A glance at the compass in the binnacle showed Ned that they were headed nearly northeast. They were fast leaving England astern.
Conversation was almost impossible in the howling gale that tore and fretted at the vessel. Yet Ned managed to shout to the captain:
“How much sea room have we got in this direction?”
A shrug of the shoulders indicated the captain’s doubt. He accompanied this movement with a wagging of the head.
“Vhe’ll get into der lee of somedings bretty soon,” he replied.
“I surely hope so!” declared Ned, cupping his hands to carry his voice to the other’s ear. “I’d hate to hit anything at this rate!”
Nodding an acknowledgment to this assertion the captain by signs indicated to the mate that he desired a hand sent aloft as lookout.
In a short time it seemed to the boys that the terrific force of the gale had somewhat spent itself. Waves began to toss the vessel at an alarming rate. Each mountain of water appeared about to board the schooner at the stern, threatening to crush the craft by its weight.
Anxious for the safety of the vessel and for their own welfare the lads, nevertheless, understood that they could do little good on deck. They, therefore, made their way into the cabin, where they sat on lockers.
Here the noises of the tempest were somewhat stilled, but the creaking and groaning of the timbers was far more noticeable. It seemed to the lads that the vessel was being torn asunder by every billow.