“Yes. The waves will be high and now they are driving from the southeast and will be hitting our side of the island. During a storm like this, boats have to be put under cover or they get beaten to splinters,” Mr. Fenton answered.
“Thanks,” said Jim. The prospect wasn’t any too cheerful.
Although it was still raining, he shoved back the protecting cover and tried to peer through the darkness. He could hardly see his hand before his face, but he waited, until suddenly, an almost blinding flash of lightning revealed the world. Just ahead of them were farms and patches of thickly wooded sections. The boy saw small houses, their windows lighted as if it were late at night. Low growing things, vines and shrubs were bent to the ground. The trees bowed and groaned in the throes of the storm. Some of the branches, unable to withstand the strain, were being ripped off and hurled through space. Beneath the racing plane the black waters of Champlain were whipped into giant rollers, and along their edges white-caps foamed ghastly yellow in the weird light. It was all shut out in a fraction of a minute, and Jim zoomed higher to get out of harm’s way.
“We’re about five miles north of our place,” Mr. Fenton told him, and the young fellow grinned with relief. It was some comfort to know where they were. Grimly he fought to bring Her Highness to face the storm. Feeding the engine all she could carry he battled to get south, but it was a hard struggle, like shoving against an immovable, impenetrable wall. It seemed as if the plane barely moved forward, but her propeller screwed valiantly, and slowly they gained against the wind, but it drove them east.
“Any rocks or islands near?” Jim asked.
“Gull Rock, two miles directly east, and Fisher’s Island. That’s a couple of miles long. If you can head into the southern point of our cove, that is protected somewhat from this wind and the water will not be so bad,” the man explained.
“We’ll try it. Do these storms last very long?”
“One never can tell. Sometimes they come and go in less than an hour, and very often they last much longer.”
“Then there is no sense in trying to stay up until it beats itself out,” Jim remarked. He couldn’t say anything more. Another flash of light gave them a brief glimpse of the world but they seemed to be far over the water. Mr. Fenton leaned out to make observations, but was promptly forced back to his seat.
“Wow,” he whistled.