"Yumping Yupiter!" gasped that doughty mariner, clinging to the side of the submerged craft, "dot must haf been der daddy of all der vaves. Undt now look oudt for here comes der vind."
Hardly had he spoken before the sea was lashed into sudden fury. In the darkness they could see the white caps all about them. Horrified at this new calamity, Nat managed to shout out:
"Will the boat float?"
"Till der lasdt oldt cadt iss deadt," the captain assured him, in a hoarse shout; "as long as we can hold on we are all right."
"But we can't hold on indefinitely," objected Nat. "How long do you think this storm will last?"
"It is one of dose Basific storms," rejoined the captain, "dot don't last so very long. Maype dis be all over in an hour or so."
Fervently hoping that the captain might be correct, Nat took a firmer grip on the gunwale. The boat, thanks to her air chambers, rode buoyantly enough, and if they could but retain their grip of her they were in no great actual peril of drowning. But even if they rode out the storm, there was the question of food to be considered—and water, too. Truly their predicament seemed wretched. But desperate as it appeared, Nat found his thoughts wandering to the sapphire chest he had risked so much to recover. Was it still in the boat, or had it been washed overboard when the storm wave overwhelmed them?
The lad was still cogitating this question when a shout from the captain startled him. He glanced up on the tossing and wind-torn sea and saw a strange sight.
Coming toward them on a tack that would bring her quite close to them was the schooner.
Even under half-bare poles as she was she seemed to be flying over the yeasty, tempest-torn seas. On and on she came, seeming to Nat's excited imagination, to be a hunted creature, pursued by the vengeance of the storm. It was as if nature, aroused by the misdeeds of the rascally crew the "Nettie Nelsen" now carried, was riding her down with the hounds of the wind and tempest.