It was difficult work fastening on the waterproof cover from the inside, but at last it was accomplished, and Bill flashed on his electric torch. With some trouble, because of the violent pitching and rolling of their little ship, he took down the two passenger seats which were collapsible, and stowed them in the luggage hold aft. It now became possible for father and son to sit upright on the flooring.
“We’re as snug as a couple of bugs in a rug, now,” breezed Bill with satisfaction as he made the last seat secure.
“More like nailing down the lid of our coffin,” observed his father. “I hope I’m not afraid to meet my Maker, but I’d much prefer doing so in the open. However, I am certainly proud of the way you’re handling things, my boy. From now on, I’ll stop grumbling. When you reach my age, you’ll find that an upset stomach paints everything else black.”
With startling suddenness, the howl of the wind stilled, and the two in the cockpit could hear plainly the splash of the waves against the hull. This eerie silence lasted for perhaps a minute, to be superseded by a dull roar that grew stronger and louder every split second.
“Hold fast! Here she comes!” shouted Bill. With his back against one wall and his feet against the other, he braced his body for the shock of the wind.
In a crescendo of thunderous warning the hurricane struck them. Down and still further down went the nose of the plane beneath the smashing wind.
Would she never come up? Would the anchor line hold? Bill wondered frantically. Then he caught his father’s twisted smile, and answered it with another. Dad was a real sport—true, he was a business man, and more at home in a swivel-chair behind a desk than in a pounding seaplane in a gale. But the old man was right there when it came to real pluck. That smile, with beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead proved it. Bill tingled with pride and satisfaction.
It was different, of course, with himself. He was a midshipman and a flyer, and it was his business to take risks. This was about the tightest fix he had been in so far, he thought. Never had he heard anything like the fearsome, shrieking roar of this wind.
Ah! The plane’s head was rising! He could feel it. Soon the sea would get up again. Would they be able to ride out the storm?
Mr. Bolton fished a notebook and pencil out of his pocket, and after writing a few words, passed them to Bill.