He clicked away at the camera crank, and then exclaimed:

"No, no! I said to the left. You're putting me to the right."

"Oh, so I am. I was watching that storm. I don't like the looks of things, Russ. I believe we're going to be in for it sooner than they thought."

"It does look as though it were going to burst," Russ agreed, as he looked up from the "finder" of his machine long enough to take a glimpse at the weather. "Mr. Pertell said he'd signal us with a flag when he thought we had enough, but I don't see anything of a signal, do you?"

"No," answered the gloomy actor, who had not been needed in the present scenes. "And I wish I could see it. It's getting too rough out here for me, even if we have a good boat," and he adjusted the gasoline feed to give a little more power to the engine.

"Well, it's getting almost too dark to get any more pictures, anyhow," Russ declared. "We sure are in for a blow. It's coming up fast too. We'd better get back to the ship without waiting for a signal. They may have hoisted one, that we didn't see."

"That's it, I think!" cried the other. "Say, where is the schooner, anyhow?"

Russ, who was taking the tripod from his camera looked up quickly.

"Why, can't you see her?" asked the young operator.

"No, and I don't believe you can, either, nor can your camera find her. She's disappeared!"

"Disappeared? Nonsense!" Russ cried. "It's just that the sea mist has come up and hidden her. It will blow away in a moment. Say, but it is getting rough!"

Well might he say that, for he could hardly keep his footing on the platform where he had stood to make the views. He came down into the half-covered cabin which formed the forward part of the Ajax.

"Well, where is the schooner, if you can see her?" growled Pepper Sneed. "Steer for her if you can sight her—I can't!"

He seemed morose and angry. Perhaps it was just fear. Russ did not stop to determine that point. The operator took the steering wheel, first standing up to get an idea of his course.

"Say, it is getting dark!" he cried. "Well, we'll have to go it blind. We'll pick up the schooner in a minute or two, I expect. She ought to be right over there," and he pointed.

"Where?" asked Mr. Sneed.

"There," said Russ again.

"Humph! You're away off!" declared his companion. "The last I saw her, and I was headed right for her, she was over there," and he indicated a direction differing from that Russ had shown by at least forty-five degrees.

"I wish they'd show a light!" Russ murmured as he tried to peer through the mist and the gathering darkness. "Why don't they show a light? We could see that!"

"Maybe they don't know we're lost," suggested Pepper Sneed.

"Lost!" cried Russ. "We're not lost! We'll be up to them in a minute or so, but I do wish they'd show a light."

The motorboat Ajax was chugging over the heaving water at good speed, but as far as the eyes of either of her occupants could see, she might have been driving straight into the utter desolation of a vast ocean, for not an object was in sight.

The wind had again taken up that nerve-racking moaning and groaning sound, as of an unseen giant in distress, and the spray from the crests of the waves blew in the faces of the two young men, as they crouched down behind the shelter of the half-cabin.

It seemed as though the storm had begun, had halted in its purpose, or had gone off momentarily in some other direction, and was now headed back, to sweep destruction down on those aboard the Mary Ellen, and the two in the motorboat.

But where was the Mary Ellen?

That was a question Russ and Mr. Sneed asked of themselves over and over again as they drove into the very teeth of the storm. They had to head into it, as in the small boat no other course would have been safe. Fortunately the Ajax was built dory-fashion, with high bow and stern, after the pattern of the skiffs in which the fishermen of the New Foundland banks go out in heavy weather.

"What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Sneed, as Russ increased the speed of the engine, so that the small craft fairly tore up the inclined hills of green waters, which the waves represented, and slid down them with sickening speed on the other slope.

"I'm going to keep on until I find her—find the schooner," Russ said, grimly. "That's all we can do. But I can't understand why they don't show a light."

"Maybe they're having troubles of their own," suggested the actor.

"Well, they could shout, so as to let us know where to steer," Russ went on, rather provoked.

"We could do that ourselves," Pepper Sneed said.

"Do what?" asked Russ, hardly conscious of what he was saying, for just then a heavy wave threatened to swamp the dory, and it required skillful handling to keep her from being swamped.

"We could yell," suggested Mr. Sneed. "Come on, give 'em a call!"

Russ agreed to this, and, standing up, so their voices would carry better, and bracing themselves against the tumbling, swaying motion of the craft, they sent out a cry for aid—and yet not so much a cry for aid, as they were not yet in distress, but a cry for direction.

"If I could only see where to steer," Russ exclaimed, when they had paused in their yelling, well-nigh exhausted, "it wouldn't be so bad! But I can't see a thing. It's getting darker every minute. I never saw such a funny storm."

"It's coming up all right," declared the actor. "Going to blow great guns soon."

"It's blowing them now," said Russ, grimly, as he clung to the wheel. "I can hardly keep her on the course."

"What's the use of steering a course when you don't know whether it's right or not?" asked the actor.

"Well, I'm not going to give up," Russ said, grimly. "I think I'm headed for the schooner, though I ought to have fetched her sooner than this, at the speed we're going."

"Perhaps she's blowing away from us," suggested Mr. Sneed.

"That's it!" Russ cried. "Why didn't I think of that before? She's running away from us. She can't help it, though, for she must scud before this storm. We've got to increase our speed to catch up to her. The wind and our engine ought to be more than a match for her sails alone. I'll put on more speed."

The wind was now a howling gale.

Suddenly, as they drove on, the motor seemed to increase its speed.

"What's that?" asked Mr. Sneed. "I thought you had her running at her limit."

"So did I," Russ answered, bending over the machinery. Then he cried: "She's racing! We've lost our propeller! We're disabled in this storm!"



CHAPTER XX

IN THE VORTEX

"Haven't we looked distressed long enough?"

"I'm going below. I can't bear to watch that storm!"

The speakers were Alice and Ruth DeVere respectively, and they were leaning over the rail of the Mary Ellen, peering off into the swirl of driving mists, and across the heaving waters toward where the motorboat had been last seen.

"Yes, I think Russ has enough pictures," Mr. Pertell said in answer to the remark of Alice. "I think you all looked sufficiently distressful. If the scenes of the shipwreck itself go as well as the first part of the drama has gone, we'll have a fine film."

"Then may I go below?" asked Ruth. "I don't like the looks of the weather."

"It does seem as though we'd get the storm after all," her father remarked.

"Go below, by all means," assented the manager. "We have done enough for today, and I'll signal Russ to come in, if he hasn't already started to do so. My, but this wind is blowing a regular gale!"

Others than Ruth found it uncomfortable on deck, and there was a general movement toward the cabins which had been fitted up with considerable comfort, even if the craft was an old one.

