It was some time before the white squall let up, and, when the wind died down, the boys found themselves off Hammond’s Bay life-saving station, and, thankful for the respite, they headed in for the refuge provided by the Government.
A channel cut through the solid rock led to a little lagoon, and through this the “Gazelle” was dragged by the good fellows of the station.
It was well that the yacht sought this refuge, for a storm that would have sent the staunch little craft to the bottom lasted three days and held sway over the Lake.
The enforced stay was not irksome in the least, for there were a great many tales to tell and to hear, and the life savers were good fellows.
But with each day’s delay the longing for home grew stronger, though it seemed as if the elements deliberately conspired to hold them back.
After leaving Hammond’s Bay, they went on up the Lake Huron coast. Storm after storm broke over them, adverse winds beset them, and squalls dogged their wake; but at last they reached the very tip of the Peninsula, and passed through the Straits of Mackinac.
The feeling of exultation the sea-worn cruisers felt when the keel of their boat once more ploughed the waters of Lake Michigan is beyond all description. Words could not express the joy and satisfaction they felt.
Before a high gale and a nasty sea, the “Gazelle” ran into Little Traverse Bay—the first harbor on the western shore of Michigan. Sailing along the coast, it seemed as if they were almost home; that the bluffs of old St. Joe were but a little way off, and that they had but to fire their cannon to get an answering salute from their friends, the life-saving station men.
Putting in at Old Mission, the boys visited Kenneth’s friends several days, while the storm king reigned outside in his royal rage and bluster.
At every stopping place, all along the line, they received letters, urging them to hurry, for the winter season was so close at hand, when no man may sail on the Lakes. Their people were anxious to have them home. The long, dangerous trip, the frequent lapses in the correspondence (enforced, of course, but none the less hard for the watchers at home to bear), the stories of storm and disaster at sea, all combined to wear down the patience and courage of the relatives at home. The long stress of violent weather at the end of a fearfully prolonged journey, had worn on the nerves of the captain and crew also, and they all had a bad attack of homesickness. The longing for home when it is near at hand, but just beyond the reach, is the hardest of all to bear.