Captain Gould gazed at the horizon.
“We are in for a bad spell,” Fritz said to him.
“I am afraid we are,” the captain acknowledged; “as bad a spell as our worst fears could have imagined!”
“Captain,” the boatswain broke in, “this isn’t a time to sit and twiddle one’s thumbs. We’ve got to use a little elbow grease, as sailormen say.”
“Let us try to pull the boat up to the top of the beach,” said Fritz, calling James and his brother.
“We will try,” Captain Gould replied. “The tide is coming up and will help us. Meanwhile let us begin by lightening the boat as much as we can.”
All buckled to. The sails were laid upon the sand, the mast unstepped, the rudder unshipped, and the seats and spars were taken out and carried within the cave.
By the time the tide was slack the boat had been hauled about twenty yards higher up. But that was not enough; she would have to be pulled up twice as far again to be out of reach of the waves.
Having no other tools, the boatswain pushed planks under the keel, and all combined to pull and push. But their efforts were useless: the heavy boat was fixed in the sand and did not gain an inch beyond the last high-water mark.
When evening came the wind threatened a hurricane. From the piled clouds in the zenith flash after flash of lightning broke, followed by terrific peals of thunder, which the cliff reechoed in appalling reverberations.