“Hi! we can’t stand this!” exclaimed Gilfoy. “Before we know it we’ll all be at the bottom. Let us make for shore.”
“Yes, and we can’t be too quick about it,” added Raymond. “This squall is going to be a heavy one.”
Silvers admitted that they were right, and without delay the two rowboats were headed for shore, at a point where a curving cove seemed to promise safety.
All pulled with a will, yet long before the cove was gained, the squall struck them, sending a shower of spray in all directions and causing each craft to rock violently.
“Oh!” cried Dave, as some water hit him in the ear. “This is as bad as was the storm we struck when we rowed from Oswego to Fort Niagara.”
“Don’t say a word—it’s a regular Niagara in itself!” gasped Henry, as a downpour of rain followed the gust of wind.
“We can be thankful we are not further out on the lake,” came from Raymond. “Now then, all together, and we’ll soon be safe!”
They bent to the oars with a will, two in each boat rowing and the third steering. Another gust hit them, giving them a second ducking, and now followed a veritable cloud-burst of rain. But in a few minutes the cove was gained, and they glided under some overhanging branches and thick bushes.
“We are well out of that!” said Henry, when he could catch his breath. “Just listen to the wind whistle!”
“It won’t last,” said Silvers. “In an hour from now the sun will be shining as brightly as ever.”