But just then, when there was a partial calm before another burst of fury on the part of the storm, something occurred that threw the ship into a flurry of excitement for a time. The sailors were making some changes in the craft's canvas, when suddenly the throat and peak halyards of the mainsail either parted, or, coming loose from the cleats, came down on the run. The effect was to lower the sail so quickly, and in such a fashion, with the wind blowing hard against it, that there was a crash, a banging and booming of the canvas, and the boom and gaff. The first mate, who was standing near the mast, was knocked down, narrowly escaping going overboard.

"Oh, what has happened?" cried Ruth.

"Be still!" commanded Alice, clutching her sister by the arm. "Yelling isn't going to do any good. We're not hurt."

They were standing near a companionway, well out of reach of the falling sail.

"Oh, we're sinking! We're sinking!" screamed Miss Dixon.

"And the sharks! The terrible sharks in the water!" hysterically added her friend.

The other ladies of the party were very much frightened, naturally, not only by the accident to the sail, but by the screams of the two former vaudeville actresses.

"Lively now, men!" called Jack Jepson, who happened to be nearest the confusion of tangled ropes and sail. "Get him below. He doesn't seem to be much hurt."

He pointed to the motionless body of the first mate. A quick examination showed that the man was badly stunned, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries, as far as could be told.

"Up with her now! Up with her!" the second mate cried, as he gave orders for hoisting the sail again, for the schooner was not under proper control with the main canvas down, and a storm coming up rapidly. The sail had been reefed, so the gaff had not fallen as far as otherwise would have been the case.

"What's the matter?" shouted Captain Brisco who came up from his cabin with Hen Lacomb. The two were seldom apart of late. A glance served to tell the commander what had happened. He saw that Jack Jepson had matters well in hand, and though Alice guessed that Captain Brisco had no love for his second mate, the commander knew seamanship when he saw it.

"Lively now!" he cried. "That's the idea! We'll run before the gale now."

"But the motorboat!" cried Ruth, who had conquered her desire to flee to the cabin, and hide her eyes and ears from such nerve-racking sights and sounds. "Where is the Ajax—and Mr. Sneed—and—Russ?" she faltered.

"They'll probably be coming in now," the captain said, but he did not take the trouble to look around and see. "We can't wait for them in this wind," he went on.

"But we must wait for him!" Ruth cried, getting excited. "We can't go off and leave them in that motorboat, on the ocean, in a storm! We must wait!" She started toward Captain Brisco, with her hands held out appealingly.

Alice was wildly looking around for a sight of the smaller craft. She had seen it just before the sail fell, but now there was nothing about the schooner but a bare waste of waters.

She knew enough about the technical side of moving pictures to realize that for some time, it had been too dark to take any film. Russ must have known that, too, and would have started back for the schooner. But if he had, where was he now?

Alice asked herself that question as she looked around.

"You must wait for him!" cried Ruth.

"Who? What's this?" demanded Mr. Pertell, for he had been hurrying to and fro, making sure none of the members of his company had been injured in the slight accident.

"Russ hasn't come back," volunteered Alice, who almost always spoke ahead of her sister.

"He's out there!" Ruth found voice to say, "and Captain Brisco isn't going to wait for him."

"You can't hold a ship still on the ocean, and a storm coming up!" the commander cried, as though to justify himself. "We've got to run for it. It would be madness now to lay to."

"But we can't desert Russ and Mr. Sneed!" cried the manager. "I thought he was coming in. What shall we do? We must do something! I shouldn't have asked him to risk it!"

The schooner was rapidly forging ahead, even under reefed sails, so powerful was the wind.

"We could work around," said Jack Jepson, who had come up on deck after seeing the first mate comfortably bestowed in his berth. "We could work around and——"

"Who's in charge of this ship; you or me?" snapped Captain Brisco.

"You are, of course," was the quiet answer.

"Well then, have the goodness to keep still and let me manage matters. I'm giving orders—not you!"

Poor Jack slunk back, smarting under the undeserved rebuke.

"I don't care who is in command!" cried Mr. Pertell. "This is my ship and you're under my orders, Captain Brisco. I order you to pick up that motorboat!"

"And I tell you we can't do it! They've got to come to us, we can't go to them. They're not dependent on the wind as we are. They can travel any direction they like, and they'll have to head for us."

"But we must make some effort to find them!" cried the manager. "It would be wicked—criminal not to."

"Look here!" cried Captain Brisco. "You are the owner of this schooner, it is true, and as such you are my superior, but the law gives me supreme command of this craft at sea, unless I'm dead, or otherwise deposed. And I tell you I won't risk all these lives by trying to beat back in the teeth of this wind, to pick up a motorboat. It would be worse than criminal—worse than wicked to do it. It would endanger all on board!"

There was some logic in that. Even Mr. Pertell, exercised as he was by the threatened danger to Russ, could appreciate that.

"But we must do something," the manager repeated.

"I'm doing all I can," Captain Brisco replied. "I'll shorten sail down to the minimum; that will keep us before the wind, and out of the trough of the sea! More I can't do. We must depend on them to pick us up. They ought to be able to do it. You told me Dalwood could manage a boat."

"So he can—but—"

There was ominous meaning in the broken-off sentence.

"Well, we'll do the best we can," concluded Captain Brisco. "They will have to take chances, as we're doing."

He went forward to give some orders.

Those aboard the schooner peered anxiously over the storm swept waters for a sight of the motor craft, but they saw nothing. They shouted and called, but only the wind howled back at them.

Then, with a suddenness that was appalling, they seemed to be flung into the midst of a hurricane. The wind lashed the sea to fury, and the Mary Ellen spun around like some gigantic top.

"We're in the vortex!" cried Jack Jepson. "We're in the vortex of a cyclone! All hands look to themselves!"



CHAPTER XXI

WRECKED

Confusion on board a ship in a storm may be real confusion and riot, or it may only seem so to those not used to the sea. Often what is a hopelessly tangled mass of sails, ropes, spars and gears to the landsman, is as clear to a sailor as a skein of yarn is to an experienced knitter, who can ply her needles in the dark.

It was so on the Mary Ellen when the storm, that had been so long threatening, and half-performing, broke in all its fury.

There was a tangle of ropes, a banging and slamming of canvas, which, stretched taut and to its utmost, was as stiff as a board. There was a rattling of blocks and the creaking of the boom-crotches against the masts. The squeak of the gaffs higher up added to the din.

The shouting of Captain Brisco, and the answering calls of his men did not lessen the confusion.

