“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.

“If this kept up we’d get somewhere,” observed Tom, as he relieved Abe
at the helm.

“Yes, but we’ll make twice the speed in our boat,” said the old sailor
proudly.

The wreck was rising and falling on the swell, the big oily waves
seeming to curl after her as though in time they would reach up and
pull her down into their depths. There were no white-caps yet--they
would come later.

“We are going to have a storm, aren’t we; a violent storm soon?”
demanded Mr. Skeel, when it was almost dark, and the wind was sighing
more mournfully than before.

“I reckon so,” answered Abe calmly.

“Then can’t we do something more to make ourselves secure?”

“Nary a thing more,” spoke the old sailor. “We’ve done all we can.”

The face of the former professor was white, and he paced up and down
that portion of the deck less exposed to the waves. He was a coward and
he showed it.

The derelict dipped her half-buried bow farther under a wave. It broke,
running well up on the deck, and breaking against the lashed lifeboat,
sent a shower of spray aft.

“Oh, it’s raining! It’s raining!” cried Jackie. “If we only had
umbrellas now, Tom.”

“We’ll need more than umbrellas before morning, I’m thinking,” murmured
Joe.

All that could be done had been, and when the last remnant of daylight
faded, earlier than usual because of the clouds, Tom took his little
charge inside the shelter. They stretched out on the canvas bed, and
Tom joined silently with the child, who said aloud his simple prayers,
asking that they might all be looked after by the All-seeing Providence.

The derelict forged ahead through the waves, blown by the ever increasing
wind. She rose sluggishly on the swell--all too sluggishly--for she was
not buoyant enough to escape the breaking swells. But still, aft, it was
comparatively dry.

“It’s going to be a bad night--a bad night,” murmured Joe, who had the
first trick at the helm.

Tom managed to get some sleep, holding Jackie’s hand, but about
midnight he was awakened by being fairly rolled out of the shelter.

“What--what’s the matter?” he cried.

“It’s the storm!” cried Abe, springing up. “It’s broke for fair, I
guess!”

Tom sprang to his feet and looked out. He could dimly see the big
waves all around them, and he felt the derelict pitching and tossing in
a swirl of water. It was at the mercy of the storm.

Then came a fiercer burst of the elements, a dash of rain, and a
tearing howl of the wind. The derelict heeled over, while a flood of
water washed over the bow and came curling aft.

“Look out!” yelled Abe, as he saw Tom roll forward, and he grabbed our
hero in time to save him from once more pitching overboard.

CHAPTER XVII

A HAND IN THE NIGHT

“Thanks, Abe,” gasped Tom, when he could speak, for the fright and fear
of again being flung into the ocean had taken his breath.

“That’s nothing, lad,” came the calm answer. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. But this is a terrible storm, isn’t it?”

“It might be worse. It was worse when the _Silver Star_ foundered.
We’ll weather it, I hope.”

A cry came from the interior of the shelter. It was Jackie.

“Tom! Tom! Where are you?” he called.

“Coming!” answered Tom, and he staggered into the place where his
little charge was lying.

Tom, groping about in the dark, found Jackie. The little fellow had
rolled from the hollow in the pile of sail cloth that made his bed.

“All right, Jackie, it’s all right,” spoke Tom soothingly. “We’re
riding on top of the waves like a merry-go-’round. Go to sleep now.”

And, so tired was the little fellow, and such was his confidence in
Tom, that he did slumber again.

The storm grew worse, and at times the spray from the big waves flew
over the top of the wooden shelter, and dripped down inside. The wind
blew aside the canvas that closed the front and threatened to lift,
bodily, the structure itself.

But the sailors had done their work well. The rope lashings held,
though they were strained to their limit. The lifeboat, moored as it
was to the deck, tried in vain to break loose to join with the waves
in their revelry of the storm. Joe and Abe looked to it, testing every
knot, however, and their seamanship told. For the present they could
defy the storm.

Mr. Skeel fairly whimpered when he saw the big seas all about them,
but no one paid any attention to him and he had to make out as best he
could. He tried to shirk his trick at the helm, but Abe, taking hold of
his arm, marched him to the rude steering apparatus, and bade him hold
to it for his life.

“But I--I may be washed overboard,” objected the former professor.

“You’re in less danger here than any of us,” declared the sailor. “You
stay here until your time is up,” and Mr. Skeel dared not disobey. His
spirit had been broken when Tom, and his chums of Elmwood Hall, had
successfully gone on their strike.

How they got through that night the castaways hardly knew afterward.
Several times it seemed as if the wind would carry away either the
structure they had built on deck, or the lifeboat that had been
reconstructed with such labor. But the two sailors, with Tom to help
them, made lashing after lashing, as one or another tore away and so
they held to that which they needed most.

Little Jackie proved himself a hero, for when Tom had explained that
he must stay alone part of the time, the little fellow obeyed, though
he had hard work to choke back the sobs when his companion was out on
deck, doing what he could to keep the boat from being carried away.

When the storm had been raging for an hour or more there was a sudden
tilt to the derelict, and a grinding crashing sound somewhere in her
depths.

“What’s that?” cried Tom in alarm.

“Her cargo is shifting!” shouted Abe, above the roar of the storm. “I
hope it doesn’t shift too much.”

Almost immediately afterward there seemed to be less spray coming aft.

“She’s risen by the head!” cried Joe, who managed to make an
observation at great risk to himself. “The lumber below decks has
shifted aft and her bow is higher out of water. That makes it good for
us. We’ll be drier now.”

And this was so. With the bow higher out of the water the craft
presented a better front to the breaking seas, and what at first seemed
a calamity turned out to be a great blessing.

The remainder of the night, though the storm did not abate, was not
such a source of worry to the refugees. True, the wind was as violent,
and it even shifted their shelter from where it was lashed on deck, but
the waves did not bring so much discomfort, for the higher bow sent
them hissing away on either side.

Somehow morning broke, and in the gray dawn they looked about on a
storm-tossed waste of waters. Now they would be down in a hollow of the
waves, and again high on some crest, at which latter time they looked
anxiously for a sail. But they saw none.

It was just a little after day had broken that the improvised mast gave
way with a snap, and would have gone overboard with their precious
sail, had not Abe and Joe made a hasty grab, saving it.

“We need that in our boat--if it ever gets calm enough to calk it,”
declared Abe.

“What about breakfast?” asked Tom a little later. “I guess we can all
eat.”

“Right you are, my hearty!” cried Joe. Even the terrible storm could
not dampen the spirits of the sailors. Little Jackie was happier
too, now that daylight had come, and only Mr. Skeel seemed moody and
depressed. He looked at his companions without speaking.

