The boat was riding the big rolling seas like a duck, and Jack was handling her with real skill, but at any moment he might let the little craft fall off and then there was every chance of a big sea boarding and swamping her.
“Goodness, we seem to get out of one trouble only to tumble into another,” exclaimed Tom. “Easy there!”
A shower of spray flew high over the small boat, drenching its occupants to the skin.
“This would be all right sailing near home,” said Jack, shaking the water out of his curls, “but right now it strikes me that we could do with a little less sea.”
“Do you think she’ll last till we get to land?” asked Tom uneasily.
“If it doesn’t blow any harder, we ought to do all right.”
“But if not?”
“Then we are going to have a pretty tough time in making port.”
For an interval after that, neither of them spoke. It took all Jack’s skill to handle the boat, while Tom kept his eyes riveted on the island which every moment grew more distinct in outline.
You are not to think, though, that the boy could gaze continuously at the island. At times the boat would plunge down into a watery valley from which it seemed impossible she could ever rise. Again, topping a wave crest, Tom was able to view the island for a flash.