"Lower away! Lower away!" the commander cried, ordering even the already doubly-reefed sails gotten down, so the powerful wind would have less resistance. Even with the small area of canvas shown, the craft was being heeled over until the scuppers—or the holes by which water runs off the deck—dipped under the waves, and there was plenty of sea aboard.

"Set that storm jib!" came the next order, when the main sails had been furled, and that was no easy task with the sharp pitching and tossing of the schooner. Not a very seamanlike job was made of it, but there was no time for the finer touches. The sails were just clewed up to prevent them from blowing away, until more time could be devoted to them.

The storm jib, which is the sail furthest front on a vessel, unless it be a flying jib, was set to give her enough way so she would respond to the helm, for it was necessary to keep the craft before the wind, and head on to the seas—that is, the big waves must be cut and broken by the sharp prow, or bow, for had they come at the schooner sideways, she would have been swamped instantly.

Even the small area of the storm jib was hardly necessary. The Mary Ellen, in that blow, would have scudded along fairly well "under bare poles," that is with no sails set at all. Even Captain Brisco had his doubts about the storm jib resisting. It might pull away from the holding ropes at any moment. But its loss would do no harm, for it would only be blown out to sea, and there were enough spare sails.

So, as I have said, order came out of confusion, but even the order was somewhat confused, at least to the members of the moving picture company. They had been ordered below, and had managed, somehow, to get there, though more than one received bumps and bruises on the pitching, tossing companionway.

"Oh, what an awful storm!" complained Miss Dixon, when they were huddled in the cabin.

"Isn't it awful—terrible!" agreed her companion. "I am frightened to death. We may sink at any minute."

"Oh, not so much danger of that in a wooden ship," said Paul consolingly. He wished the two former vaudeville actresses would try to have a little courage.

"I am so frightened," murmured Miss Pennington. "I wish Captain Brisco would come down here."

"What for?" asked Alice, hardly able to keep the contempt out of her voice.

"So he could tell us if we are in any danger, and what we ought to do," was the selfish answer. "He must save us!"

"He's trying to save the ship!" said Alice, "and you two ought to be ashamed of yourselves at a time like this. Think of poor Russ and Mr. Sneed out in that motorboat all alone!"

"Oh, but they—they're men," faltered Miss Dixon.

"Then why don't you try to be women!" snapped Alice.

"Hush, my dear," said her sister gently.

"I can't!" was the answer. "When I think of poor Russ——"

"I'm going to put on a life preserver," exclaimed Miss Pennington, favoring Alice with a frosty stare.

"Perhaps that would be a good plan for us, my dears," said Mr. DeVere to his daughters. "It can do no harm, at all events."

"No," admitted Alice. "But we appear to be all right—for the time being, at least."

It seemed quieter up on deck now, for the sailors had ceased rushing about adjusting the canvas, though there was still plenty of noise. There was the rattle and bang of blocks, the whipping about of ends of ropes, the slap, now and then, of the storm jib, as it was whipped back and forth. Now and then a heavy sea would fall on deck with a crash.

At such times the Mary Ellen, stout as she was, would tremble from stem to stern, and those in the cabin would shiver and look at one another apprehensively.

"Come on, Laura," called Miss Pennington to her companion. "Let's take all the precautions we can. We'll put on life preservers. But oh, I daren't think of being in the water with all those sharks."

"Don't talk that way!" said Paul in a sharp whisper, as he saw Ruth shrink back at the word "shark."

Miss Pennington did not deign to answer, but she and her friend were soon struggling with the straps of a life preserver. At this moment Captain Brisco came down into the cabin.

"What does this mean?" he asked, and his voice was stern.

"We—we are getting ready for an—an emergency," faltered Miss Pennington.

"Well, there won't be any emergency—at least not for a while," the commander said grimly "We are doing very well. If you want to be uncomfortable do so, and put on those cork jackets. But there is no need of it. I'll give you plenty of warning if the ship is likely to founder, and we'll lower the boats."

"Is there any real danger, Captain?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"Well, of course there always is, in a storm at sea. But we are in no more danger than hundreds of others. This is a wooden ship, and it will be a long time sinking, even if it gets to that point, which is far off. We haven't leaked a drop yet, and we're running before the storm nicely. You need have no fears."

"That's what I thought!" exclaimed Alice, with a look at the two former stage actresses.

"Humph!" sniffed Miss Dixon. "Any one would think you were a sailor."

"She's a good deal better 'n some," said Jack Jepson coming into the cabin then to report something to Captain Brisco.

"Then you would not advise us to put on life preservers?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"Not now, at least," the captain replied. "I have done everything possible, and the only thing now is to run before the storm. We are in good shape. The Mary Ellen is a better craft than I gave her credit for being. The only thing to do is to wait, and hope for the best."

"Have you plenty of lifeboats?" the old actor wanted to know.

"Yes, enough for all hands. They are provisioned and watered, and are staunch craft. My men have orders to stand by in case of any real danger, and put the small boats over. But we will stick to the ship until the last, though that is not saying, mind you, that we will have to desert her."

"Oh! I couldn't think of going in one of those small boats!" cried Miss Dixon. "They are so low in the water. I should faint every time I looked over the side."

"Well if she looked once, and fainted and stayed so, it would be a good thing for all hands," murmured Paul Ardite.

"Oh, don't say that," Alice reproached him.

"That's how I feel about her," he answered.

"What can be done about picking up the motorboat?" asked Mr. DeVere. They all looked anxiously toward Captain Brisco.

"I have a man on the lookout," answered the commander. "It may seem to some of you heartless to go away and leave her."

"It was," murmured gentle Ruth. But she only whispered the words. There were tears in her eyes.

"But I could do nothing else," resumed Captain Brisco. "As I told you, a vessel can't remain stationary on the sea. We had to move on before the gale. And, as I also said, the motorboat has a better chance of going where she wants to than have we, who must depend on our sails. I have no doubt but that the two in the Ajax are safe."

But if Captain Brisco, or any of those then huddled in the cabin of the Mary Ellen, could have seen Russ and Mr. Sneed just then they would not have envied them.

With the racing of the engine, indicating to Russ that the propeller had dropped off into the sea, he at once shut off the power. Without the resistance of the screw the machine would soon have racked itself to pieces.

"Well, what's to be done?" asked Mr. Sneed.

"That's the way to talk," was the response. "We've got to do something, that's sure."

The storm which at that moment was enveloping the Mary Ellen was, at the same time, buffeting about the smaller motorboat. When she lost headway by the stopping of her engine she no longer took the seas head, or bow, on. She fell into the trough, and was in imminent danger of being swamped.

