Meanwhile the wind grew in savageness. Instead of being gusty, it blew more and more violently out of the northeast. When the helmsman tried to head into it, under the skipper's relayed instructions by Darry, the lack of steam kept the old Marigold marking time instead of forging ahead.
"If we have to put the steam to the pump to clear the bilge after this," grumbled the pessimistic Burd, "we'll never reach any shelter. Might as well run for the Bermudas."
"Won't that be fine!" cried Amy. "I have always wanted to go to the Bermudas, and we've never gone."
"Fine girl, you," retorted Burd. "You don't know when you are in danger."
"Fire's out!" announced Amy. "The skipper says so. And I am not afraid of a capful of wind."
There was more danger, however, than the girls imagined. The water that had been poured into the yacht's hold did not make her any more seaworthy. It was necessary to start the pump to try to clear the hold.
The clapperty-clap; clapperty-clap! of the pump and the water swishing across the deck to be vomited out of the hawse holes was nothing to add to the passengers' feelings of confidence. Besides, the water came very clear, and at its appearance the skipper looked doleful.
"What's the matter, Skipper?" asked Darry, seeing quickly that something was still troubling the old man.
"Why, Mr. Darry, that don't look good to me and that's a fact," the sailing master said.