It did seem wise to let the smaller lad venture outside on the stern deck, and inspect the rudder, and after some argument Jerry consented to this. By going out of the rear door of the main cabin, Bob would, in a measure, be sheltered by the deck structures.
The force of the gale may be imagined when it is said that as Bob stepped out he felt himself fairly forced down toward the deck, as if some giant hand had pushed him. The power of the wind was terrific, and, realizing this, the stout lad got down as low as possible, and fairly crawled on his hands and knees to a place where he could see the rudder.
“It’s there, all right,” he reported pantingly to his chums, when he had worked his way back to the cabin.
“Then why don’t we go down?” asked Ned. “Is it set to send us down, Chunky?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t see——”
“I believe it’s because the wind is so powerful that we can’t cut our way downward through the level strata of the hurricane,” was Jerry’s opinion.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Bob.
“It’s this way, and I think Jerry is right,” spoke Mr. Snodgrass. “We’re sailing along on an almost solidified bank of air, which is compressed by great pressure. To go below, into an area where there is no storm, it is like cutting through a layer of thick ice to get to the water beneath. But the air buoys us up so that we’re having difficulties.”
“What are we going to do?” inquired Ned anxiously.