“Is there real danger, then?” demanded Mrs. Lester, her face betraying her great alarm.
“There’s a northeast blow, and a big one, going to strike us within half an hour,” the young skipper replied. “And there’s not a craft in sight I can signal to. Our anchors wouldn’t hold in the blow that’s coming.”
“Can’t you signal the Dunstan place?” asked the much-alarmed lady.
“Yes, but I doubt if they could see our signals, our mast is so low and the distance so great.”
“But they have that steam launch there. If you could make them understand, captain, they could send the launch out to us.”
“The launch is too small a craft to face the blow that’s coming,” Tom rejoined gravely. “Besides, Mr. Dunstan has no one who knows anything about handling a marine steam engine. If you ladies will go into the cabin——”
“And feel like rats in a trap while there’s danger!” remonstrated Mrs. Lester. “Oh, please don’t ask us to leave the deck. We’ll feel safer here. At least we shall be able to see what’s happening.”
“Get the lifelines, Joe, and rig them quickly,” spoke Tom gravely. “Jed, help me to get the anchors overboard. We’ll do everything we can.”
While the boys worked like beavers the wind came down upon them with ever-increasing force. At first the anchors held, the “Meteor” straining at her cables.
“Here comes a squall!” shouted Tom, suddenly. “Catch hold! Hold fast! We’ll soon know about our anchors.”