“We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage,” explained the first mate, when he could command silence.  “There is a slight hole below the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not the slightest danger.”

“Are we going to turn back for New York?” asked one woman.

“No, certainly not.  We’re going right on as soon as a slight break to one of the engines can be repaired.  We are in no danger.  Only a little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut.  We haven’t even a list to one side.  Now please clear the decks and go back to bed.”

It took more urging, but finally the passengers began to disperse.  Tom found Ned and Mr. Damon, who were looking for him.

“Bless my life preserver!” cried the odd man.  “I thought surely this was my last voyage, Tom!”

“So did I,” added Ned.  “What’s the matter, Tom, you look as though you’d seen a ghost.”

“I have—­pretty near.  The Fogers are on board.”

“No!  You don’t mean it!”

“It’s a fact.  I just saw them.  They are the mysterious passengers.”  And Tom related his experience.

“Where are they now?” demanded Ned, looking about the deck.

“Gone below again, I suppose.  Though I don’t see what object they can have in concealing their identity any longer.”

“Me either.  Well, that surely is a queer go.”

“Bless my hot cross buns!  I should say so!” commented Mr. Damon when he heard about it.  “What are you going to do, Tom?”

“Nothing.  I can’t.  They have a right on board.  But if they try to follow us—­well, I’ll act then,” and Tom shut his jaws grimly.

Our three trends went back to their state-room, and Eradicate also retired.  The excitement was passing, and soon the ship was under way again, the sudden shock having caused slight damage to one of the big engines.  But it was soon repaired and, though the storm still continued, the ship made her way well through the waves.

A stout bow, water-tight compartments, and the fact (learned later) that she had struck the derelict a glancing blow, had combined to save the Maderia.

There were many curious ones who looked over the side next morning to see the gaping hole in the bow.  A canvas had been rigged over it, however, to keep out the waves as much as possible, so little could be viewed.  Then the thoughts of landing occupied the minds of all, and the accident was nearly forgotten.  For it was announced that they would dock early the next morning.

In spite of the fact that their presence on board was known to Tom and his friends, the Fogers still kept to their stateroom, not even appearing at meals.  Tom wondered what their object could be, but could not guess.

“Well, here we are at last—­in Mexico,” exclaimed Ned the next morning, when, the Maderia having docked, allowed the passengers to disembark, a clean bill of health having been her good luck.