The storm seemed to have spent its fury in the night, for, as the day
grew, the wind lessened and the waves went down. The mast was mended
and set up again, but a reefed sail had to be used, for the gale was
too strong to risk another accident with the frail gear they had.

“It may blow us to some island, and then we won’t have to use the
boat,” said Joe.

“Oh, don’t talk that way,” begged Abe.

“Why not? Don’t you want to be rescued?”

“Yes, but I’d like a chance to use the boat I’ve made,” was the
rejoinder. “Come on, now, we’ll try and calk it.”

They started this work after a meager breakfast, during which Mr. Skeel
looked hungrily at the rations passed around. Even less was given than
before, for the provisions were getting alarmingly low, though there
was still plenty of water, for which they were thankful.

It was no easy task to calk the boat, with such tools and material as
Abe and Joe had, but it was a credit to their seamanship that they made
a good job of it. They tested it by pouring water into the craft as it
was lashed to the deck.

“She doesn’t leak much!” exclaimed Abe in delight as he watched a few
drops trickle out. “When she swells up she’ll be all right, and we can
bail if we have to. Now for a sail.”

He and his companion rigged up a mast, and the sail was taken down from
the derelict and fitted to it. This took another day, during which the
storm’s traces vanished, and the weather became once more calm.

“We’ll launch her to-morrow,” decided Abe that night. “I guess she’s
all right.”

“Will it be hard to put her into the sea?” asked Tom.

“Easy enough, the way the derelict is listed now,” was the answer. “All
we’ll have to do will be to get into her, cut the retaining rope, and
let her slide. Then we’ll be off.”

Tom heard some one behind him as the sailor told him this, and he
turned to see Mr. Skeel regarding him curiously. There was a strange
look on the former professor’s face.

They went to rest that night filled with thoughts of the prospects
before them on the morrow. It seemed, after all, as if they might
be saved, for both Joe and Abe declared that they must be near some
island, and a day’s sail would bring them to it, if they could sail
fast enough.

Tom stretched out beside little Jackie that night with a thankful heart.

“I’ll find dad and mother yet!” he whispered to himself.

Mr. Skeel was slumbering on the other side of the shelter, at least if
heavy breathing went for anything he was. Abe and Joe were out on deck,
putting the spare provisions and water into the lifeboat, for they had
decided to leave as soon as possible in the morning.

Tom fell into a doze. How long he slept he hardly knew, but he was
suddenly awakened by feeling a hand cautiously moving over his body.
It was on his chest first, and then it went lower until the fingers
touched the money belt he had worn since the loss of the _Silver Star_.

“Who’s that? Is that you, Jackie?” asked Tom, and his hand went quickly
over to the head of his little charge. Jackie was sleeping quietly.

“Who was that?” asked Tom.

There was no answer. It was too dark to see, and he could strike no
light. Someone moved across the floor of the shelter.

“Abe! Joe!” called Tom cautiously. Then he added: “Mr. Skeel!”

A snore answered him from the former professor’s sleeping place. Tom
stole cautiously to the opening of the shelter. He could hear the two
sailors talking together at the helm.

CHAPTER XVIII

TREACHERY

For a moment Tom did not know what to do, or what to think. He was
convinced that an attempt had been made to rob him in the darkness of
the night, and he wanted to know who was responsible. Yet he did not
want to accuse or even think of any one as guilty, unless he had good
proof.

“It couldn’t have been Abe or Joe,” he reasoned. “I could have heard
them if they had left the shelter after I called out. It must have been
Mr. Skeel. And yet----”

He paused, and listened once more to the steady breathing of the man
who had once been, and who doubtless still was, his enemy.

“Could it have been he?” thought Tom. “It was certainly some one here
in the shelter with me, and there aren’t many to pick from.”

He reflected that it might have been possible for little Jackie, moving
in his sleep, to have tossed toward him, and gotten his hand near the
money belt. And yet the hand had felt heavier than that of the child.

“Well,” mused Tom, “it won’t do to make a mistake. I’ve got to keep
quiet and see what turns up. Only I know one thing--I’m not going to
sleep much the rest of the night.”

He paused in the doorway, and was about to turn back to lie down beside
Jackie, when Abe, who was talking with Joe near the helm, spied our
hero.

“Hello, Tom,” the sailor called in a low voice. “Anything the matter
the reason you’re up? Is Jackie sick?”

“No, he’s all right,” replied Tom in a low voice, but loud enough so
that Professor Skeel, if he was awake, could hear it; “Jackie is all
right. I thought one of you came in the shelter to see me.”

“One of us!” exclaimed Abe.

“Yes,” answered Tom.

“We weren’t there,” went on Abe. “We’ve been standing here for the last
half hour, talking about what we might do to-morrow--after we get the
boat launched. We weren’t near you.”

“Guess you must have dreamed it, Tom,” suggested Joe.

“Perhaps,” admitted Tom, and yet he knew that it was no dream. “I’ll go
back to bed,” he called.

The derelict drifted on, and Tom was not again disturbed that night.
Jackie slept well, and so too did Professor Skeel--to judge by his
snores.

“Well, now for a launching!” exclaimed Joe as the dawning light
filtered through the early morning clouds. “We’ll see what luck we
have.”

There was not much to do in the way of preparation, for the two sailors
had very nearly finished the work on the previous day. The food and
water--all that could be spared from the needs of the few remaining
meals they expected to take aboard the hulk--had been put into the
reconstructed lifeboat. An early and small breakfast was served, and
then the work of sliding the craft off the derelict was undertaken.

As the sailor had said, this was not difficult. The deck of the lumber
ship, on which the lifeboat rested, had such a slope that all that was
necessary to do was to cut loose a retaining rope, and the craft would
slide down on improvised rollers that had been made. This could be done
when they were all aboard. It was like the launching of a small ship.

“But I think I’ll give her a trial first,” decided Abe, when all was
in readiness for the launching. “I don’t want her to turn turtle, or
anything like that, when we’re all aboard. Though she can’t sink, with
the watertight compartments.”

“What’s your game?” asked Joe.

“Why, I think I’ll take a trip in her myself just around the hulk,
so to speak, and see how she behaves. She may need trimming, or
lightening, or, maybe we haven’t got the sail just right. I’ll make a
trial in her.”

The others decided that this might be wise, and accordingly, when Abe
had taken his place in the craft, the rope was slacked off, and the
lifeboat slid into the sea.

“Hurray!” cried Tom, as the craft took the waves. “She’s a success all
right.”

“Not so fast! Hold on a bit!” cried Abe. “She’s leaking like a sieve in
one place!”

