Agnes scuttled behind her, terrified indeed. They jammed shut the slide. Almost the next instant the thunder of the rain on the deck deafened those in the cabin. The two boys and the lawyer lay under a tarpaulin which shed a portion of the deluge. But they could not distinguish each other’s speech.
It seemed as though the very weight of the rain must sink the motor-boat. It thundered on the deck and foamed in the cockpit. Such a cloudburst none of them had ever seen, or even dreamed of.
In ten minutes the rain passed. It roared on toward the east like the rattle of a giant drum corps. But the darkness and wind remained. It was impossible to see more than a few yards about the Isobel. Islands, and all, had disappeared. But the launch was moving now—racing into the east, like the rain, and with all the force of the wind and sea astern.
Neale crawled out from under the tarpaulin and climbed up on a cushion seat out of the knee-deep water. That water was roaring out through the vents, or seeping into the lower bilge. When Luke got up he made straight for the pump and began to work it. It sucked immediately, and the water spurted through the hosepipe.
“My goodness, boys!” shouted Mr. Howbridge, “what are we going to do?”
“Keep our eyes open for an island,” shouted back Neale.
“Hope we’ll find one,” was the muttered reply.
“Keep the old boat from sinking,” declared Luke, vigorously pumping.
“The girls will be scared to death,” grumbled the lawyer.
“Let them stay below and they won’t know much about it,” Luke told him.