict, and we were headed for the equator when the poor old Silver Star went down to Davy Jones’s locker. So I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d soon cross the line, if we haven’t done so already.”

“It sure is hot enough,” agreed Abe.

It was indeed, and being in the open boat they missed the wooden shelter they had had while on the wreck. Still there was a fine breeze that sent the sailboat along at a good speed, and served to make the atmosphere more endurable.

They had brought along all the sailcloth, and once they were well under way the sailors rigged up a little shelter where Jackie could rest out of the glaring sun. The small chap was delighted with the change to the sailboat, and laughed and chatted as if being shipwrecked was a big joke.

“Though if we get into a blow it won’t be so safe in this craft as on the other,” commented Abe. “Still I think we’re in for a spell of good weather now, and we’re somewhat out of the region of storms, if I’m any judge.”

Now that they were fairly under way again they made their plans for standing watch. Of course Mr. Skeel was left out of it, save during the day, when he was to take his trick at the helm. He seemed to realize this, and, though he did not say much, he acted differently. He seemed much more humble.

At night Tom was to take the early trick, so as to enable him to remain near Jackie during the later hours. Joe and Abe divided up the rest of the night watch.

“We’ll keep sailing night and day,” Abe said, “for we want to get to land as soon as we can, or speak some vessel, and that may happen after dark as easily as during the day.”

“The sooner the better,” murmured Joe, with a glance at the rapidly dwindling store of provisions.

They took an account of the stock when it came time to serve dinner, and the total quantity of food left was less than they had imagined.

“What’s to be done?” asked Tom gravely.

“Have to go on shorter rations – that’s all,” decided Abe. “That is, us grown folks.”

“Shorter rations!” exclaimed Mr. Skeel. “I don’t see how I can live on any less.”

“It’s a question of living several days, or dying sooner – that’s what it is,” said Joe, half savagely. “We’ve got to keep alive until we sight land, or until a ship rescues us, and the only way to do it is to eat as little as possible. Just enough to keep from starving.”

“Then we’ll do it,” said Tom simply, and he proceeded to deal out much reduced portions of food. Fortunately there was no need to shorten the water supply yet, though they did take less, for they all knew the horror of thirst.

All that day they sailed before a fair wind, and not a moment but what they looked eagerly for a sight of some sail on the horizon, or the smudge of smoke that would tell of a steamer. But they saw nothing.

They were more anxious than they had been on the derelict, for, though the weather was calm, and seemed likely to remain so, there was no telling when a storm would sweep over the ocean. And a storm in an open boat was a different matter from one on the big, though water-logged, hulk of the lumber vessel.

True, the lifeboat had water-tight compartments, and would not be likely to sink, but seas breaking over her would mean the almost certain destruction of some, if not all, of the little band of shipwrecked ones. So they looked anxiously for a rescue.

Night came – a beautiful night with a calm sea, and a great silver moon riding over head. It seemed an augury of good luck and they all felt their hearts beat a little lighter. Even Professor Skeel looked less gloomy and sour, though he did not mingle nor talk with the others, sitting by himself.

They slept by turns, though not as comfortably as on the derelict. Still they realized that they were making better time, and time was a great object with them now.

Morning came, and found them afloat on a still calm sea, a sea that extended all around them, unbroken by any haze or mist that might mean land, or any speck or cloud that might indicate a sailing or steaming vessel. The sun beat down in a blaze of heat.

It was at noon, when Tom went to serve out the frugal meal, that he made a discovery that alarmed him.

“Look here!” he cried to Abe. “One of the water kegs has sprung a leak, and it’s empty.”

“Empty!” gasped the sailor, making his way to where Tom stood by the water supply.

“Yes, not a drop in it.”

Abe shook the keg. There was no welcome sound of water splashing around inside it. He drew the bung, and a few drops trickled out. Then, tying a length of rope to it, the sailor lowered it overboard.

“What’s that for?” asked Tom.

“I want to see where the leak is,” was the quiet answer. “I don’t see how a sound keg could spring a leak in the night.”

“Then you think – ” began Tom.

“I don’t know what I do think – yet,” was the reply. He held the keg aloft, and aside from the water that dripped from the outside none came from it. “There’s no leak there,” half growled Abe. “Some one has emptied that water butt!” He looked to where Mr. Skeel stood at the helm.

“Do you think – ” began Tom in a whisper.

“Wait. Don’t say anything yet,” cautioned Abe. “But we’ll keep our eyes open.”

But if Mr. Skeel knew he was suspected he did not show it. He accepted his small share of food and water with the others, and he did not complain, as he usually did.

For three more days they sailed on, each hour adding to their sufferings, for it was very hot. And they scarcely seemed to cool off in the night before it was daylight again.

The water got lower, and to Tom’s horror, one day, as he went to serve out the food, he saw that the supply was much lower than he had thought.

