calamity, but without question
there was serious trouble. Were the pumps working? How far were they
from shore? If hopelessly distant from shore, were they in the course
of passing steamers? Would any one look after Miss Redmond's safety?
Monsieur Chatelard had said that she was not on board, but James did
not believe it.

While these thoughts new through his mind, James had been absently
watching while the cook turned his treasures out upon his bunk, and
pawed them over with trembling hands. There were innumerable little
things, besides a stiff white shirt, a cheap shiny Bible, a stuffed
parrot and several wads of clothes. And among the mess Jim caught
sight of a piece of stitched canvas that looked familiar.

"Hi, you there! That's my money-belt!" he cried, and jumped forward to
claim his own. But in his movement he failed to calculate with the
waves. The yacht gave another of her deep-sea plunges, and Jimmy,
thrown against his bunk, saw the cook grab his kit and make for the
ladder. He regained his feet only in time to follow at arm's length up
the hatchway. At the top he threw himself down, like a baseball runner
making his base, after the seaman's legs; but instead of a foot, he
found himself clutching one of the wads of clothes that trailed after
the cook's bundle. He caught it firmly and kept it, but the ship's
cook and the rest of his booty disappeared like a rabbit into its
burrow.

Jim sat down at the top of the ladder and examined his haul. It was a
pair of woolen trousers, and they were of generous size. He spread
them out on the deck. Round him were unmistakable signs of
demoralization. The second officer was ordering the men to the pumps
in stern tones; the yacht was pitching wildly and growing darkness was
settling on the face of the turbulent waters. But in spite of it all,
Jimmy's spirit leaped forth in laughter as he thought of his brief,
frantic chase, and its result in this capture of the characteristic
vestiture of man.

"What's money for, anyway!" he laughed, as he got up and clothed
himself once more.

There followed hours of superhuman struggle to save the _Jeanne D'Arc_.
Her crew, sufficient in ordinary weather, was too small to cope with
the storm and the leaking ship. Ballast had to be shifted or flung
overboard. Repairs had to be attempted in the hold; the pumps had to
be worked incessantly, It transpired that the yacht had gone far out of
her course during the fog