The first drops of rain struck the backs of their necks. Nodding, Dawson dived below, coming up soon in his oilskins and sou’wester. He took the wheel while Tom vanished briefly for similar clothing and headgear.
Swish-sh-sh! Now, the rain began to drive down in great sheets, illumined by two faint flashes of winter lightning. Immediately afterward came a rush of wind from the south that sang loudly through the rigging on the signal mast.
“Now, we’ll soon be in for it in earnest,” muttered Tom Halstead, taking the wheel from his chum and casting an anxious look for the next “red eye” from the revolving light over on Tortugas.
Voices sounded on the after deck. Henry Tremaine was calling to his wife and ward to get on their rain coats and come up for a brief look at the weather.
“Joe,” muttered the young skipper, sharply, “go back to those people and tell them the only place for them is going to be below. Tell Mr. Tremaine he’d be endangering the ladies to have ’em on deck, even for a minute or two. Push ’em below and lock the after companionway, if you have to!”
Joe easily made his way aft ta carry out these instructions. Hardly had Dawson returned when another and greater gust of wind overtook the “Restless.” Her nose was buried deep in the water, as she pitched. Then, on the crest of the following wave, the little craft’s bow rose high. The full gale was upon them in five minutes more—a wind blowing fifty-five miles an hour. Running before the wind the cruiser steered easily enough. Tom could manage the wheel alone, though Joe stood by to lend a hand in case of accident or emergency.
Up onto deck stumbled Ham Mockus, clutching desperately at the deck-house and life-lines.
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, dis shuah gwine finish us!” yelled the steward in terror. He was so badly frightened, in fact, that both boys felt sorry for him.
“Don’t you believe it,” Captain Tom bellowed at him. “We’ve been out in a heap sight worse gales than this.”
“In dis boat?” wailed Ham, hoarsely.