“Leaking!” cried his shipmate.

“Yes. One place where I must have forgotten to do the calking good
enough. Haul me back, and we’ll get her out of water again, and patch
her up.”

Under Abe’s directions Tom, Joe and Professor Skeel pulled on the rope
that was still fastened to the craft and she was worked back on the
deck of the derelict. Then Abe, making a careful examination, began the
work of calking up the cracks where the water had poured in.

The work took him longer than he had supposed it would, for he
found out that he had to change his ideas when it came to making a
reconstructed boat water-tight. He was most of the day at the task, and
when he had finished he thought of something else.

“We need oars,” he said. “We can’t always depend on the wind, and if we
get becalmed out on the ocean, with no shelter, such as we have here,
we’ll be in a bad way if we can’t make some headway. So I will just
make a pair of sweeps.”

Which he did out of some of the lighter planks that formed part of the
cargo of the derelict. Thole pins were cut out to serve as oarlocks,
for there were none on the made-over boat, and thus equipped the
lifeboat could be rowed, though not very fast.

“Now I reckon she’s likely to be of more use,” declared Abe, when he
had finished his task.

“But it’s too late to start to-day,” declared Joe.

“Yes, we’ll wait until to-morrow,” was the other’s decision. The boat
was left in the same position it had been in before, and they settled
down to pass another night on the derelict, waiting anxiously for the
morning.

It was just getting dusk, and they were thinking of turning in, when
Jackie, who had crawled upon the roof of the wooden shelter, called out:

“Oh, Tom! Look! See the smoke! Somebody must be starting a fire to cook
supper!”

He pointed almost dead ahead, and, at the sight of a line of smoke on
the horizon Joe cried:

“It’s a ship! A steamer! The first one we’ve seen! Oh, if we could
only make her hear or see us!”

It was utterly out of the question to make themselves heard by
shouting, but Tom, who was at the helm, swung it around until the
derelict was headed as nearly as possible toward the telltale vapor.

“Wave something!” cried Abe. “Get up on the top of the shelter and wave
something! They may have a man stationed up in the crow’s-nest on the
lookout, and he might see us. Wave something!”

Mr. Skeel caught up a piece of the sailcloth, and, scrambling to the
peak of the shelter waved the signal frantically. He kept this up for
an hour, in which time the smoke gradually got below the horizon,
showing that the steamer was moving away from the shipwrecked ones.

“No use,” said Tom sadly. “We’ve got to depend on ourselves.”

“And maybe it’s better so,” agreed Abe. “That steamer might be going to
some place we wouldn’t want to touch at all.”

“Any place would be acceptable,” spoke Mr. Skeel, bitterly. “Oh! when
will we be rescued? When will I ever get a good meal again?”

“No telling,” answered Abe grimly. “But if we have luck we ought to
fetch some place by to-morrow. That steamer shows that we’re near the
lines of travel, and we’ll hit on an island soon.”

Disappointed, but not discouraged over their failure to attract
attention, the refugees prepared to spend another night aboard the
derelict. Little Jackie was quite fussy, calling for his father
several times, and it was all Tom could do to pacify him and keep him
interested in “make-believe” plays.

Tom was a bit nervous about going to sleep, for he feared another
attempt might be made to rob him. He had narrowly watched the two
sailors and Mr. Skeel during the day, and he had decided that neither
Abe nor Joe was guilty of the attempt to get the money belt.

“It must have been Skeel,” decided Tom, “though what he was going to do
with it after he got it is more than I can say. He couldn’t have gone
far with it, and I’d have missed it as soon as I awakened.”

He took a position this time so that any one coming toward him in the
night would have to step or crawl over Jackie first, and thus, in a
measure, the small boy would be an alarm clock.

“But I don’t believe anyone will dare try it again to-night,” mused
Tom. He had narrowly watched his companions during the day, and he
mentally decided that Mr. Skeel had a guilty air, though, for that
matter, he seldom looked Tom, or anyone else squarely in the face.

Again it was near midnight when Tom awakened. And this time it was not
because of anyone trying to rob him. He heard some one moving about on
deck, and, cautiously peering out of the opening of the shelter, he saw
a sight that startled him.

It was just light enough, because of the stars, to make out objects,
and Tom beheld the form of Mr. Skeel at the lifeboat.

The former professor was fumbling with the retaining ropes, as if he
intended to let the craft slide into the water. But Tom noticed that
the man was in such a position that he could leap aboard the lifeboat
as it slid away from the derelict.

“He’s trying to escape!” thought Tom. “He’s going to take our boat and
leave us behind on the wreck. There’s treachery here! He’s trying to
get away while we’re asleep--during his trick at the helm. Well here’s
where I spoil his plans!”

CHAPTER XIX

OFF IN THE BOAT

Determined to foil the scheme of the unprincipled man, Tom stole softly
forward, himself unobserved. He thought over several plans in his mind,
and decided that he must catch Mr. Skeel red-handed.

“I’ll wait until he actually begins to move the boat,” murmured our
hero, “and then I’ll call a halt. Besides I want to be sure that this
is actually his game. If I jump out too soon he may say that he was
only tightening the ropes, or that the lifeboat started to slip, and
that he stopped it. He’s foxy, and I must be the same.”

So Tom watched, and the more he saw of the former professor’s actions
the more he became convinced that treachery was intended.

“He tried to rob me, and get the money in my belt,” thought Tom, “and
he was intending to escape then. That’s why he wanted the funds. Now
he’s going without them--that is if I let him--which I won’t.”

The man was working swiftly and silently, pausing now and then to
look over toward the shelter where he supposed all his companions were
asleep. He had deserted the helm to carry out his treacherous design.
Not that leaving the rude steering apparatus meant much, for there was
very little wind just then, and the derelict was merely drifting.

Tom had crouched down so that he could not be seen, the lifeboat on
the sloping deck of the wreck being between him and the professor. The
latter was working away at the ropes. One after another he cast off.
There was a slight movement to the lifeboat. It seemed about to slip
into the sea.

“It’s time to act!” thought Tom.

He straightened up, took a step forward and fairly confronted the man,
standing up to face him across the lifeboat.

“That’ll do, Mr. Skeel,” said Tom quietly. “I wouldn’t take that boat
if I were you.”

There was a gasp of surprise from the man--the same sort of a gasp as
when Tom had shown him his forged note at Elmwood Hall.

“Wha--what’s that?” stammered Mr. Skeel.

“I said, leave the boat alone!” said Tom sharply.

“I--I was just fixing it!” went on the man.

“Yes, fixing it to get away in it,” answered our hero bitterly. “I saw
you.”

