CHAPTER XVII.

A STARTLING CRY.

“Won’t we stop at any points in Mexico?” asked Oliver.

“I think not. Captain Morris is anxious to make the voyage as quickly as possible, for he thinks he can get a good return cargo.”

“If we had the time to spare I wouldn’t like anything better than to stop at La Libertad, Champerico, and the rest of the towns,” continued Oliver; “I love to see strange places.”

“I think most every one does,” returned Mr. Whyland. “I have traveled for many years, and I never tire of it. There is always something unexpected turning up.”

“I like to keep moving,” put in Gus; “I hate to stay too long in one place. Now, take a town like Panama, for instance; a day or two is sufficient to see all there is to be seen.”

“You are quite mistaken there,” replied Mr. Whyland. “There are many ancient convents and historic ruins there, which, if studied up, would prove interesting for several weeks; that is, if you didn’t have anything else on your mind.”

The Polly Eliza was steaming down the bay rapidly. In a couple of hours she had passed the point. The day was a delightful one, and the three spent the entire forenoon on deck.

“This used to be a very odd kind of a voyage during the first years of the gold fever,” said Mr. Whyland. “There were very few steamers, and the sailing-vessels took from sixty to ninety days to reach San Francisco.”

“Didn’t some people come by sailing-vessels all the way around Cape Horn?” asked Gus.

“Yes; almost all the first people that did not go overland came that way. It was a tedious journey. The second vessel that made the trip took nine months.”

“Nine months!” exclaimed Oliver. “Why, that is three-quarters of a year.”

“When they reached the Golden Gate nearly half of the passengers were sick with scurvy, and many of them were buried up to their necks in the ground to cure them.”

“I wouldn’t want to take any such trip as that,” put in Gus. “I would get so sick of seeing nothing but water and sky I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“It is no easy matter to double the Horn, as it is called,” continued Mr. Whyland. “It took that vessel nearly seven weeks to do it. Every time she was nearly around, the fierce trade winds from the Pacific would drive her back.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have to go that way,” said Gus with a grimace.

“So you see this voyage is really nothing,” laughed Mr. Whyland.

During the afternoon it began to grow foggy, and then the two boys went below and put their stateroom in order.

This task was hardly completed before Gus began to feel queer and drew down the corners of his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” asked Oliver, although he suspected the cause.

“I――I――am afraid I――I――” stammered the stout youth.

“Seasick?”

“Yes.”

“Better rest in the bunk for a while.”

“I guess I will.”

In half an hour poor Gus was as bad as ever. Oliver did all for his chum that he could think of, and even went to the purser for advice.

“Can’t do a thing,” replied Mr. Willett. “Perhaps he may not be so bad as he was on the trip around Cape Hatteras.”

“I trust not,” returned Oliver. “I haven’t been seasick myself, but I imagine it’s something awful.”

“It is,” responded the purser. “Get it real bad and you won’t care whether you live or not. I have followed the sea for twelve years, but once in a while my stomach goes back on me even yet.”

“Why, I thought sailors never got sick!”

“That’s a big mistake. You may be a sailor all your life and get it just as bad as if it were your first voyage. You can thank your stars that you are not one of the seasick kind.”

“Yes; I am lucky that way.”

Poor Gus lay in the cabin all that afternoon and all night. In the morning he felt better, however, and though rather weak, managed to eat a little breakfast.

“Now I hope I’m over it for good,” he said. “If I am not I’ll just jump overboard, that’s what I’ll do.”

“And make food for the sharks,” laughed Mr. Whyland. “Just look out there at the ferocious fellows moving around. That one would just make about three mouthfuls of you.”

As he spoke he pointed over the side to where an ugly shovel-nose shark was swimming leisurely along.

“Ough!” shuddered Gus, drawing back. “I didn’t see him.”

“I suppose he would think you were a good fat morsel,” laughed Oliver.

There was a general smile, and then Mr. Whyland pointed directly to the westward.

“That is the Island of Quibo, and far back of it you can see the coast line of Central America. We are getting along, true enough.”

That day and the next flew by rapidly. There were many things on board the small coast steamer that were new to the two boys, and as the purser had taken a decided liking to them they gained much information by “nosing around,” as Gus put it.

One evening they found themselves far out of sight of land. All hands enjoyed a beautiful sunset, and it was nearly eight o’clock when the little party went below.

“Getting more used to it?” asked Mr. Whyland, as they separated for the night after a quiet game of dominoes in the cabin.

“Somewhat,” replied Oliver.

“I’m not,” said Gus. “I wish something real exciting would happen. Something that would stir up a fellow’s blood.”

“Are you anxious to be shipwrecked?” laughed Mr. Whyland.

“No, not that exactly; but I hate to have things so tame.”

“Well, maybe something will happen,” was the quiet reply.

Little did Mr. Whyland realize how quickly his thought would become a fact. Had he done so it is not likely that he would have gone to his cabin with such a tranquil heart.

When they reached their stateroom the two boys sat for a long time discussing matters in general, the principal question being what should each do when the steamer reached San Francisco.

“You had better telegraph to your father, Gus. He will be very anxious concerning your whereabouts.”

“I’ll do that, Oliver,” was the stout youth’s reply. “I begin to see that running away wasn’t such a brilliant thing to do after all.”

“Now you’ve hit the nail right on the head,” replied Oliver; and he said no more.

Half an hour later both boys were in their berths and sleeping soundly. How long they remained in this state neither could tell exactly.

Suddenly Oliver awoke with a start. He jumped out on the floor wondering what had aroused him. Gus, too, was wide awake.

“Somebody hammered on the door,” cried the stout youth. “Maybe――”

He did not finish, for at that instant a wild cry came from the deck overhead.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!”

Both stared at each other with blanched faces.