“I’m sure there was more than this,” he said to the sailors when the professor was at the helm.

“There’s something wrong going on here,” decided Joe, “and I’m going to see what it is. There’s got to be a search made.”

One was soon under way, but it revealed nothing. Mr. Skeel had been in the habit of sleeping on a pile of the canvas and this was looked over. The man was evidently aware of the suspicion in which he was held, but he said nothing, and quietly moved away when the sailors looked under his canvas bed.

“Unless some sort of a sea monster boarded us in the night, I don’t see how the food and water could disappear,” said Tom.

“There’s no sea monsters that could do such a thing,” declared Joe, knowing Tom was only joking. “And yet – well, we’ll have to get along with less, that’s all.”

They were down now to almost the limit of human endurance in the allowance of food and water. All but Jackie – he had nearly all he asked for.

Half a week passed. Their sufferings had increased from day to day with the heat of the sun. Their lips and tongues began to swell and get black from lack of sufficient water, and their stomachs gnawed constantly from hunger. They were days of suffering indeed.

Their eyes were strained from looking for a sail, or a sight of land. They were weak and feverish. By dousing their bodies with sea water some of the pangs of thirst were lessened, but the matter of food could not be remedied.

Tom watched Mr. Skeel narrowly and it seemed that the professor did not suffer as did the others. Yet he did not appear to have any secret store of food or water. Indeed in a small boat it was difficult to imagine where he could hide it. Yet Tom was suspicious.

It was one cloudy night when our hero made his important discovery. It was his trick at the helm, and he had put Jackie to sleep, and moved aft to take the rude steering sweep. Professor Skeel’s position was well forward, in the bow, and the two sailors, worn out by their suffering and hardships, were lying amidships.

Tom began to feel light-headed. He imagined he saw land ahead in the darkness – a ship coming to their rescue – a ship filled with ice water and good things to eat. He imagined he heard his father and mother calling to him.

“Come, this won’t do!” he exclaimed, half aloud. “I must keep a better grip on myself. Maybe we’ll be rescued to-morrow.”

He stretched himself, and tried not to think of cool water and tables piled with food. And yet the more he tried to stop it, the more often did visions of great glass pitchers filled with ice water come before him. That day they had had only a single tin cup full of water each – one cup full for the whole hot day!

“Oh, for a good, long drink!” whispered Tom.

And then he started. Surely that was the tinkle and drip of water that he heard! Where did it come from?

CHAPTER XXI

“SAIL HO!”

Cautiously Tom peered about him. He listened as only one can listen who is suffering from thirst, and who hears the welcome sound of water. True, there was still water in the keg, but that belonged to all, and Tom had had his share. Was there more on board?

“It seems to come from up forward,” murmured Tom, “up forward where Mr. Skeel is.” At once his old suspicions came back to him. He peered toward the bow, but the sail was in his way and he could not see well.

“I’m going to take a look,” he decided. There was scarcely any wind then, and the sea was calm. It would do no harm to leave the helm.

Carefully Tom made his way forward, walking softly past the slumbering sailors. And then the sight he saw filled him with rage.

For there, eating and drinking from a private store of food and water he had stolen, and hidden away, was the renegade professor. It was the trickle of water, as he poured it out from a can into a cup, that Tom had heard.

Hardly knowing what to do our hero paused. Should he spring on the traitor and take the stolen supply of food and drink away, or call the sailors? Yet it might be advisable to see where Mr. Skeel had hidden his unfairly gotten store. So Tom waited.

It was agony to see the man eating and drinking before his eyes – eating and drinking when Tom himself was parched and half starved. And yet so cunning was the former professor that he did not gorge himself. He was evidently saving some for another time.

At last, as Tom watched, the professor made an end of his midnight meal and began to hide away his supply. And it was in the forward watertight compartment that he placed his store of food and water. It was there, where no one had thought of looking, that he kept them. The compartment was one that could be opened and used as a locker and this use Mr. Skeel had made of it. He had evidently taken the food when no one was observing him, and had emptied one of the water kegs into an unused tin can, and thus supplied himself against the time of need, while the others were on short rations. And yet with all this, he had daily drawn as much as had the others.

“The trickster!” murmured Tom. “I’m going to expose him!”

Our hero stepped forward. As he emerged in front of the sail the professor saw him and started. He tried to hide the fact that he had been eating, but he did not have time to stow away all the food in the compartment.

“I’ll ask you to hand those things over to me,” said Tom coldly.

“What things?”

“The food and water you stole from us.”

“Food and water?”

“Yes! Don’t trifle with me!” and Tom’s voice was menacing. “If I call Abe and Joe it will go hard with you. They won’t stand for anything like this.”

“Oh, don’t tell them! Don’t tell!” begged the man, now a trembling coward. “I – I just couldn’t stand it to be hungry and thirsty.”

