Jerry Hopkins stood in a pool of sea water on the deck of the derelict to which he had climbed after having been immersed in the ocean for more than an hour. Every seam of his garments seemed to spew out a little puddle of dampness, and he said afterward that he felt not unlike a sponge. But for the time being, wonder at his new situation and thankfulness that he was on something more substantial than a wave overpowered every other emotion.
“Well, I’m here, but where am I?” mused Jerry. “I wonder what vessel this is and how long she will remain afloat? Anyhow, if she does go under I can make a raft of something to keep afloat on. This isn’t half bad. Now let’s see where I’m at!”
Jerry knew that the best thing for him to do was to get some dry clothes on, provided he could find any, or, if not, to get his wet ones off[150] and let them dry. The weather was cold and damp, and the fog still prevailed, so much so that he could only see part of the deck of the derelict at a time.
The refugee also felt the need of food and something hot to drink, for though it was not winter his immersion in the sea, coupled to the fact that the last few days had been damp, cold ones, had not served to raise his vitality.
“But first I’m going to see if any one else is on board,” mused Jerry, as he moved about, first, however, removing his soaked coat and trousers. His shoes he had loosed and let drop into the ocean soon after he began swimming.
“This is as good as a bathing suit, in case I meet any one,” mused the lad, as he glanced down at his underwear. “And I can’t stand those wet things. There must be bunks aboard, if nothing else, and I can crawl into one after a bit. But first I’m going to look about.”
He did not pause long to ascertain what sort of craft it was on which he found himself. That it was a derelict, and that it was probably the one that had crashed into the Sherman, or the craft into which the troopship had crashed, was very evident to Jerry Hopkins. That it was a derelict was sure, for there was not a sign of life on deck, nor was the vessel under command. There was no vestige of sail, and no smoke came from[151] her single funnel, nor was there any vibration to tell of engines in motion.
Jerry made a quick tour of the deck, moving swiftly to restore his partially suspended circulation. The vessel showed many evidences of damage, whether by shell fire or collision Jerry could not determine. Her rails were broken in many places, and all her boats were gone except a broken one on the port davits. Looking over the side as best he could the lad decided that there was not much damage below the water line, or, if there were punctures, the bulkheads confined the leakage to one small section.
“She floats pretty well,” mused Jerry, after he had made a tour of the craft and had seen no one on the deck. “She may ride quite a while yet. There’s no one up here, that’s sure, but that isn’t saying there mayn’t be some one below. I’m going to look.”
The sea was calm and the vessel rode on an almost even keel, so the lad had no difficulty in going below. In spite of her comparatively small size, the derelict contained many places where persons might be either in hiding, or perhaps ill or dead. But Jerry moved quickly about below, using his knowledge of ships which was not small, and as he moved here and there he shouted.
The echoes of his own voice were the only answers he received, and when he had penetrated[152] to the engine room, and even to the stokehold, and had seen the boilers cold and dead, and not a soul in sight, he came to the most natural conclusion.
“I’m all alone here!” he exclaimed aloud. Somehow, it seemed less lonely to speak in this way. “Well, since I’ve got to entertain myself,” mused Jerry whimsically, “I’m going to see if there is anything I can wear and anything I can eat. Might as well be as comfortable as I can since I’m to be ‘cook and captain too, and mate’ of this derelict. Wonde............