“It was--was slipping, and I--I----” spoke Mr. Skeel hesitatingly.

“That’s enough!” cried Tom sternly. “I saw you loosen several of the
holding ropes. You wouldn’t have done that if you wanted to make the
boat more secure. I believe you intended to desert us. And I believe
you tried to take my money belt away from me the other night.”

“Don’t you dare say such things to me!” stormed the former Latin
instructor, as though Tom were in his classroom. But the flash of the
old-time spirit was only momentary.

“I dare say them because they’re true,” said Tom quietly. “Get away
from that boat! Don’t you dare touch another rope.”

“Oh, I--I don’t know what I’m doing!” exclaimed the unhappy man. “I--I
believe I’m going out of my mind. Don’t--don’t tell on me, Tom.”

“I must,” spoke the lad gently, and with a feeling of pity rather than
anger. “Our lives depend on that boat, and if you are not to be trusted
Abe and Joe must know it. I shall have to tell them. They can’t depend
on you any more, and they must arrange the watch differently.”

“Oh, Tom, don’t tell!” Mr. Skeel was fairly whining now, and his
underlying cowardice showed.

“Abe! Joe!” called Tom sharply.

“Aye, aye! What is it?” asked Abe, appearing at the doorway of the
shelter.

“Have you sighted land--a sail?” asked Joe.

Then both sailors saw the dangling ropes that held the boat from
slipping--they saw Tom standing in a menacing attitude, and Mr. Skeel
shrinking away.

“The boat--it’s almost overboard!” cried Joe.

“Did some accident happen, Tom?” asked Abe.

“No--not an accident. I’m sorry to have to say it, but he--this
man--was about to cut it loose, and, I think, sail off in it,” replied
our hero.

For a moment there was silence, and then Abe exclaimed with a deep
breath:

“The scoundrel!”

“By Davy Jones!” cried Joe. “We ought to throw him overboard! Get
forward!” he cried, holding back his anger as best he could. “You’ll
berth forward after this, and we’ll not trust you any more. Get
forward!”

Without a word Mr. Skeel obeyed, and then Joe and Abe, with the help of
Tom, made the boat secure again. Little Jackie had not awakened.

“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.”

Tom said nothing. He sat in the bow, gloomily looking off across the
waste of waters. He thought of many things.

It grew lighter. Another day of heat was coming--a day when there would
be no water to relieve them. How many days more?

Higher crept the sun out of the waves. Tom rubbed his smarting eyes.
He looked, and then he looked again. Then, scarcely believing what he
saw, and fearing that it was but a vision of his disordered brain he
shouted, over and over again:

“Sail ho! Sail ho!”

CHAPTER XXII

NEWS OF THE MISSING

Tom’s cry echoed over the water and startled those aboard the boat into
sudden life. Gaspingly Joe and Abe sat up. Mr. Skeel was galvanized
into sudden activity, awakening from a troubled dream. Little Jackie
jumped up with a start.

“What--what is it, Tom?” cried Joe.

“Have we struck something?” exclaimed Abe.

“It’s a sail--a sail!” fairly shouted our hero. “See that vessel over
there! It’s bearing down on us! A big sailing ship!”

The two sailors and the former professor gazed off to where Tom
pointed. There was no doubt of it, they were gazing at a full-rigged
ship.

“I saw her as soon as I opened my eyes!” Tom explained. “I was dozing,
I guess. At first I couldn’t believe it. But it’s a ship all right,
isn’t it?”

He was half afraid that the others would say he was only dreaming.
Anxiously he awaited their verdict.

“It’s a ship all right,” agreed Abe.

“And coming this way,” added Tom.

“No, I’m afraid she’s leaving us,” put in Joe, a moment later.

“Don’t say that!” cried Mr. Skeel. “I--I can’t stand any more!” He was
fairly quivering with fear.

“It does look as though she was going away from us,” agreed Abe
gloomily. “Still, she may come around on the other tack, and see us.”

“Then we must make signals!” cried Tom. “They’ve got to see us! Yell!
Shout! Make ’em hear us!”

“It’d have to be a pretty good voice that could carry that far,” spoke
Joe weakly. “Still, she sees us. She’s about three miles off. Wave
everything you’ve got!”

At once Tom caught up a piece of canvas. Every one, save Jackie,
did the same, and soon there was a wildly-waving mass of rags to be
observed on board the lifeboat.

“If she only sees us!” gasped Tom. “If she only does!”

Hope awoke anew, and Tom found himself fired with an ambition to do
anything that would put him in a position to rescue his father and
mother.

“Is--is she turning? Can she see us?” asked Mr. Skeel anxiously,
pausing in his exertions.

“It’s too soon to tell--yet,” answered Joe. “Keep on waving.”

They had almost forgotten the professor’s mean and sneaking ways now,
in the excitement over a possible rescue. Anxiously they watched the
small speck that meant a vessel. Oh how anxiously! Would some one on
board see them? Would she put about?

“Can’t you head for her any more directly?” asked Mr. Skeel after a
bit. “It seems to me that you’re not heading any where near her.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” declared Abe, who was at the helm. “I can’t
make the wind do what I want it to. It all depends on the other ship.”

They waved by turns, and again peered anxiously at the craft on which
so much depended. She seemed to grow in size, at times, and again, to
their despairing hearts, she appeared to become smaller, showing that
she was leaving them.

But at last Joe sprang to his feet with a shout of joy.

“She sees us! She sees us!” he cried. “Look, they are putting about!
They’re going to pick us up! We’re saved! We’re saved!”

“Are you sure?” asked Tom, not wanting to have his hopes raised, only
to lose them again.

“Of course! Can’t you see by the way her sails are trimmed?”

“Right you are!” agreed Abe. “She’s going to pick us up. She’s seen us!”

This was more apparent to the eyes of the two sailors than to Tom or
Mr. Skeel, but they gladly accepted the news. In a little while it was
evident, even to Tom, that the vessel he had sighted so opportunely was
indeed growing in size, showing that she was coming nearer.

“Water! Water!” gasped Mr. Skeel sinking down in the bottom of the
boat. “I’m going to faint!”

Indeed he did look to be in a bad way, and, though the others wanted
and needed the precious fluid almost as much as he did, some was given
him. Though, as Abe remarked, the professor had had more than his
fair share. Still it was not a time to grumble, and, after Mr. Skeel
had been revived, the rest of the water was apportioned out among the
others. And they needed it very much, for their tongues were swelled
more than ever.

“But we’ll soon have all we want,” declared Joe, with a laugh that
sounded queer and cracked, coming from between his swollen lips.
“Enough water--all we want!”

