“It may happen that we shall be forced to trust to the wind for anything of that sort,” Ned replied as he pointed to the sky, which was being rapidly covered with fleecy clouds. “I don’t know much about weather signs on the ocean, but if I was back in Maine I should say we were goin’ to have a storm.”
Neither Vance nor Roy thought the swiftly moving masses of vapor portended anything in particular, and the latter went into the kitchen once more, for he was determined that his portion of the work should be attended to in proper shape.
Before he reappeared again there was a very decided change in the aspect of the sky.
The wind had begun to veer around, and continued to increase in violence until it was blowing directly from the north, causing the sea to rise until the little craft wallowed into the trough, throwing the spray high over the deck.
For fully twenty minutes after this change Roy gave no signs of life, and then he came into the wheel-house looking decidedly alarmed.
“It’s beginning to blow,” he said, as if it was a piece of news which would please his companions.
“We understood that quite a while ago,” Vance replied quickly. “Is this the first you knew of it?”
“I could tell by the motion of the yacht that a sea was getting up, but I didn’t suppose it was so bad as this. Do you intend running on the same course, Ned?”
“We had to change that when the wind shifted. Now she is headin’ due south.”
“Why, that means we are running out to sea, surely, no matter which side the chain of keys we were!”