"We've got to bring her up, the first thing we do," Russ decided. "What we need is a drag anchor. That will bring her head on to the waves, and we can ride them better until help comes."

"Will help ever come?" asked the actor, despondently.

"Of course it will. Or else we'll find the schooner, or they us!" responded Russ.

While he was talking, he was looking about for something to use as a drag anchor.

"That will do!" Russ decided as he saw a heavy wooden box. "I'll use that." Quickly he tied a rope to it, and tossed the box out.

"This is better!" exclaimed Russ. "Now let's take an account of stock, and see what else we can do. We may be here for some time."

"We can't live very long in this awful weather!" groaned, rather than spoke, Mr. Sneed.

"Oh, don't give up so easily," said Russ.

But when the storm grew worse, and the tiny craft was buffeted about, shipping considerable water, even stout-hearted Russ was not as hopeful as he had been. He had stowed the camera in a safe place, and put the films in a water-tight box well forward. Then the only thing to do was to wait. In vain he scanned the sea through the storm for a sight of the schooner. He could catch no glimpse of her.

Meanwhile the lookout on the Mary Ellen was eagerly watching for any signs of the Ajax, but he had even less chance of seeing her than Russ and Mr. Sneed did of sighting the larger vessel.

The storm was constantly growing worse. As old Jack had said, the schooner had actually been caught in the very vortex of it, but the whirling motion, imparted by the meeting of two different wind currents, had been the saving of the craft. She had been shunted to the outer edge, as a cork, going around in a whirlpool, is sometimes tossed to safety by the very violence of the motion.

Then she had scudded before the gale.

All that night they scudded before the storm, not knowing where they were, and when morning came there was a wild and tumultuous waste of waters all about them. Alice ventured up on deck, against the advice of her father and sister.

She saw Jack Jepson and some sailors amidships. They seemed to be in earnest consultation. Alice drew near them, intending to ask if there were any news.

As she came near the mainmast, there was a sudden veer to the craft, a snapping, splintering sound, and the mast, with its gear of sail, boom and gaff crashed over the side, smashing the stout bulwarks.

"Look out, gal!" hoarsely cried Old Jack, and he snatched Alice back only just in time, for the mast splintered down right in front of her.

With the crash and splintering of the wood, and the breaking of the side of the schooner, there arose the cry of:

"We're wrecked! We're wrecked!"



CHAPTER XXII

"MUTINY!"

Jack Jepson's first thought was to get Alice to a place of safety.

"You shouldn't have come up!" he shouted in her ear, as he fairly carried her along the sloping deck. He had to shout to be heard above the roar of the wind, the pounding of the broken mast against the side of the schooner, and the swish of the salt water whipped into spray by the powerful gale.

Jack set Alice down at the head of the companionway, and indicated by gestures, rather than words, that she was to go below. As she descended the sloping stairs, holding to the rope rail to prevent stumbling, she saw Captain Brisco spring forward. Whatever else he was, the commander did not shrink from any emergency.

"Cut away that mast!" he cried. "She'll have us stove in if we don't cut her loose!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Jack.

He and several other sailors had seized axes as soon as the result of the crash was seen, and now sprang to the broken bulwarks, over which the mainmast lay, the jagged end of it in the water, pounding against the side of the schooner at every roll, and threatening to punch a hole in her as a battering ram punctures a wall.

"Strike hard, men!" called Jack, and the sound of their axes followed. Ropes were severed with a blow, but the wire shrouds were tougher, and it was not until several minutes had passed that the mast, with its tangle of sails and ropes, was chopped free to float away on the crest of a billow.

"Get up the mizzen storm sail!" ordered Captain Brisco. "She's falling off!"

The schooner was indeed in danger of wallowing in the trough of the big waves.

Pausing only for a moment, the sailors who had labored so valiantly at cutting loose the broken mast, sprang to get more sail on the craft. She was deprived of the reefed, or shortened, one that had been on the stick which was now overboard, and the jib was not enough to hold her head to the waves.

"What is it? Oh what is it?" gasped Miss Pennington as Alice fell, rather than walked down the companionway into the cabin.

"Are we sinking?" demanded Miss Dixon.

"Not at all!" answered Alice, catching her breath, and, with a shake of her head freeing her face from the salty spray that had drenched her. "It isn't anything at all."

She determined to make light of it, even though her own heart was beating like a hammer at the thought of her narrow escape from possible death.

Alice really did not know whether there was any danger or not from the fall of the mast. She had often read of such things happening, and she remembered that the masts were always "cut away." So she supposed, as long as this was being done, that the proper course was being followed.

"There's no danger at all," she said, speaking more calmly now.

"No danger!" cried Miss Pennington. "Listen to that!"

It was the noise of sailors on deck chopping away the mast-gear.

"Oh, one of those upright sticks, that they hang the sails on, fell over. Not enough glue on it, I guess," said Alice, calmly.

"Not enough glue!" gasped Paul. "Well, I never—"

"Can't you take a joke?" Alice whispered to him, as she saw that her minimizing of the accident was having its effect.

"Oh, yes, of course!" Paul exclaimed. "Not enough glue on it—Oh yes!" and he had to turn away to keep from smiling at the idea of a mast,—that is the most firmly set of anything on a ship, (being indeed almost an integral part of it)—the idea of that being stayed with glue was enough to make almost anyone smile, even in the midst of danger.

The sounds on the deck gradually became more quiet. The danger seemed to be over for the time being. The moving picture actors and actresses crowded around Alice to hear her story of the accident. She carefully avoided mentioning her own peril, but she resolved to properly thank old Jack later. Just now Alice did not want her father to worry. His throat was troubling him, because of the amount of salt spray in the air.

On deck Captain Brisco and Jack Jepson took charge of matters until the wreckage had been cleared away. And a lot of wreckage there was. The Mary Ellen looked little like the trim, schooner that had left New York a few weeks before.

Jack Jepson stepped close to the stump of the mainmast. He gave one look at it, and uttered a single word.

"Rotten!" he exclaimed.

"What's that?" cried Captain Brisco sharply.

"Rotten!" repeated the mate. "That mast had dry rot to the very core. Only the varnish held her together."

"What's that to you?" cried the captain in angry tones. "You keep your opinions to yourself! When I want 'em, I'll ask for 'em! Now get below and see if we're taking in any water."

"Very well, sir," was the answer, but Jack gave the captain a queer look.

He found some water coming in, but not more, he thought, than the pumps could take care of, so he reported the matter only to Captain Brisco.

"That's good," the commander said, seemingly well pleased. "I guess they can have their fake shipwreck after all, if the weather clears."