“And food, too, food!” added Abe. “I’m as hungry--as hungry----” but a
simile failed him, and he sat down weakly to stare at the approaching
vessel.

There was nothing more to do save to wait for the arrival of the ship,
which soon was seen to be a large sailing craft. Nearer and nearer she
came, with the big sails bulging out with the wind. Those aboard the
lifeboat steered as best they could to make the distance between her
and the rescuing vessel as short as possible, but their small sail did
not catch much of the breeze.

Nearer and nearer came the ship. A crowd of sailors could now be made
out on her deck, lining the rail to find out the meaning of the strange
sight of a small open boat on the trackless ocean.

“Lifeboat ahoy!” came the hail when the big ship was near enough. “Are
you in distress? Do you need help?”

“We sure do!” cried Tom. “We’ve been shipwrecked, and on a derelict.
Take us off. We have no food or water.”

“What ship are you from?”

“_Silver Star_ out from San Francisco for Sydney. Wrecked by a derelict
about two weeks ago,” answered Tom. “Who are you?”

“The _Alexandria_, from Melbourne, bound for Honolulu. We’ll have you
on board shortly. Do you want your boat saved?”

Thus answered the first mate of the rescuing vessel. Tom looked at his
sailor companions, and they shook their heads. The lifeboat, patched
as it was, could be of little real service or value, and to hoist it
aboard would delay matters.

“We don’t need it,” sang out Abe. “It was hard enough to rebuild, but
it’s served its turn. Take us aboard without it.”

“All right,” came the hail, and a little later Tom and his companions,
so strangely wrecked and rescued at sea, were on the big deck of the
_Alexandria_.

She proved to be a large merchant ship, carrying no passengers, and the
crew crowded around the refugees to hear their story.

“Water first--water,” pleaded Mr. Skeel, who, now that he was safe,
seemed to resume some of his former arrogant airs. “I must have a fresh
drink of water.”

“And I guess this little chap needs some as well as you,” spoke the
mate, with a shrewd guess as to the true character of the former Latin
instructor. “Come below and we’ll look after all of you.”

A little later, water and warm soup having been cautiously administered,
Tom was telling the story of the shipwreck.

“Do you think it possible that any of the passengers or crew of the
_Silver Star_ were saved?” he asked.

“Quite possible, though we haven’t heard of it,” answered Captain
Buchanan of the _Alexandria_. “If they got away in a lifeboat it’s very
likely that they were picked up. They were in the zone of ship travel,
according to what you tell me, but you and the others drifted out of it
on the derelict, and you’ve been out of it ever since. It’s lucky you
put the small boat into use or you might have been there yet. And now
what do you want me to do with you?”

“I’d like to go on to Honolulu,” said Mr. Skeel, as if he was the first
one to be considered. “I have business there.”

“I’m going that way, and I’ll stop and put you off,” answered Captain
Buchanan dryly. “What of the rest of you?”

“Any place suits me, where we can get a ship,” spoke Abe, and Joe
nodded in agreement.

“What about you, Tom Fairfield?”

“Well, I’d like to go to Sydney, if it’s possible. If not, I can go to
Honolulu, and take a ship there to continue the search for my father
and mother.”

“Your father and mother!” exclaimed the captain. “Are they lost, too?”
for our hero had not told of his reasons for being aboard the _Silver
Star_.

“They were wrecked on the _Kangaroo_, or so I believe,” replied Tom,
and he showed the newspaper clippings that had been the means of
starting him on such a long and adventurous quest.

“The _Kangaroo_!” exclaimed the mate. “That’s the vessel we heard----”

“Yes, yes!” assented the captain eagerly.

“Oh, have you heard any news of her?” asked Tom eagerly. “Were any of
her passengers saved? Tell me!”

“It’s almost providential!” exclaimed Captain Buchanan, “but a few days
ago we did speak a vessel that had some news of the missing ship--the
one your parents sailed on. It seems that she picked up a boat load of
sailors some distance out to sea. They were from the _Kangaroo_. That
was some time ago, you understand, for we have been from port some
time, held back by contrary winds. But this ship, the _Belgrade_ she
was, had some of the rescued sailors.”

“And--and were they the only ones saved?” asked Tom.

“I can’t be sure of that,” answered the captain, “but from the captain
of the _Belgrade_ I learned that another boat load of other survivors
of the _Kangaroo_ set out for some island near Tongatabu, in the
Friendly group. They may have reached it. They may be there yet.”

“Were there passengers among them?” asked Tom, his heart beating with a
new hope.

“There were, my boy, though I can’t tell you to hope that your parents
were there. Still it may be that they were.”

“I’m going to hope!” cried our hero eagerly. “Now how can I get to
Sydney, or some Australian port, and set out for that island?”

“I’ll speak the first Australian bound ship we meet,” promised Captain
Buchanan, “and put you aboard. Oh, boy, I hope you find your folks!”
and he shook Tom’s hand.

CHAPTER XXIII

OFF TO THE ISLAND

Once the excitement over the rescue of himself and his companions was
over, Tom settled down to another task. And it was that of looking for
a ship bound back to Australia, that he might once more set out in
search of his parents.

“And I sure do hope there won’t be any more accidents,” Tom mused.
“I’ve had my share of ’em this trip, that’s certain.”

The hardships and the privations suffered while on the derelict and in
the open boat soon passed away, and the refugees were made to feel at
home on the _Alexandria_. Little Jackie soon became a general favorite,
and Tom made many friends.

As for the two sailors, they were soon at home among the members of
the crew, and, as Captain Buchanan was short-handed, he signed them as
first class men, so they were well provided for.

Mr. Skeel kept much to himself. He seemed in fear that his conduct
aboard the boat and derelict would be told to those on board the rescue
ship, but Tom and his friends had no idea of exposing the scoundrel,
as it would have done no good. So Mr. Skeel kept to himself, glad
enough to be let alone.

“I suppose there is no telling when you will sight a ship bound in the
direction I was to travel in, is there?” asked Tom, a few days after
the rescue.

“Hardly,” replied the captain. “I have instructed the lookout to report
the first vessel bound for Australia, though, and we may speak one
any day. If she cannot take you all the way there she may be able to
transfer you to one that will.”

“My!” exclaimed our hero. “I certainly will have my share of travel on
the sea! But I sha’n’t mind, if I can only rescue dad and mother.”

“And I certainly wish you all success,” spoke Captain Buchanan. “What
are your plans when you do reach Sydney or Melbourne, if I may ask?”

“I’m going to charter a steamer and sail for that island near
Tongatabu,” replied Tom.

“Charter a steamer!” exclaimed the captain. “That will be pretty
expensive.”

