“This is no comedy,” he remarked. “These fellows mean business.”
The sky to the south had turned an ominous black and the wind was now shrieking through the shrouds of the schooner. Cursing aloud Ryan ordered sail taken in, and the crew sprang aloft, running along the ropes in a way that took away the breath of the watching boys. The oncoming schooner was also forced to take in canvas but it did not give up the chase. The waves, an hour ago, so calm and peaceful, were now mountain high, raging and boiling along the sides of the laboring ship.
“History repeats itself!” exclaimed Jim, suddenly.
“What do you mean?” blinked Terry.
“Why, it’s just like the story of the galleon! We are being pursued by an enemy and a storm is surely going to close over us! See the point?”
“Yes, I do. Confound this storm, anyway! If it wasn’t for it I believe those fellows in back would overtake us!” cried Terry.
“I never saw a storm come up so rapidly,” said Jim.
In that part of the Pacific storms rise with incredible swiftness and it was such a storm, half cyclonic, as now burst over the pursued and the pursuer. In a twinkling of an eye the ship to the rear vanished from sight as the Galloway staggered into a yawning trough. The boys had all they could do to hang on as the deck slanted under their feet, and they were soaked to the waist by the wash that flooded the deck. A single slashing flash of lightening flared in the sky.
“Do you think we had better go below, so as not to be washed overboard?” shouted Terry above the whine of the wind.
“Nothing doing!” roared Jim, his voice sounding like a whisper above the crash of the waves. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything!”