As the day advanced, the storm lulled slightly, but it was still rough. Those of the moving picture company who ventured up on deck went below again with white, scared faces at the sight of the wreckage of the mainmast. For it did look doleful.

"This shipwreck comes pretty near being real," said Mr. Pertell. "If we could only photograph it now, it would make a fine film."

"Can't you?" asked Alice.

"Yes, I suppose I could make some views."

A few hundred feet of film were exposed by one of the operators, but the pretended shipwreck would need to be taken from a small boat, and the sea was too rough to admit of that.

Then the storm, that had given them a brief respite, began again, worse than before. The schooner was tossed about like a toy, and the mizzenmast was sprung so that no sail could be rigged on it.

Then when a great wave struck the craft, washing over her from stem to stern, the work of the ocean and the storm elements seemed completed. The Mary Ellen staggered under the blow like some living thing, and she did not rise to it as buoyantly as she had before.

Jack Jepson came rushing up from below.

"We're leaking fast!" he cried. "We'd better take to the boats, Captain Brisco! The pumps won't work!"

"The boats! Nonsense!" the captain cried. "We'll ride it out here. The schooner is all right!"

"I tell you she's sinking!" yelled Jack. "We must take to the boats."

"What? Do you dare give orders in my face!" stormed Captain Brisco. "This is mutiny, sir! This is mutiny! I'll put you in irons!" and with raised fist he started toward the old sailor.



CHAPTER XXIII

HELP AT LAST

Jack Jepson was a brave man. He proved it then by standing unflinchingly in front of the angry captain, when shrinking back might have meant a blow that would have brought about a general fight. Seeing him standing there fearlessly, made Captain Brisco pause. And that gave the others time for action.

"What does this mean?" cried Mr. Pertell.

"He is trying to start a mutiny as he did once before!" fairly yelled Captain Brisco.

"I never started a mutiny before, and I'm not trying to do so now!" retorted Jack, and he seemed to have lost much of his timid simplicity. "I tell you the ship is sinking, and we had best take to the boats while there is time."

"And I tell you that you are wrong!" snarled Captain Brisco. "I order you below!"

"And I won't go, until I have told these people what is going on here!" retorted Jack Jepson.

"If that isn't mutiny, I'd like to know what is," cried the captain.

"Well, if that's mutiny, then I'm glad to be a mutineer!" shouted the old salt, "and any court in the land would uphold me, for I am trying to save lives, and you're trying to throw 'em away."

"Throw 'em away! What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," replied Jack, and there was significance in his voice. "I won't say anything about putting to sea in a ship that wasn't fit—with masts that were nothin' but dry rot, and with pumps that only half work at best. And I won't say anything about your plot—there isn't time now. But I will say——"

"A plot!" cried Alice, who, with Ruth, stood near her father.

"Yes, a plot, Miss!" Jack Jepson cried. "I'll tell you about it later. But now we've got to do something. The water's comin' in fast, and if we can't stop it, we'll have to take to the boats."

"Look here!" stormed Captain Brisco, and his voice was almost in keeping with the howl of the gale all about them, and almost as raucous as the salty spray that flew over everything. "Look here! Who is captain of this ship?"

"You are," replied Jack quietly enough. He looked the angry man full in the eye, and the half-raised fist of the commander fell again.

"Then if I'm captain, I'm going to be obeyed!" came next. "I order you below, Jepson. You're no longer mate of this craft. You're deposed! Hen Lacomb, I hereby appoint you first mate until my regular one recovers, and you, Hankinson, you're second mate. Lively now. Jepson, go below, and if he makes any more trouble, Hen, clap him in irons," he added significantly.

For a moment there was silence following this announcement—that is, as much quiet as the storm permitted. Then Alice cried out:

"Father, won't you say something! Mr. Pertell, you're not going to permit this, are you? I'm sure Jack Jepson is honest and that he is faithfully warning us. Don't let him be put down this way. Ask him what he means by a plot!"

"Oh, Alice!" protested her sister. "At a time like this—when we may all be drowned!"

"We'll all be drowned worse, maybe, if Jack's advice isn't taken. What is it?" she asked, appealing to the old sailor. "What is the plot you spoke of?"

"Ask him?" cried the old salt, pointing an accusing finger at the captain. "Ask him, and if he doesn't tell you, I will. Talk about a mutiny! It wouldn't be half as bad as his plot for getting possession of this vessel."

"What's that!" cried Captain Brisco, starting forward. "You dare accuse me——"

"Yes, you and Hen Lacomb!" cried Jack, who seemed to have acquired a new boldness. "I charge you with plotting to make a fizzle of the shipwreck these picture people planned. You were going to pretend the vessel was sinking, before the time set for the pictures, and you were going to get them to abandon the schooner. Then you and Lacomb were going to come back to the ship later, take her to some secret port, fit her out again and use her for your own purposes.

"That's the plot! That's what I overheard you and Lacomb plannin', and when you suspected I knew, you thought I'd be better off in the sea. That's how I happened to go overboard. I was thrown! That's what I charge you with. Deny it if ye dare!" and he pointed an accusing finger at the two men. "You threw me overboard, Hen Lacomb! And Captain Brisco planned to have you do it!"

Captain Brisco appeared to struggle with some emotion. His face went red and white by turns. He seemed unable to speak. But at last he choked out:

"What! You dare say that to me. You accuse me——!"

"Yes, and I have the proof!" cried Jack. "Here's the agreement you made Lacomb sign. You were afraid to trust to him unless he made a promise in writing, and here it is. I found it in the secret compartment in your cabin. Your cabin that used to be mine in the old Mary Ellen. That's how I made sure this ship was the old one I used to serve on, made over. I found this agreement! It's the proof of what I say. Deny it if you can."

"Why—why—" stammered the captain. "Do you dare—" but it seemed he could not get any farther. He glanced at Hen Lacomb who stood near him. A meaning look passed between the two men, and Hen started edging around toward Jack Jepson.

"Father! Mr. Pertell!" cried Alice. "Let us have this settled! Jack has made charges. They may be true or they may not be. But our lives surely are in danger if this vessel is sinking."

"And I say she isn't sinking! She's as sound as a bell below the water line!" cried the captain.

"And I say she has a hole stove in her, an' unless it's stopped we'll be at the bottom in a few hours!" cried Jack. "The mast knocked a hole in her and she's takin' water fast. The pumps are no good, but they can be fixed with a little work on 'em."

"Keep still!" the captain shouted. "You're under arrest as a mutineer."

"No he isn't!" exclaimed Mr. Pertell. "This is my vessel. I'm the chief owner of it, and I here and now depose you as captain, Mr. Brisco, and appoint Jack Jepson in your place!"