“Well, I have considerable cash with me,” answered our hero, showing
the money belt which had successfully resisted the efforts of Mr. Skeel
to take away. “And my father’s agent in Sydney will supply me with
more, I think.”

“Then you will be well provided for,” commented the commander. “You
can do almost anything--up to a certain point--with money, and it’s
good you have enough. I can give you a note to a friend of mine in
Melbourne who can fit you out with a proper vessel for such need as you
have. He is also an experienced navigator, and if you like I’m sure
he would sail to this island for you. Of course I can’t just say what
one it was, for there are several in the group near the large one of
Tongatabu, and you may have to make a search.”

“I’ll do it!” cried Tom, “and I’ll be much obliged to you for that
note. I’ll engage your friend if he’ll come.”

Tom and the captain talked for some time longer, and our hero was given
many valuable pointers about what to do. So interested did he become,
and so occupied was he in looking for a vessel to take him back to
Australia that he had no time to worry about his parents. Not that he
did not think of them, but his thoughts were hopeful ones.

“I’ll rescue them!” he declared determinedly. “And, oh! if I could only
pick up some of those from the _Silver Star_ who may still be adrift in
open boats. And Jackie’s father! If I could only find him!”

But Tom felt that this was too much to hope. Several days passed,
and no Australian bound vessel was seen. Tom began to be a bit
discouraged, but one morning there was a cry on deck when he was at
breakfast. He hurried up to find that the lookout had sighted a large
steamer approaching them.

“Oh, if it’s only going to Australia!” cried Tom.

It was, as he learned a little later when the steamer hove to in
answer to a signal from the _Alexandria_. A small boat was sent from
the sailing ship to the steamer, and Captain Buchanan requested the
courtesy of transferring one of his passengers to the _Monarch_, which
was the name of the steamer spoken.

The word came back that Tom would be accepted.

“Good!” he cried. “I’m sorry to leave you, Captain Buchanan, but I must
rescue dad and mother!”

“That’s right. Good luck to you!”

“What about Jackie?” asked Abe, who, with his mate, had come on deck to
bid Tom good-by.

“He comes with me, of course,” was our hero’s answer. “I’m going to
turn him over to his relatives,” he added. “Mr. Case said he had a
sister in Melbourne.”

“I’m going to my daddy!” Jackie proudly informed the friends he was
leaving behind on the _Alexandria_. “Tom is going to take me to my
daddy!”

“I only wish I was,” murmured Tom with tears in his eyes.

He and his little charge were soon on the Australian bound vessel, and
the _Monarch_ getting under way again was once more steaming toward the
land of the kangaroo and rabbit.

In due time Tom landed at Melbourne, and his first duty was to take
little Jackie to his relatives. That they were shocked was to be
expected, over the news of the shipwreck, of which they had heard
nothing, though they were beginning to be alarmed over the fact that
the _Silver Star_ had not arrived, and had not been spoken.

Their grief and sorrow were concealed from Jackie as well as possible,
and he bade Tom a tearful good-by, convinced that our hero was going to
bring matters about so that everything would be all right.

Then Tom sought out Captain Mosher, to whom he had a letter of
introduction.

“Humph!” exclaimed the seaman, when Tom had made known his mission, and
his desire to set out in search of his parents. “It’s a slim chance,
boy, and it’s going to cost----”

“Never mind the cost!” cried Tom.

“All right, then. You’re the doctor. If you want me to fit out a small
steamer and go to some of the islands around Tongatabu I’m your man.
Only--don’t hope too much!”

“I’ve got to hope!” cried poor Tom. “I’m going to hope until the--the
last!”

“Well, maybe you’re right after all,” assented Captain Mosher. “Now
to business, ways and means, a steamer, a crew, fitting out and
then--well, I’ve got to get busy.”

He did, to such good advantage that inside of a week all was in
readiness for the start. Tom had communicated with his father’s agent
in Sydney, and, as our hero had papers to prove his identity, there was
no lack of money from the inheritance Mr. Fairfield had come so far to
claim.

A steamer, the _Sea Queen_, was fitted out; a small but competent crew
was hired, stores and provisions for a month’s cruise were put aboard,
and one sunny day Tom took his place with the captain on the bridge.

“Well, Tom, shall we start?” asked Captain Mosher, a kindly light in
his eye, for he had taken a great liking to our hero.

“Start, and go at full speed as long as you can,” came Tom’s order.
“I want to get to that island as soon as possible, and find dad and
mother.”

The hoarse whistle of the _Sea Queen_ warned other craft that she was
about to leave her berth. A little later her funnels belched black
smoke, and from her pipe the white steam spurted. She was off for the
island.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CASTAWAYS

Quite a new experience it was for Tom to be in command of a steamer,
even though it was a comparatively small craft. And he was in actual
command, for, though Captain Mosher was the navigator, and had all
the powers captains usually have on the high seas, still Tom was the
master, and his orders would be obeyed.

“If only dad and mother were here with me, or if I knew they were safe,
and I had a crowd of fellows from Elmwood Hall here,” Tom reflected,
“this would be sport. But as it is there’s too much worry in it to suit
me.”

Not that he shirked his duty in the least, but it was a big responsibility
for a youth, and none knew it better than Captain Mosher.

“That boy has grit!” the commander exclaimed to his mate. “There ain’t
many lads like him who would start off as he did on such a slim chance
to find his parents. And, after being shipwrecked, he starts off again.”

“Oh, ’e’s H’American!” exclaimed the mate, who was quite a Cockney in
his way. “’E’s H’American, and H’Americans will do hanythink, so I’ve
’eard, sir.”

“Maybe they will. The more credit to ’em.”

“But H’I say, Captain, sir, ’ave you told ’im?”

“Told him what?”

“About them cannibals an’ other unpleasant creatures that may be on the
h’islands where we’re goin’?”

“No, I haven’t told him, but I’m going to. It’s only fair that he
should know about ’em. I think he’s got grit enough to take it.”

And so, after the vessel was well under way, and the captain had
leisure, he sent for Tom, who was in the stateroom that had been
assigned to him, next to the captain’s own quarters.

“Tom, my boy!” exclaimed Mr. Mosher, after a few generalities, “it’s
only fair to tell you that we may have a hard task ahead of us.”

“How so, captain?”

“Well, some of the islands around Tongatabu are inhabited by natives
that are not always friendly.”

“You mean----” and our hero paused apprehensively.

“I mean that--well, at worst, I think, they can but hold your folks
captive, in case the survivors from the shipwreck landed on one of the
unfriendly islands.”

“Hold them captives?”

