At this moment a big wave struck the bow of the boat and swept her from stem to stern, filling Mason's open mouth with salt water.
"Skipper," he sputtered, as soon as he could speak, "I confidently believe you did that on purpose."
"This is not a time for your nonsense, Mason," said Harry, somewhat sternly.
As he spoke, a fiercer gust of wind, veering a point or two, caught the sloop amidships, and before Harry could let go the sheet or bring her closer up, she heeled over to the blast until the water poured in a torrent into the cockpit. Harry jammed down the helm and let go the mainsheet and she righted herself, trembled under the strain and plunged ahead once more into the seas.
It was mere chance that both Bert and Mason were not swept into the sea by the sudden careening of the boat. As it was, they were thrown into the cockpit, and when they climbed back in the darkness to their places on the weather rail, the Midget wore a much more serious expression on his naturally comical face.
"You are right, Hal," he said, solemnly, "I guess it's no joke after all."
The rain was now coming down in vicious torrents that beat in the boys' faces, almost blinding them.
Suddenly in the blackness ahead there flashed a bright, green light like the eye of some monster of the deep. It appeared to be about as high above them as the mast head of the sloop. They each saw it at the same time, and each knew, with a thrill of horror, what it meant.
"Hold fast," shouted Harry, in tones that could just be heard above the howling of the gale, and at the same time he put the helm hard down. "She's almost on us."
It was too late. There was a crash and the sound of splintering timbers.