There was a gasp of baffled rage from the former commander.

"Jack, take charge," said Mr. Pertell. "Select as mates whoever you want. We'll go into this matter of the plot later. Just now we must save the ship if we can. Everything must give way to that. Do you accept?"

"What! Him captain?" cried Hen Lacomb, who was edging nearer and nearer to Jack all this while.

"Why not?" asked Mr. Pertell.

"He doesn't know how to navigate. He'll run us aground."

"I wish he would run us on der ground!" murmured Mr. Switzer. "I haf hat enough of der ocean. Der ground is goot enough for me."

"I can navigate!" cried Jack. "I hold a master's certificate, though I've only filled mates' berths of late."

"I—I refuse to serve under him," stormed Captain Brisco. "And when we reach port, I shall lay this matter before the authorities. You can't depose a captain this way!"

"Can't I?" asked Mr. Pertell coolly. "I rather think I can. I looked up the law on the rights of owners before I started on this voyage. Jack Jepson is captain."

"And I refuse to serve under him."

"Very well. Then you can either work your passage, or pay for your passage, I don't care which. But I'm going to save this ship, and the lives of those aboard her, if I can."

There was a sudden little scuffle near Jack Jepson, and Hen Lacomb went sprawling on the deck.

"No you don't!" drawled Mr. Switzer in his most German comedian voice. "I think you haf fallen. Dit you hurt yourself?" he asked of the prostrate Hen.

The latter, with a growl, got to his feet, an angry look on his face.

"What happened?" asked Mr. Pertell.

"Oh, noddings dit happen," was the reply. "It iss only vat might haf happenet. He vas getting so close by Jack dot Jack might fall ofer board again, und ve don't vant to lose our new captain so soon yet," explained Mr. Switzer cheerfully.

He thus made light of the affair, but later it came out that Hen Lacomb had evidently had the intention of at least trying to pitch Jack overboard, as the easiest solution of the trouble of Captain Brisco and his crony.

"This is enough!" cried Mr. Pertell. "Jack, you're captain. Do what you like to insure the safety of us and the ship. Captain Brisco is no longer in command of this vessel," the manager went on to a wondering group of sailors. "I call for three cheers for Captain Jack Jepson!"

They were given with a will, for evidently Jack was a favorite, and the deposed captain was not. The latter slunk below followed by Hen Lacomb.

"We've got to try to stop that leak first of all!" said Jack, as he carefully put in his pocket the paper he had claimed was an agreement between Brisco and his crony. "I appoint Jim West as first mate and Frank Snyder as second!" the new captain went on. "Come below, you two, and we'll see what we can do. We've got to mend the pumps. Keep her about as she is," he ordered the steersman.

"Aye, aye, sir!" was the respectful answer. Jack was already developing new qualities as a commander.

"This is a distressing state of affairs," said Mr. DeVere.

"Not as bad as it might be," Mr. Pertell answered. "There is a chance for us now. I never dreamed that Brisco was such a scoundrel."

"Oh, I'm so glad Captain Jack is in charge!" cried Alice. "And I'm so glad he found out about the plot. Maybe this will help to clear him of the other unjust charge," she went on.

"Perhaps," agreed Ruth. "But oh, Alice! If we should sink!"

"Nonsense! We're not going to sink!"

And so it proved—at least the Mary Ellen was not doomed to go to the bottom at once. The storm still raged with seemingly unabated violence, but the sailors, under the direction of Captain Jepson, got a heavy piece of canvas over the worst leak, and then the repaired pumps kept the water in the hold down to a normal level.

The failure of the pumps to work, until Jack and the men fixed them was due to criminal negligence on the part of Brisco. He put to sea with this necessary part of a ship in poor condition, not thinking they would be needed.

Brisco was a desperate man, and so was Lacomb. They had been involved in more than one shady transaction, and though both may have been aboard with Jack, during the mutiny, they successfully covered their tracks.

Brisco and Lacomb sulked below, and, for the time being, no effort was made to bring them up and set them to work, though every hand was needed. Some of the members of the film company turned in and helped. It was thought better not to incite a fight.

So the Mary Ellen lurched on through the storm, a mere semblance of the gallant craft she had appeared to be on leaving port. And those aboard labored desperately to keep her afloat.

"Talk about a shipwreck!" gasped Mr. Pertell, as a wave drenched him, "this is the most realistic I ever saw. If I could only picture this!"

But it was impossible. How the planned drama of the sea would end, no one could tell.

"And oh! to think of poor Russ and Mr. Sneed out in this—if they are still out in it," murmured Alice, as she and Ruth clung to one another in their cabin.

"The Ajax may have survived," Ruth said, hopefully.

And indeed, at that moment, the motorboat was making the best of the bad weather.

The sea anchor which Russ had rigged provided the necessary drag and steerage way, and the boat's head was kept to the waves. Her high bow, and covered fore-part, enabled her to ride seas that would have swamped another craft of like size. And her dory-build added to her safety. The bank fishermen know well how to shape a boat to meet heavy seas.

"Well, we seem to be doing fairly well," said Russ, as he and his companion settled down in the shelter, to nibble at a bit of hard tack and drink some of the water Jack had put on board.

"Yes, I suppose it might be worse," agreed Mr. Sneed. And that, for him, was saying a great deal.

So the Ajax drifted on, as the Mary Ellen was driving, before the gale, the occupants of neither craft knowing aught of the others. And the storm still raged.

After a while Russ, for want of something better to do, began looking over the motor. Presently he discovered something that made him shout for joy.

"What is it?" asked his companion. "Do you see the schooner?"

"No, but I can make this boat run. Look, the propeller hasn't dropped off at all! The set screws of the sleeve have become loose and the propeller shaft didn't turn, that was all."

If any of you know anything about motor-boats, you know that the shaft which passes through the stuffing box, and to which shaft the propeller is fastened, is joined to the shaft of the engine by a coupling, or sleeve. If you take two lead pencils, and thrust an end of each into each end of a hollow, brass pencil holder, you will get an idea of what I mean. One pencil will represent the shaft to which the propeller is fastened, and the other the engine shaft. The brass holder is the coupling, or sleeve. In order that the shafts will be held rigidly together, turning at the same time, set screws in the sleeve are tightly turned down on the shaft, binding both in the sleeve.

It was the set screws on the propeller shaft that had loosed, allowing the sleeve to slip uselessly around, that had caused all the trouble. With a wrench Russ tightened the screws. He tested them, and, finding them firm, started the engine. A moment later the Ajax was moving over the waves under her own power.

"Hurray!" cried Mr. Sneed. "This is great!"

