“I’ll come and help,” Ruth offered, and Neale knew she could be of excellent service.
Together they ascended the stairs in the half darkness, illuminated by the glow from a night oil lamp in the hall. But no sooner had they emerged on the open deck than they became aware of the gravity of the situation. They were almost blinded by an intense glare of lightning. This was followed by a menacing rumble of thunder, and then Ruth gasped for breath as a strong wind smote her in the face, and Neale, just ahead of her, turned to grasp her lest she be blown against a railing and hurt.
“Great guns!” exclaimed Neale, “it’s going to be a fierce storm.”
“Are we really adrift?” exclaimed Ruth, raising her voice to be heard above the howl of the wind.
“I should say we are!” cried Neale in answer. “But the boat is so big and solid she isn’t going as fast as an ordinary craft would. But we’re drifting all right, and it’s going to be a whole lot worse before it’s better. Do you want to stay here?” he asked.
“Of course I do! I’m going to help!” declared Ruth. But at that moment came another bright flash of lightning and a terrific peal of thunder. And then, as if this had split open the clouds, down came a deluge of rain.
“Go below and get on your waterproof and then tell the others to get up and dress,” advised Neale. “We may come out of it all right, and again we may not. It’s best to be prepared.”
“Are we—are we far from shore?” panted Ruth, the wind almost taking the words from her mouth. “Are we apt to be dashed against it, do you think?”
“We can’t be wrecked,” Neale answered her. “This is a well built boat. But we may have to go ashore in the rain, and it’s best for the children to be dressed.”
“I’ll tell them!” cried Ruth, and she descended, glad to be in out of the storm that was increasing in violence every moment. That little time she was exposed to it almost drenched her. Neale’s rubber coat was a great protection to him.