“Maybe we’d better reef some,” said Will questioningly.
“I know blamed well we had,” muttered Nelson, as he climbed out of the cockpit and set to work. “Lend a hand, Dan!” he called. They took two reefs in the mainsail, not without difficulty, and crawled back. It was getting darker now, and there were ugly pale-green streaks on the water. But with the wind almost astern and the channel dead ahead, there was no need of present worry. The squall was not a heavy one, and might soon blow over. If it didn’t they would have difficulty, Nelson was certain, in getting into Peconic. Presently they were past the end of the sand spit, and Nelson, for one, breathed easier. The boy at the helm eased her off a little, and then swung her around into the wind. At the same instant a terrific gust of wind struck them, the sloop fell off, the mainsail swung out to starboard, and Nelson made a leap at the tiller.
“Give me that thing, you idiot!” he muttered. “Let go your jib unless you want to have us all in the water!”
The boy was plainly rattled and somewhat scared, but he managed to obey.
“Now lower away on that mainsail,” continued Nelson. “I don’t know much about this old tub, and I’m not going to take any chances. We’ll try bare poles while this lasts!”
The wind was roaring around them now, and the sloop was heeling over under the force of it. Dan and Bob lent assistance, and in a trice the mainsail was down and secured. The sloop found her keel again. “Now put up that jib again,” said Nelson. “I guess we’d better keep her headed right, though I’m blest if I know where she’s going!”
“Here comes the rain!” cried Tom, and the next moment they got it. Ponchos were hurriedly donned, and Barry, shivering and frightened, crept under the seat. The shores were suddenly blotted from sight in the whirling gray mists. The sloop scudded along through the leaping waves at breathless pace. Nelson called to Will.
“Here, you take this tiller,” he said. “You know a heap more about this bay than I do.”
But the boy only shook his head.