With a rush the sail came down, its folds almost completely covering the four boys in the boat. The strain on the tiller was greatly relieved however and the Balsam maintained a more even keel.
“Whew!” exclaimed George, groping his way astern. “What a storm this is!”
“I never saw it rain so hard,” said John. “Just look; you can’t see more than about ten feet.”
“We’ll go aground if we’re not careful.”
“How can we stop it?” demanded Fred. “We’re at the mercy of the storm.”
“Throw the anchor overboard,” suggested George.
“A good idea, Pop,” exclaimed Grant. “Come along and I’ll help you.”
“You’ll get struck by lightning,” warned Fred, half seriously. The flashes were blinding and almost continuous. The thunder ripped and roared all around and so near at hand was the center of the storm that sometimes the smell as of something burning could be detected in the air.
“That anchor will never hold us,” said John who sat in the stern, huddled close to Fred. Grant and George were feeling their way forward.
“Don’t throw the lunch basket over by mistake,” called Fred.