Even in the short time he had been below, the weather had noticeably roughened. It was almost dark.
"What time is it?" inquired Jack, as he gained Tom's side. The other drew out his watch.
"Only a little after five. But it's getting as dark as if it were three hours later."
"It certainly is. We are in for a hummer, all right."
"Don't make any mistake about that."
The rising wind began to scream about the laboring craft. Whitecaps flecked the lead-colored waves. The sky was overshadowed by a dark canopy of clouds.
Across the tempest-lashed waters, Tom, by straining his eyes, could manage to make out a dark point of land.
"That ought to be Dead Fish Point," he observed to Jack. "But I couldn't be sure unless I saw the light."
"What kind of a light is it?" asked Jack.
"White and red, in one-minute flashes, I looked it up on the chart before we left Thunder Bay."