“How do you suppose we stood it?” asked Tom calmly.

“I – I don’t know. But I – I couldn’t. I had to have more to eat. I have a big appetite.”

“You’ll have to take a reef in it,” went on the lad. “Now hand me over that food and water. We need it – we may need it worse before we’re rescued.”

“And you won’t tell on me.”

“Not this time. But if it occurs again – ”

“What’s that? What’s the matter, Tom?” came the voice of the sailor Abe.

The professor started. Through the darkness he looked appealingly at the lad who confronted him.

“Quick!” whispered Tom. “The food and water!”

The professor passed them over.

“What’s up?” asked Joe.

“I’ve just found the missing provisions,” said Tom grimly. “They had gotten into the forward compartment.”

“The forward compartment?” queried Abe.

“Yes – by – er – mistake I fancy,” and Tom spoke dryly.

He took them from the trembling hands of the professor and walked aft with them.

“I think we can all indulge in a little lunch, and a drink,” he went on. “There is enough here for several more days now, and we won’t have to be on quite such short rations.”

“Thank heaven!” murmured Joe. “And yet I can’t see how the things got in the forward compartment.”

“Nor I,” murmured Abe, but though he thought a great deal he said nothing more on the subject.

Tom passed around some food and water, though the professor did not get any. Nor did he ask for it. Jackie did not awaken, sleeping with the healthy fatigue of childhood.

Then a little wind sprang up, and some one must look to the helm. Tom’s trick was nearly up, and Joe relieved him.

“Tell me, matie, did the professor have the grub?” the sailor whispered hoarsely.

“He did,” answered Tom, “but I think it’s best to say nothing about it. He’s had his lesson.”

“Yes, but he may do it again.”

“We’ll take precautions, now that we know what a traitor he is,” answered the lad.

Morning came – morning with the hot sun beaming down and the oily sea running after the boat containing the shipwrecked ones.

Mr. Skeel seemed to feel his position keenly, though he was such an unprincipled man at heart that it is doubtful if any lesson had a lasting effect on him.

“Well, I don’t see anything of a sail,” remarked Abe gloomily, as his eye roved over the waste of water. “And it’s been many a weary day we’ve looked for one.”

“And the islands,” murmured Joe. “I can’t understand why we haven’t sighted some, unless we are farther north than I had any idea of.”

“Well, we can last it out for another week – with care,” said Tom slowly.

“And we’ll be careful in two ways,” spoke Abe. “We’ll eat and drink as little as we can, and we’ll watch to see that none of our supplies disappear in the night.”

He looked meaningly at Mr. Skeel as he spoke, and the professor turned his head away.

But even the discovery of the hidden food supply could not better their condition for long. The water, warm and brackish as it was, went drop by drop, for it was so hot they had to wet their lips and tongues often. The food, too, while it stopped their hunger, made them the more thirsty. Jackie, too, seemed to develop a fever, and to need more water than usual.

On and on they sailed. They were in the middle of the second week, and saw no hope of rescue. They hoped for rain, that their water supply might be renewed, but the sky was brazen and hot by day and star-studded by night.

“I – I can’t stand it much longer,” murmured Abe, at the close of a hot afternoon. “I – I’ve got to do something. Look at all that water out there,” and he motioned toward the heaving ocean.

“Water! Yes, it’s water fair enough, matie,” spoke Joe soothingly, “but them as drinks it loses their minds. Bear up a little longer, and surely we’ll be picked up, or sight land.”

“I don’t believe so!” exclaimed Abe gloomily.

“Tom, I want my daddy!” whined Jackie. “Why don’t you get him for me?”

“I will – soon,” said Tom brokenly, as he tried to comfort the little chap.

They were down to their last bit of food, and the last keg of water. The latter they had used with the utmost economy, for they knew they could live longer without food than without water. And yet there was scarcely a pint left, and it was hardly fit to drink.

They were all very thin, and the skin on their faces seemed drawn and tight. Their tongues were thick, and dark, so they could hardly speak. Jackie had been better fed, and had had more water than the others, and yet even he was failing.

Abe and Joe, being more hardy, had, perhaps, suffered less, but their privations were telling on them. Mr. Skeel had lost much of his plumpness, and his clothes hung on him like the rags on a scarecrow in a cornfield.

As for Tom, he bore up bravely. Day by day he had tightened his belt that he might “make his hunger smaller,” as the Indians say. He had even given Jackie part of his food and water.

Night came, the long lonesome night, and yet it was welcome, for it took away the blazing sun. What would the morning bring?

They were all partly delirious that night. Tom found himself murmuring in his sleep, and he heard the others doing the same. Abe collapsed at the wheel, and Joe had to do a double trick. He would not let Tom relieve him.

Toward morning the last water was doled out. No one felt like eating.

“I – I guess this is the end,” murmured Joe. “We’ve made a good fight – but – this is – the – end.”