“I don’d know!” declared von Kluck. “Dere’s nasty vedder oop dere!” he added, pointing to the western sky. “I don’d like id!”
“It can’t very well blow hard enough to stop us, can it?”
“Don’d you tink it can’t blow hard in dese vatters! Ask me—I know!” replied the captain sagely wagging his head.
With eager looks the boys watched the gathering clouds to westward. The captain’s prediction seemed about to be verified.
An uncommonly strong puff of wind struck the schooner heeling her far over to starboard. The blast bore a chill as of ice.
“Oh, boys,” cried Jimmie turning his head away from the biting blast, “look up to windward and see how smooth the ocean is getting!”
“That’s wind coming!” shouted Ned.
An order was roared out by von Kluck. Men sprang to the lines. The sails were stowed with a speed that seemed scarcely credible. Heeling round on a port helm the Lena Knobloch turned from the approaching blast.
Leaving only the shortened jib von Kluck and the mate stood on the after deck peering anxiously at the violent disturbance overtaking the little vessel. Now and again the mate glanced apprehensively at the schooner’s masts or along the decks.
With a shriek the storm struck. For a moment the very weight of wind seemed to settle the schooner farther into the water. The next instant they were tearing along with the speed of a race horse.