As Jack had prophesied, they did have to “hold down the job for some time.” In fact, dating from the morning on which Medway escorted them to the engine-room of the Valkyrie, the two boys entered on what was perhaps the strangest period of their lives in many respects. Virtually prisoners, they yet found a certain pleasure in oiling, running and ministering to the big engine. Their innate love of machinery found full play during the following days and nights.

The gale blew itself out after two days, but they still were kept at their posts. Medway had ordered two cots provided for them, and their meals were served below. On trying to reach the deck for a breath of air, after a long vigil at the engine, Jack found that the engine-room was well guarded. At the door was stationed a husky sailor who roughly told the boy to “get back where he belonged.” He had no choice but to obey.

In this way the days went by, the boys taking watch and watch, four hours on and four off. Medway or Hemming visited them regularly, but made no comments, nor did they vouchsafe any information as to the whereabouts of the yacht. Had the boys only known how the other prisoners were faring, and what was ultimately to become of them all, they might have been almost happy in their jobs as young engineers. But as things were, their constant anxiety on these scores outweighed any pleasure they found in running the machinery of the yacht.

Judkins evidently was still confined to his bunk. At least he did not put in an appearance. And so, day after day went by and the yacht forged steadily on, and the boys, working in the engine-room, had no means of knowing her course or destination; for, unlike some craft, the Valkyrie carried no “tell-tale” compass in her engine-room.

Thus two weeks passed. Two weeks of absolute calm, so far as the boys could judge, during which the yacht was forced forward at her full speed capacity, which was eighteen knots. It was one day toward the end of Jack’s watch when the thing happened which was to lead them all into the jaws of disaster.

During the time that he had been on duty the boy had noticed that the engine kept slowing down. Impatient janglings from the pilot house he met as best he could with more steam. But at length even this resource failed. It was plain enough that the Valkyrie was losing speed rapidly.

Jack went over the engine with zealous care, but so far as he could see the fault did not lie there. On the contrary, every rod, crank and bolt appeared in good order. Suddenly a thought struck him. He hastened across the steel floor to the gauge on the bulkhead. What it told him caused the boy to emit a whistle of dismay.

The steam pressure had fallen to seventy-five pounds. While he watched, it dropped two pounds more, and the engine slowed down more and more perceptibly.

He threw open the door leading to the fire-room. In that black hole he saw the dim forms of the stokers on duty flitting about like gnomes in the dust-laden darkness. He hailed the nearest of them.

“What’s the trouble?”

The answer came with a grumbling rumble from the half-naked fireman as he threw open a furnace door and stood in the glare of the fire.

“S’ help me bob, kid, there ain’t more’n three tons of coal in the bunkers an’ the boss tole us to keep steam down.”

“Three tons!” echoed Jack. “How long will that run us?”

“Not h’enuff so’s you could nowtice it,” rejoined the Britisher.

“Have you any idea where we are?”

“Yus. Leastways, I ‘eard ‘em torkin’ erbout h’it ‘fore I come on watch.”

“Where are we, then?”

“H’about ten north, fifty west, I ‘eard ‘em a sayin’.”

“That’s where?” asked Jack anxiously. He knew that ten north meant somewhere pretty close to the equator. In fact, for days past he and Tom had discarded all the clothing they could dispense with, for it had grown insufferably hot in the engine-room.

“H’off the cowst h’of South Ameriky somewheres; bloaw me h’if h’I knows where,” was the vague response. “H’all h’I knows h’is that h’if we doan’t get no cowl, we doan’t get no steam.”

A quick step sounded behind Jack. As the footsteps rang out on the metal floor the boy turned swiftly. Medway confronted him.

“What you doing here?”

“Finding out how much coal we had,” responded Jack. “There’s hardly enough steam to run the engines.”

“You get back where you belong,” roared Medway, “and you, you salt-horse-eating Britisher, you get back to your work. D’ye hear me? I’ll have stuff enough down here before long to get us as far as we want to go.”