"But we must do something," the manager repeated.
"I'm doing all I can," Captain Brisco replied. "I'll shorten sail down to the minimum; that will keep us before the wind, and out of the trough of the sea! More I can't do. We must depend on them to pick us up. They ought to be able to do it. You told me Dalwood could manage a boat."
"So he can—but—"
There was ominous meaning in the broken-off sentence.
"Well, we'll do the best we can," concluded Captain Brisco. "They will have to take chances, as we're doing."
He went forward to give some orders.
Those aboard the schooner peered anxiously over the storm swept waters for a sight of the motor craft, but they saw nothing. They shouted and called, but only the wind howled back at them.
Then, with a suddenness that was appalling, they seemed to be flung into the midst of a hurricane. The wind lashed the sea to fury, and the Mary Ellen spun around like some gigantic top.
"We're in the vortex!" cried Jack Jepson. "We're in the vortex of a cyclone! All hands look to themselves!"