By eight o’clock the storm was on them in all its violence. The Fancy pitched and tossed so wildly that they could scarcely keep from going overboard, and Ralph advised that each one don a life-preserver, of which there was a supply in the forward locker.
“Good idee,” said Ira Small. “Le’s put ’em on, by all means. They may save our lives.” And so the life-preservers were adjusted by every one without delay.
With such a storm in progress no one thought of breakfast. For fear of fire, the oil stove had been put out. Many of the loose articles aboard the motor boat were either placed in the lockers or lashed fast. But before this was accomplished the Fancy hit an extra heavy wave, and this caused some of the canned goods and two of the bottles of water to bounce up from their resting-place in the cabin, smash two of the windows, and roll overboard.
“Gosh, this is something awful!” muttered Spouter. “We’ll be lucky if we ever get out of it alive.”
All day long the storm continued. Occasionally the wind would let up a little and they would have a breathing spell, for which they would be thankful. But then the wind would blow as strongly as before, and they would have to cling fast with might and main while the motor boat plunged and tossed as if every plunge might be her last. During that time the boys and the sailor ate a few crackers and drank a little water, but that was all.
“If only some sort of sail would appear, or a steamer,” sighed Fred, wistfully.
“Don’t say a word,” groaned Gif, who was a trifle seasick. “I’d give all I’m worth to be on land again.”
“Same here,” added Spouter, promptly.
As night came on a new peril assailed them. Ira Small was at the wheel with Andy aiding him when, of a sudden, Ralph, who was somewhat forward, let out a yell of alarm.
“Steer to the left!” he called. “Quick! We’re running into a mass of wreckage!”