But when they had turned the head of the Arabella east to clear the point, and had made a half mile from the shore on this tack, the full force of the rising breeze became apparent, and the sky to the southeast was by no means reassuring. Allan gave the tiller to McConnell after they came about, and the two others set to work to take a reef in the sail—an undertaking to which Allan soon found that he was not equal. A peculiar weakness, the natural result of his mishap, made it imperative for him to drop on his knees and steady himself when the Arabella careened to starboard.
They realized now that they had been foolish in not reefing before starting, if they had not been unwise in starting at all.
“Hold her as close as you can!” called Allan to Owen, as the latter took his place in the stern after abandoning the effort to reef. “We had better make straight for shelter.”
Presently it began to be plain that they could make little choice as to an anchorage. A low growl of thunder was accompanied by a spatter of rain, and in an incredibly short time the rain began to fall heavily. The wind whistled under the boom; whitecaps were all about them.
Allan and McConnell, who had drawn in on the sheet, now paid it out again, and Owen took care that the sail should not fill too full as he headed straight for the west shore.
With this precaution the boat made little headway, the sail was drenched, and its increased weight, added to the strength of the wind, kept the end of the boom much of the time in the water.
Right ahead was a shallow place and ugly rocks. To lift the centre-board here and attempt to come up into the wind would mean being blown on the rocks and the destruction of the Arabella.
“We must come up closer to the wind again!” cried Allan. “There is a cove a little farther to the south.”
But the savageness of the wind and the wet sail made this very difficult. When they drew in the sheet, the Arabella took water on the starboard side. The boys were wet to the skin, and were up to their ankles in water.
“Straight for the beech tree,” muttered Allan, “the water seems deep there. Don’t swing her until the last minute. I’ll be ready to lower away and drop anchor. McConnell, you take this other line. I’ll hold the sheet free with my left.”