The wind moaned in a queer, eerie sort of way, that bespoke the coming of a storm of more than ordinary severity. Jack was a prey to some anxiety as he held the Curlew on her course. If they could not make the dock he was aiming for before the storm struck, there might be serious consequences.
But, to his great relief, they reached the wharf, a tumble-down affair, before the tempest broke. The Curlew was made "snug," and this had hardly been done before a mighty gust of wind, followed by a blanket of rain, tore through the air.
"Just in time, boys," said Jack, as they set out on the run for the structure which they had observed from the water. On closer view it turned out to be nothing more than a barn, not in any too good repair, but still it offered a shelter.
The boys reached it just as a terrific blast of wind swept across the bay, roughening it with multitudinous whitecaps. A torrent of rain blotted out distances at the same time and turned all the world in their vicinity into a driving white cloud.
The barn proved to be even more rickety than its outside had indicated. The door was gone and its windows were broken out. But at least it was pleasanter under a roof than it would have been out in the open. The rain, driven by the furious wind, penetrated the rotten, sun-dried shingles and pattered on the earthen floor, but the boys found a dry place in one corner, where there was a pile of hay.
As the storm increased in fury the clouds began to blot out the daylight. It grew as dark as night almost. The roar of the rain was like the voice of a giant cataract.
"We may have to stay here all night," said Billy, after a long silence.
"That's true," rejoined Jack. "It would be foolhardy to take a boat like the Curlew out in such a storm."
Suddenly there came a terrific flash of lightning, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. It was succeeded by flash after flash, in blinding succession.
"My, this is certainly a snorter," exclaimed Billy, and the others agreed with him.