Mr. Temple thereupon turned in. For some moments, more, however, the boys chatted and tried to read, but at last they, too, retired. As far as they could tell, the storm continued to rage undiminished.
“I wonder what tomorrow will bring forth, Jack,” said Frank, just before going to sleep.
Jack waked early the next morning and lay in his berth wondering drowsily for several moments as to what caused his feeling that there was something unusual in the situation. Then he jumped alertly to his feet and ran to the porthole.
The trawler was motionless. When he retired it had been tossed about by the storm. Now its engines were stilled, its screw was not turning, and except for a slight rolling motion it lay as calm as in a harbor. Could it be they had reached the smugglers’ cove during the night? It was this alarming thought which sent Jack to the porthole.
But a look at the outer world convinced him to the contrary. There was no land in sight. And as he was on the landward side, he considered this a pretty good indication that they were not in port anywhere. Of course, the trawler might have swung about, so that her starboard side lay toward the land. He sniffed. There was no land smell in the salty air. He listened. No land sounds came to his ears.
Perhaps the trawler had broken down in the storm, perhaps something had happened to engines or screw. Jack had the natural curiosity of a young fellow in his ’teens and wished that he might go on deck and investigate. He thought of Matt Murphy’s prohibition, of the Chinese crew thirsting for the blood of himself and his comrades.
But, after all, he reassured himself, if he merely poked his head up the companionway nobody would see him. He would be safe enough. And at the recollection of that clean sunshine flooding all the world outside, which he had seen through the porthole, and of the magically calmed sea, he decided he would have to obtain a glimpse of the world above decks, get a lungful of fresher air, no matter what happened.
All this time he had been hurriedly getting into his clothes. A look showed him Bob slept on. Unlocking the cabin door, he stepped soundlessly into the salon.
It was empty of human occupants other than himself. The door of the Temples’ cabin was closed. “Black George’s” cabin door was closed. So, too, was that of Matt Murphy. Jack gave fleeting thought to the question of how that worthy had survived the stress of the night. Was he still on deck? Or had he retired to rest? If the latter, who was in command?