“Just in time, too!” George exclaimed. “They’ll be getting kind of anxious about us at home by now, I fancy.”
Suddenly, however, the boys’ hopes were destroyed. The far-off schooner went about and before long was hull down once more. This came as a terrible disappointment to Jack and his chum, for there seemed little likelihood of the gale subsiding before night. And, unpleasant though their position was in the daytime, it would be infinitely worse in the darkness. Though the rain stopped, the force of the wind did not diminish. Jack’s nerve became just a trifle shaky for the first time when he knew that the daylight was actually failing. The boys were both exhausted with continual pumping; and though, with such real danger staring them in the face they gave little thought to the subject of food, the long fast was beginning to tell on them. George’s face was haggard, and the captain would not have allowed him to take more than an occasional brief trick at the pump, but there was no alternative to both lads sharing the work. Their hands were raw, and every muscle in their bodies seemed to be crying aloud in protest.
“We’ll stick it as long as we can,” said Jack, laboring painfully at the pump as darkness enveloped the stricken sloop. “We’ve drifted miles and miles away from Greenport by now, but there’s always a chance, so long as we keep afloat.”
“I don’t believe the wind is blowing quite so hard,” replied George, who felt decidedly limp, and clung to the side of the cockpit while the other lad worked with waning strength.
“It seems to be easing off a bit,” replied Jack, encouragingly, though he saw not the remotest sign of any such thing happening. “Anyway, I’d rather keep on pumping for the present than swim, wouldn’t you?”
The seas were running mountain-high, their curling crescents frequently falling inboard with an alarming swish. A great wave, rushing through the blackness, towered high near them for an instant, as though contemplating its prey hungrily. Then it came on, while the Sea-Lark lay broadside to. There was a roar of rushing waters. Jack gave a warning cry, and then both the lads were gasping for breath under the torrent. A smother of sea and foam swept about over them, filling the cockpit, and pouring over the other side of the deck. Jack felt that this must be the finish.
CHAPTER XIII
THE SIMON P. BARKER GOES OUT
An hour after the two boys left Garnett and Sayer’s wharf in the Sea-Lark, to go fishing, Cap’n Crumbie went into town. It was, for him, a momentous occasion, for he intended to have his hair cut. On the way he met a crony and chatted for twenty minutes. Then, at the barber’s shop, he had to wait half an hour for a chair. Also, the Cap’n had a shave, and when, finally, he might have taken his departure, he met another crony, and there was an interminable argument on the question of fishermen’s wages. So that, by the time the guardian of Garnett and Sayer’s wharf took it into his head to stroll back to his accustomed haunts, a distinct change had taken place in the weather. The wind was singing in the rigging of the various craft around the wharves. There were low clouds scudding across the sky, with their hint of a coming storm.
Cap’n Crumbie thrust his hands into his pockets as soon as he reached the edge of the wharf, and cast a professional glance round the harbor, up at the sky, and far out to sea beyond Gull Island.