“Well, I’m sorry to go against the judgment of you fellows, but I think that we had better stay outside than run up against a lot of shoals in the dark we know nothing about.”
The captain pronounced his opinion with an air of one who has considered the subject and has finally made up his mind.
Though the other two disagreed with Kenneth, they had long ago realized that there must be a head to an expedition like this, and they were willing to abide by the skipper’s judgment.
“All right, old man,” Frank replied. “Shall I hang out the side lights?”
“Please. Light up the drug store.” Frank winced at this ancient joke, and went below to fill and trim the red and green lights.
The little thirty-foot yacht, with her precious freight, continued her course out to sea in spite of the falling barometer and the almost absolute surety of a storm to come. It was surely a bold thing to do—many a skipper of a larger craft would have hesitated before going out upon the open ocean in the face of a storm at night, when harbor was so close at hand. But Kenneth had absolute confidence in the vessel he had so thoroughly tested and in the courage of his tried and true companions.
Not till midnight did the storm reach its height; then the “rains descended, and the floods came.” The wind blew a fearful gale, and the pitchy blackness, rent at times by vivid lightning, closed in around the tossing yacht like a mighty hand.
Only those who have passed through one of the sudden storms which arise so frequently in those waters can form any idea of its vicious fury. The wind shrieked, the waves increased in power and volume, until the “Gazelle” sank out of sight behind them, or was raised to a dizzy pinnacle from which she coasted down, her bowsprit pointing almost directly to the bottom. The wind-driven rain cut so that it was impossible to face it; and though the boys were clad in oilskins, from closely tied sou’westers to bare ankles, the wet penetrated the seams, ran down their necks, and drenched them through and through. All hands were on watch that night; the hatches were battened down tight. They tried their best to keep to windward, but the tossing of the boat shook them round the narrow cockpit like dice in a box. Conversation was impossible; the wind snatched the words from their mouths and carried them out of hearing instantly. All was dark except for the fitful flash of lightning and the dim radiance of the binnacle lamp in Kenneth’s face as he swayed over it to watch his course.
One, two, three hours passed, and the fury of the storm increased. It was a terrible strain on the young mariners, and each wondered in his inmost heart if they would come out of it alive. Somehow, they did not quite believe they would. Battered and bruised, wet, chilled, and utterly weary of buffeting with wave and wind, they clinched their teeth and by sheer force of will kept up their courage.
“What’s that?” Kenneth’s voice sounded weak and far off, but the accent was sharp and anxious for all that, and unmistakable.