“Yes. You see these natives are peculiar. They get streaks, I might
say. If a large enough party of whites landed they would be friendly,
and would treat them well. But if only a few were cast on their shores
they might be ugly, and make them prisoners for the sake of what few
possessions they might save from the wreck.”

“And you think my parents may have landed on such an island?”

“It’s possible. I only tell you to prepare you for the worst.”

Tom was silent a moment, and then he said quietly:

“We brought arms along, didn’t we, captain?”

“Yes, Tom, but----”

“Then we’ll use ’em--if we have to!” exclaimed the lad, with an energy
that caused the captain to like him the more. “If any cannibals or
other natives are holding my folks captive we’ll go to the rescue.”

“And I’m with you!” cried the commander, holding out his hand, which
Tom took in a firm grip.

The _Sea Queen_ was a fast little steamer and, favored by good weather,
she made excellent time. In due course the island of Tongatabu was
sighted and one night the vessel Tom had chartered to search for his
parents lay at anchor in the harbor. There was not much of a settlement
on the island in those days, but such as it was there was news to be
had, of a sort, though not the kind Tom wanted.

For he could learn nothing of his parents. There were rumors of wrecks,
and of castaways coming ashore, but none from the _Kangaroo_.

In fact a crew from another wrecked sailing ship had come ashore to
Tongatabu, but they knew nothing of the casting away of the ship on
which Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield had sailed.

“You might do one thing,” said a friendly Englishman who had some
business interests on the island. “I understand there are some natives
here from surrounding islands. You might ask them if they have heard of
any white castaways coming ashore at any of the places where they live.”

Tom and Captain Mosher welcomed the suggestion and followed it. They
found the natives--rather a shiftless lot--and questioned them through
an interpreter. But to no purpose.

The simple black men told stories of wrecks that had happened ten years
back, and related how the castaways from them had come ashore, either
to remain there in an idle existence, or to take the first steamer back
for civilization. There were more rumors, but nothing definite.

“The only thing to do,” decided Captain Mosher, “is to visit all the
islands in the immediate vicinity of Tongatabu. In that way we’ll get
first hand information.”

“And we may find them!” cried Tom eagerly. “Let’s start off again!”

This was about the third day of their stay at Tongatabu and that night
they hoisted anchor, and steamed out of the harbor.

Then began a wearying search. No spot of land was too small to deter
Tom, and at every large island he spent some days, hiring natives to
make a circuit of it, and interviewing, through interpreters, the chief
men.

But all to no purpose. There had been no wrecks in some time, and no
castaways had come ashore. Tom was beginning to get discouraged.

“Oh, there are lots more islands,” Captain Mosher assured him. “We’ll
find ’em yet!”

“H’if the bloody cannibals ain’t het ’em!” said the mate.

“Keep still!” commanded the captain, emphasizing his words with a dig
in the ribs that made his chief officer grunt.

They came one night to the small island of Tahatoo, hardly more than a
dot in the big ocean. But there was a good harbor, in a coral lagoon,
and, as there were signs of a storm, Captain Mosher decided to lay to
there over night.

“And while we’re here we may as well go ashore and see if there is any
news,” spoke Tom. His voice was despondent, for the search had been
wearying and disappointing.

“White mans? No hab white mans and womans here,” said the head native
in his broken English, when Tom and the captain put the question to
him. “No hab wrecks here. If had, Walla he be kind to um. Kind to white
mans and womans. Me is Walla. Walla bery kind. When you sail away,
captain?”

“Why do you want to know?” inquired the commander of the _Sea Queen_,
suspiciously, for usually the natives were only too glad to have a
steamer spend some days at one of their islands.

“Oh, me just ask for friendly like. When you go?”

“In the morning, if the weather’s good,” was the answer.

“Walla t’ink wedder good,” said the native grinning. “You go mornin’.”

“Tom, there’s something wrong here!” said the commander a little later,
as he and our hero walked down toward the beach. “That native is
altogether too anxious to get rid of us.”

“Why--do you think----” began Tom, his heart beating fast.

“I don’t know what to think, my boy, but----”

“Do you imagine dad and mother--may have been here?”

“I don’t know, but I think that Walla knows something. I think we’ll
just stroll around a bit, and we don’t leave to-morrow, no matter what
the weather is.”

Their minds filled with strange thoughts, the two strolled back toward
the native village. The hut where Walla, the head man lived, was easily
distinguished by its size. Around it were other places where the poorer
natives stayed.

As Tom and Captain Mosher tried to pass through an alley that led past
Walla’s hut, a big black man stopped them with a gesture.

“No can go,” he said, grinning.

“Why not?” asked Tom.

“No can go. Walla he say so. No can go. After a bit maybe can go.”

“We’re going now!” cried Captain Mosher with sudden energy. “Tom, my
boy, there’s something on foot here. Draw your revolver and follow me.
We’ll see what’s up.”

“No can go!” insisted the native guard.

“We’re going!” cried the captain. “Come on, Tom!”

Tom sprang to the commander’s side. In the gathering dusk they could
observe signs of activity about a hut that adjoined Walla’s. A number
of native men and women were moving about it.

Suddenly a shout was heard. A voice was raised in angry protest. And
the words were English.

“I’ll not go! I’ll not submit to this any longer! Where is your head
man? What does he mean by taking us away from where we were fairly
comfortable, and sending us somewhere else? What does it mean?”

For a moment Tom and the captain stood as if paralyzed. Then a woman’s
sob was heard.

“White men! White men, by Jove!” cried the captain.

“My father!” shouted Tom. “That’s my father’s voice! I’d know it
anywhere! He’s here! I’ve found him! Dad! Mother! I’ve come to rescue
you! I’m here! We’re coming!”

Tom sprang toward the knot of natives, Captain Mosher at his side. For
a moment the blacks resisted. Tom fired into the air, and the captain
did likewise. With yells of fear the natives fled, and there, in the
fast-gathering dusk, in front of the hut next to that of Walla, stood a
little group of white castaways--Tom’s father and mother among them!

CHAPTER XXV

HOMEWARD BOUND--CONCLUSION

For a moment Tom hardly knew what to think. He had heard the voice of
white persons, he had seen them when the natives fled at the shots, and
yet he could not believe that at last he had found his parents.

Yet there could be no doubt of it. As he stood there, amid the awed
natives, and looked forward, he saw the beloved faces--faces he had
feared he would never see again.

“Father! Mother!” he cried, and then he ran forward.

From the little knot of castaways two figures detached themselves--a
man and a woman. Wonderingly they looked toward Tom. Then the man cried:

“It’s Tom! It’s our son! Oh, how did he ever get here?”

The woman answered:

“It can’t be possible! You’re dreaming, Brokaw! Tom could never be
here. Our minds must be wandering!”