"And we don't need this any longer," Russ said, hauling in the drag anchor. Then, able to mount the waves, the motorboat was in much better condition for fighting the storm.

On and on she rushed. Hour after hour passed, but the gale showed no signs of abating. The two young men were weary and disheartened, when, as there came a little rift in the clouds Russ, who stood up to look about, gave a yell.

"What is it now?" asked Mr. Sneed. "More trouble?"

"No!" cried Russ. "I see a steamer. Help at last! I'm going straight for her!"



CHAPTER XXIV

A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS

Russ had been running the motor at moderate speed, for he did not know just how long the supply of gasoline would last, and he did not know as yet what might be before him and his companion in distress. But the sight of the steamer gave him hope, and he turned on full speed.

The Ajax was a powerful craft, though even a mighty steamer would not have found it easy to make headway in that sea and in that gale. The motor craft responded gallantly, and shot up on the crest of each wave, sliding down the opposite side as though she were going to investigate the uttermost depths of Father Neptune's caverns.

"Steamer! I don't see any steamer!" exclaimed Mr. Sneed, as he looked in the direction toward which the face of Russ was turned.

"You will when we both come on top of a wave at the same time," was the answer. "You see we lie so low in the water she can't see us, and we can't glimpse her until we're both on a crest together. She's off to the east there. Watch and you'll see her. Look now!"

At that moment the Ajax rose on a mighty wave, which lifted her high toward the sky, in which were now rifted clouds. Mr. Sneed glanced to where Russ pointed, and saw the long, black hull of a steamer, from whose stacks belched forth clouds of smoke, showing that her engines were being driven at top speed to overcome the storm.

"There she is!" cried Russ. "Now if we can only reach her, we'll be all right, and we can help the others."

"The others," murmured the actor.

"Yes, those on the Mary Ellen. She must be in trouble in this storm, for she isn't built for this sort of thing. It's a wonder she lasted as long as she did."

"Maybe she's at the bottom now," suggested Mr. Sneed.

"Cheerful, aren't you?" remarked Russ. "I thought you'd given that sort of thing up."

"I meant to. I really did. I'm sorry!" the other exclaimed, contritely enough. Really he was a different sort of Mr. Sneed from the "human grouch" who often made matters so unpleasant for members of the Comet Film Company. Since he and Russ had so nearly faced death, Mr. Sneed was much braver and more cheerful.

"I think she'll keep afloat for some time," Russ went on, "as she is all wood, you know. She may be pretty well battered, though."

If he could only have seen the hapless Mary Ellen then, he would have believed her quite battered indeed. For another rotten mast had fallen.

"Do you mean you're going to ask those on the steamer to look for the schooner," asked Mr. Sneed.

"That's what I'm going to do, if we can get to her," Russ said. "It's going to be nip and tuck, for she's going fast and she won't see us, as we're so low in the water. She's not heading in our direction, either, but I'll go after her on a long slant, and maybe I can reach her, or get near enough to make her see us. This is a pretty fast boat."

They were speeding over the waves, now down in a hollow, and again on the crest. Sometimes they would lose sight of the steamer altogether, and again they would catch a fleeting glimpse of her. And, when they did, she seemed farther off than ever.

"Oh, we'll never reach her!" said Mr. Sneed, despondently enough. "She'll never give us any aid."

"There you go!" cried Russ. "I thought you'd given up that sort of thing!"

"Well, I didn't mean just that," the actor said. "Perhaps we will make her see us after all."

"That's better!" exclaimed Russ. "We'll get her—or crack a cylinder!" and he tried to get a few more revolutions out of the fly wheel.

In spite of their brave front, Russ and his companion were sufficiently miserable. Their boat constantly shipped water, and they had to use the hand force pump, which, fortunately, was in the craft. A pump was connected with the cylinder cooling apparatus, designed to free the cockpit of bilge water, but the pump would not work.

Russ and Mr. Sneed were wet through, for the cabin could not be entirely closed against the spray. And they had nothing to eat except cold victuals. There was a gasoline stove aboard, but there was nothing to cook, for only an emergency ration had been put in the craft, and that was more because of a whim on the part of Jack Jepson, than because he really thought it would be needed.

But more than once as they drank of the water, and nibbled the hard biscuits, or crackers, in the water-tight box, Russ and his companion blessed the forethought of honest Jack Jepson—I beg his pardon, Captain Jepson it was now, though neither Russ nor Mr. Sneed knew that.

"I think I'll hoist a signal," said the actor, as they drove on, now seeing the steamer, and again losing her.

"Good idea," Russ agreed, as he busied himself with an oil can.

Mr. Sneed managed to lash an oar upright, and on it he fastened a bit of canvas. It stood out straight, like a board, so strong was the wind that whipped it.

"I hope they see that," commented the actor.

"I hope so, too," added Russ. "It doesn't do any good to yell, for the wind is blowing from them to us."

More than once, as they urged their craft on a long slant toward the steamer, they almost gave up hope. But it sprang up again, and finally, as a break in the clouds let out a little rift of light, someone on the watch aboard the steamer saw the fluttering signal.

"She's seen us! She's seen us!" cried Russ in delight.

"How can you tell?" demanded his companion.

"She whistled. I saw the steam. You'll hear the blast in a second."

And they did. Light travels faster than sound. They saw the steam from the powerful whistle before they heard the hoarse blast; even as one sees the flash of a gun before hearing the report.

The steamer changed her course, and came on toward the motorboat.

"Suppose it's the English one, that wants to capture poor Jack," suggested Mr. Sneed.

"That doesn't make any difference," Russ said. "She'll save us, and then look for the schooner. We can take up Jack's case later."

It did not prove to be the English steamer. Instead it was a powerful fruiter, hailing from New York, and Russ and Mr. Sneed were soon aboard, the Ajax being hoisted to her deck. Then she resumed her course, but it was a different one.

For, on the earnest plea of Russ and Mr. Sneed, the steamer's captain consented to turn back and search for the Mary Ellen.

"I don't know as I'll find her," he said, "but we can't let all those poor souls perish."

So the search began. It lasted three days, during which the storm nearly blew itself out. And on the morning of the fourth day, when the sullen sea was trying to calm itself, and when the wind had died down to a moderate gale, the lookout of the Sirius called out:

"Sail ho!"

"Where away?" came the demand.

"Dead ahead. She's a schooner, low in the water, and she's flying a signal of distress!"



CHAPTER XXV

CLEAR SKIES

Instantly there was commotion and excitement on board the Sirius, for Russ and Mr. Sneed had told their story of the starting out to make a pictured shipwreck, which shipwreck had evidently, now, become real.

