"It's getting worse," shouted Tubby, gazing back at Merritt, who was bending over the laboring motor.
"Yes, you bet it is!" roared back the engineer; "and I'm afraid of a short circuit if this rain keeps up."
"Cover up the engine with that spare slicker," suggested Tubby.
"That's a good idea," responded the other, rummaging in a stern locker and producing the garment in question. In another moment he had it over the engine, protecting the spark plugs and the high-tension wires from the rain and spray. But the wind was too high to permit of the covering remaining unfastened, and with a ball of marlin the young engineer lashed the improvised motor cover firmly in place.
Hiram, with a white face, now crawled up from the bottom of the boat. In addition to being scared, he was seasick from the eccentric motions of the storm-tossed craft.
"Do you think we'll ever get ashore again?" he asked, crawling to Merritt's side.
"Sure," responded the corporal confidently. "'Come on, buck up, Hiram! You know, a Boy Scout never says die. We'll be back in camp in three hours' time, when this squall blows itself out."
"I—I don't want you to think me a coward, Merritt," quavered Hiram, "but—but you know this is enough to scare any fellow."
Indeed, he seemed right. The Flying Fish appeared no more than a tiny chip on the immense rollers the storm had blown up. Time and again it looked as if she would never be able to climb the huge walls of green water that towered above her; but every time she did, and, as the storm raged on, the confidence of the boys began to grow.
"She'll ride it out, Tubby!" yelled Merritt, dousing the engine with more oil.