noon
The motor girls did not rest much , nor did Walter or Jack . As morning came , the storm broke in all its fury -- being little short , in violence , of a West Indian hurricane . On through the mist , through the smother of foam , over the big greenish-blue waves scudded the Tartar , the lieutenant , in oilskins , standing in the bows , peering ahead for a sight of the steamer . And , at noon , following a fierce burst of wind , he give a cry . `` What is it ? '' asked Jack , struggling toward . `` Ship ahead !