"That's the Mary Ellen, I'm sure of it!" Russ cried as he caught a glimpse of the sighted schooner. "But what has happened to her?"

"Masts are gone, and she's sinking," one of the steamer's officers told him. "I guess we can't get to her any too quickly."

And it was high time a rescue was made, for Captain Jepson, and Mr. Pertell had decided to take to the boats with all on board.

The Mary Ellen was sinking; there was no doubt of that. All that could be done had been done, but to no avail.

But hope revived when the steamer was sighted.

A little later, the Sirius stood by. And high time, too. As a last resort, when it was found that the repaired pumps could not keep the water down in the hold, so big was the leak, the signal of distress had been hoisted. And, after many anxious hours, it had been thus providentially answered.

Then a thought came to Mr. Pertell. The weather had cleared. The schooner would keep afloat a few hours more. Why not make the pictures of the shipwreck now? It would be his only chance. True, they would not be just as planned, but they would be better than losing all the efforts that had been made.

There was a brief talk with the captain of the Sirius. He consented to stand by until the sea drama, quickly revised, was acted out—at least, until shipwreck scenes were portrayed.

It was rather an exciting time, the passengers dropping overboard from the sinking schooner, and being rescued in boats. Russ, on board the Ajax, which was again put into the sea, worked the camera. The Mary Ellen made a more realistic wreck than had been hoped for. Former Captain Brisco and Hen Lacomb, alone, refused to take any part in the drama.

At last the final film was run off, the last rescue was made by the motor craft and small boats, and all, passengers and crew, from the sinking schooner, were taken aboard the Sirius.

"There she goes!" said Alice softly, as, with a final lurch, and a blowing up of her decks, from the compressed air under them, the old craft, bow first went beneath the waves. Russ took the final pictures.

"Game to the last!" said Captain Jepson. "She went down bow on, to show she wasn't afraid of Davy Jones! That's the last of her, and the last of Brisco's schemes to get her for his own use."

"Tell me about that now," suggested Mr. Pertell. "I have time to listen now, for we aren't trying to save a sinking ship."

They were all now safely aboard the steamer, which had resumed her course. The moving pictures had all been taken, save some that needed a shore background, and these could be done later.

"Did Brisco really plot to get the Mary Ellen?" asked the manager.

"He did," said Jack Jepson. "I'll tell you the whole story." And he did. Briefly it was this:

On his first trip to the schooner, Jack had recognized Brisco as an unscrupulous man who had been engaged in several shady ship transactions. But Brisco denied his identity, and Jack pretended to have been mistaken, in order to throw him off his guard. Brisco was also, Jack said, one of the mutineers of the Halcyon, but the plotter denied this, and Jack admitted he may have been mistaken.

Then came the advent of Hen Lacomb, whom Jepson recognized as a fellow plotter with Brisco. The evil men knew him, too, after a bit, but they counted on the charge of mutiny hanging over him to make him keep quiet, and not reveal their plot.

Brisco and Lacomb plotted to get the schooner for themselves. They were not really going to endanger the lives of the passengers or crew, but their game was to only pretend to sink the ship, and to raise such an alarm that she would be hastily abandoned. Then they would come back to her later, salvage her, and use her for their own ends.

Jack Jepson had overheard this plot, and, as he had said, found the incriminating document signed by Lacomb. This was hidden in a secret compartment in what had formerly been his bunk, when the schooner was the Halcyon.

When Brisco and Lacomb discovered that Jepson knew their secret, they tried to get rid of him, by a seeming accident. But Fate interfered with their plans, and the storm made a big change. Then came the deposing of Captain Brisco, and the rest of the story is known to my readers.

"Well, Jack Jepson—or, Captain Jepson, though you haven't now command of any ship," said Mr. Pertell, "we owe much to you."

"It's nothin' at all," Jack said, modestly enough. "When I saw this steamer, though, I thought it was that Britisher coming back for me."

"It's a shame that the charge of mutiny should hang over you!" exclaimed Alice. "I think it should be wiped out."

"I wish it could be," Jack said with a sigh.

A steward, a little later, came to where the rescued ones were talking together—Brisco and Lacomb having gone off by themselves—and the steward said the steamer's captain wanted to talk to the schooner's commander.

"There he is," said Mr. Pertell, pointing to Jack Jepson. "That's our new captain."

The steward looked. A queer change came over his face.

"Jack!" he cried. "Is it really you? I've looked all over the world for you!"

"Tom Buttle!" cried Jepson, leaping to his feet. "My old shipmate. Say, if anyone knows, you do, that I never had a thing to do with that mutiny on the Halcyon. Don't you know I didn't?"

"Of course I do!" the steward cried. "I can prove you were as innocent as a babe, and I know others who can, too."

"What's this—more of the mystery?" asked Alice.

"It's the end of it, I hope," said Jack solemnly. "Tell 'em, Tom!"

"There isn't much to tell," the steward said. "I was a shipmate with Jack on the Halcyon or the Mary Ellen, in the old days. He's probably told you of the mutiny. I was hurt in it, and lay unconscious when they arrested him for it. I didn't recover until he had been put in jail, and when I tried to give my evidence, I could get no one to listen to me. Then I heard Jack had escaped and I rested easy. I never knew the charge was hanging over him all this while.

"I've been all over the world since, sailing in different vessels, and in every port I'd inquire of Jack from those who knew him. But I never found him until now. Clear him—of course I can clear him of the unjust charge!"

"Thank Heaven for that!" said Jack Jepson.

"Everything is cleared up!" cried Alice gaily. "Even the sky—see how blue it is!"

In due time Jack's innocence was proved before the English courts, and the charge against him wiped out. He was then free to come and go as he pleased. But the mystery of the disappearance of Captain Watson, of the Halcyon, or old Mary Ellen, and his companion, Mike Tullane, was never solved.

The Mary Ellen, all that was left of the reconstructed Halcyon, was, of course, a total wreck. Brisco's plan failed. Nothing was done to him, as it would have been difficult to prove a case against him.

Arrangements were made for taking the needed land scenes of the sea drama, and when this was done, the whole company returned to New York.

"Well, Alice," remarked Ruth one day, as they were on their way up the coast in a steamer, "did you have enough of sea-life this trip?"

"I certainly did," was the answer. "No more shipwrecks for me!"

"Same here!" put in Russ. "It's taking too many chances!"

"Oh, you'd do it over again—or something like it—and so would you girls, if you knew a good film would come of it," predicted Paul Ardite, with a laugh.

And here we will say good-bye to the Moving Picture Girls.

THE END