Dick had a mind that worked quickly. It did not take him long to arrive at an approximately correct idea of what had happened. The yacht was ashore; and the water lapping about the lower part of the cabin showed that she had stove a hole in her bottom or else strained her plates so badly that the water was rushing in.

Suddenly the frantic pounding on the wall of the cabin which held Mr. Chadwick and his fellow prisoners recommenced. The shouting, too, was now plainly audible, for above the door opening into the main cabin was a small grating for purposes of ventilation.

“Help! help! The cabin is half full of water,” cried the imprisoned men.

“Gracious! They’ll drown if I don’t do something and do it quickly!” flashed through Dick’s mind.

All at once he felt his feet grow wet; the water already had reached half way up the steeply inclined cabin floor. There was not a minute to lose. He started for the cabin door, hoping to find a key in the outside of it, when footsteps sounded on the companionway stairs.

“Who’s there?” he yelled.

The response that came back through the darkness caused his heart to give a bound of delight.

“Jack Chadwick and Tom Jesson. That you, Dick?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Hurry up, fellows! Your dad and the rest of them are in that cabin, Jack, and the place is awash. The water’s gaining every minute.”

The boys groped their way to his side in a jiffy. There was no time for greetings just then. The three lads rushed for the door of the cabin in which Jack’s father and the others were imprisoned. But a shock awaited them. There was no key in the outside of the door. Nor did it yield to Jack’s furious poundings.

“Dad! dad! are you all right?” cried the boy.

“Thank Heaven it’s you, Jack!” came from within. “Get this door open somehow, will you? The water in here is rising all the time.”

“Yes,—yes,” responded Jack, feeling about desperately for some means of opening that door.

While he did so, the three boys were almost thrown off their feet by the sudden settling of the yacht as she subsided more deeply into the land which she had struck.

In the darkness some object came rolling across the cabin floor. It struck Jack’s knees, inflicting a painful blow. But the boy gave a simultaneous exclamation of delight.

“Hurrah! Here’s just the thing!” he cried, “one of the cabin chairs. They must have unscrewed it to feed the furnaces with.”

He stooped and picked it up.

“Stand back from the door inside there!” he shouted as he swung it over his head and brought it smashingly against the wood. Again and again his strong arms brought the heavy iron support of the swivel chair against the cabin door. At the fourth stroke the wood splintered, and in a few seconds the door was fairly burst from its hinges and three men rushed out from within, followed by a gush of water. The break in the yacht’s side had occurred in the plates outside the cabin in which Mr. Chadwick and his companions were confined. When Jack released them the water had already risen above the lower berth and was pouring in in an ever increasing stream. Fifteen minutes later and the boys might have been too late.

It was no time for explanations. The cabin floor was more steeply inclined than ever since the fresh subsidence of the stranded craft, and they made for the companionway stairs. As they reached the deck, Jack noticed that even in the brief space of time that they had been below, the wind had perceptibly decreased in violence.

But the lightning still played vividly, and in its glare they saw two figures advancing toward them. They were Medway and Hemming. Both had revolvers in their hands.

“Get back down below!” shouted Medway, as he drew near.

“But the whole place is awash!” cried Jack indignantly. “The deck is the only safe place.”

“I don’t care. You get below or——”

A sailor, one of the few left on board since the dereliction of the rest of the crew, approached Medway, and pulling his arm to attract attention, said something to him.

“Keep back there, you,” cried Medway with a threatening flourish of his pistol.

Then he and Hemming turned and followed the sailor to the stern of the boat. The group of rescued prisoners remained where they were. In the mood Medway was in, it didn’t appear safe to interfere with his wishes, and as they could not have bettered their condition by following the man, they made no move to do so.

While they stood there, talking in low tones and discussing their perilous situation, the storm perceptibly weakened in force. Like most tropical hurricanes it had spent its fury in a few hours and was now sweeping north, having inflicted irreparable damage to the once staunch yacht. In another hour’s time the wind had died down to a stiff breeze, and the sea was no longer raging as it had when the Valkyrie struck.

“I vunder vot has become of dot feller Medvay?” said the professor presently. “Ach! dot rascal, he has broken my beautiful yachts und ruined mein expedition.”

“It is odd that he doesn’t show up,” said Mr. Chadwick.

“I haven’t noticed anyone about for some time,” declared Tom. “I wonder what has become of him. Maybe he is up to some fresh mischief.”

“Dunno as there’s much more the pesky varmit kin do,” commented Captain Sprowl, a down-easter from Maine, and the veteran of many tempestuous voyages. “Consarn him,” he went on angrily, “he’d look uncommon well decorating the end of a yard arm, according to my way of thinking.”

“I know a few that ought to keep him company,” declared Jack, the way in which they had been treated rankling within him. “Tell you what,” he continued presently, “I’m going to have a look about the deck.”

“Be careful,” warned his father, “those rascals are capable of any mischief.”

“As if Tom and I didn’t know that!” responded Jack. “But I’ll be on the lookout, dad. Don’t worry. Come on, Tom.”

The two boys made off into the darkness which was now illumined only by an occasional fitful flash from the departing storm. It was some little time before they returned. When they did the news they brought gave the little party a galvanic shock.

“They’ve gone! Deserted! Left us cold!” cried Tom.

“What!” cried his uncle.

“That’s right,” confirmed Jack. “The stern boat, the only one that was left, is missing from the davits. They must have waited for the sea to go down and then made off, leaving us to our fate.”

“Wa’al, cuss their blue-nosed pelts!” roared Captain Sprowl. “I’d give all I have to get my hands on ‘em for jus’ erbout ten seconds.”

But neither the captain’s righteous wrath nor the just indignation of the rest of the deserted party could disguise the fact that they were left, boatless and marooned on a craft leaking like a sieve, castaways on an unknown coast.