“And I say it’s Tom!” declared the man. “Tom! Tom!” he called. “Is it
really you?”

“It is, father! Oh, are you all right? Have the natives hurt you? I’ve
come to rescue you!”

“Thank the dear Lord!” ejaculated Mr. Fairfield. His wife said nothing.
She was crying on his shoulder.

A moment later Tom had sprung to their side and was wildly hugging
them, while the other white castaways, including several sailors,
looked on wonderingly and sympathetically. Captain Mosher, with tears
of joy in his eyes, stood as a sort of guard, with drawn revolver, but
there was no need to use it, for the natives had nearly all vanished,
save a small wondering ring of them that stood some distance off.

“I rather guess, Tom, my boy,” spoke the commander, “that our voyage is
at an end.”

“It surely is!” cried Tom, as he introduced his parents. “I’ve found
them at last!”

“H’I always said them H’Americans was great for doin’ things,”
commented the mate, who had followed at a distance.

“Father! Mother!” cried Tom. “Tell me all about it.”

“Oh, dear boy, you tell us!” half sobbed his mother. “However did you
find us?”

And there, as night fell, on that half-savage island, in the midst
of the hut-village of Walla, the head man, Tom told his story. Its
details are already familiar to our readers, so I need not go over it.

“And you kept on after us, in spite of all,” commented Mr. Fairfield,
when Tom had finished telling of his days aboard the derelict, and in
the open boat, followed by the search in the steamer.

“Of course I did!” exclaimed Tom. “I wanted to find you.”

“And you did, dear boy!” cried his mother. “You found us, and we have
you again! Oh, I never thought to see you any more.”

“Tell me all about it,” suggested Tom. And they did.

With the foundering of the _Kangaroo_ all hands had taken the small
boats. There was much wind and they were separated. The one containing
Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield had drifted from the others, and had finally
landed at the island of Tahatoo. There the natives proved to be rather
unfriendly.

True, they did not maltreat the castaways, but they stripped them of
everything of value, confiscated their boat and stores and then, afraid
of the possible vengeance of the whites who might start out to rescue
the shipwrecked ones, Walla and his men made the castaways captives.

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield, two men passengers, and a few sailors were in
the small boat that had landed at Tahatoo. Their clothes were taken
from them, and they were given a few rags to wear. They were not ill
treated, as native treatment goes, but they were held prisoners.

This lasted for some time and numerous attempts to escape were
frustrated. The castaways gave way to despair. Then came the arrival of
Tom’s steamer. Walla at once feared vengeance, and endeavored to hold
the attention of Captain Mosher and the others until he could hide his
captives in the interior. But his plans miscarried.

Mr. Fairfield, suspecting that something was up, had objected to being
taken away with his wife. The commotion had attracted the attention of
Tom and Captain Mosher, and the rest is known to the reader.

“Oh, dad! It seems too good to be true!” cried Tom, when their stories
had been told. “But your troubles are over. You’ll soon be back to
civilization. I’ve got a steamer waiting for you.”

“That’s what!” exclaimed Captain Mosher. “And I don’t believe anybody
but Tom Fairfield could have gone to sea and rescued you in the way he
did.”

“Oh, of course they could,” declared Tom, blushing, for he disliked
praise.

“Oh, I’m sure they couldn’t!” declared his mother, hugging him to her.

“Well, I’d like a few minutes private conversation with that scoundrel,
Walla,” said Captain Mosher grimly. “Where is Walla?” he asked of one
of the head man’s guards.

“Walla him gone ’way,” was the answer. “Him gone far ’way. Him say him
got very bad pain, no come back long time.”

“Pain!” cried the captain. “I’d give him a worse one, if I had the
scoundrel!”

A little later Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield, and all the castaways were
aboard the _Sea Queen_, where they were made comfortable, and given
decent clothes in exchange for the rags the natives had forced them
to wear. Then, as the storm broke, Captain Mosher rode it out in the
coral-locked harbor.

“And now for Melbourne, and then for home!” cried Tom, a few days
later, when calm weather prevailed. “Oh, it will seem good to get back
to the United States again.”

“But it’s too bad so many were lost from the _Silver Star_,” spoke Mr.
Fairfield. “Tom, you proved yourself a man! Oh, what a time you must
have had!”

“It wasn’t so easy,” confessed our hero, as he thought of the days
aboard the derelict and in the open boat.

The voyage to Melbourne was uneventful, and to Tom’s delight, when he
reached there, he learned that little Jackie’s father had reached
home. He and a number of others had been picked up in one of the
lifeboats, taken to a distant port, and had only just reached Australia.

News was also had of the others of the ill-fated ship that had struck
the derelict. Nearly all of them, including the captain, were saved,
but chief of all Tom rejoiced in that Jackie’s father was safe.

Little remains to tell. Shortly after their arrival in Australia with
their son, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield were entertained by Mr. Case, and
Jackie renewed his friendship with Tom, whom he thought the greatest
young man in all the world.

“He found my daddy,” declared Jackie, and no one tried to make him
believe otherwise.

Then, having completed all his business plans, a re-arrangement of
which was made necessary because of the wreck, Mr. Fairfield, with his
wife and Tom, started for home.

Their voyage to San Francisco was uneventful. They called at Honolulu
on their way, and learned that Mr. Skeel had started in business, but
had failed, because of unfair dealings, and had disappeared.

“Oh, Tom, I hope you never meet that man again!” said our hero’s
mother.

“Well, I think Tom took pretty good care of himself,” spoke Mr.
Fairfield a bit proudly.

But whether or not Tom met Professor Skeel again, and what were the
next adventures that befell our hero, may be learned by reading the
next volume of this series, to be entitled, “Tom Fairfield in Camp; Or,
The Secret of the Old Mill.”

“Well, Tom, do you want to go back to Elmwood Hall?” asked Mr.
Fairfield of his son a few weeks later, when they were once more back
in their home at Briartown, having had a safe trip from San Francisco.

“I guess I do, dad. Adventures at sea are all right in their way, but
they’re too exciting for a steady diet. I think I can get back in time
to pass with the Freshman class.”

And Tom did, and a glorious time he had. For many a night there were
secret gatherings in the room of himself and Jack Fitch, while the lads
listened breathlessly to the tale of our hero’s adventures.

And now, for a time, we will take leave of Tom Fairfield, to meet him
again in new activities.

THE END

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 Transcriber’s Notes:

 --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
   bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).

 --Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected,
   except as indicated below.

 --Archaic and variable spelling is preserved.

 --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

 --Inconsistencies in formatting and punctuation of individual
   advertisements have been retained.