“Thunder and lightning!” exclaimed Joe. “It’s a storm!”
A moment later there came a deluge of rain, that fairly roared as it struck the deck and awnings of the boat.
“Whew!” exclaimed Blake. “This is fierce! If this keeps up long the flood will exceed its own high-water mark.”
“Better take a look at the cable,” suggested Mr. Ringold. “We don’t want to get adrift in this outburst.”
Blake put on a raincoat, and stepped outside. The vivid lightning, and the deafening thunder, kept up, and he was forced to cling to the rail to steady himself against the motion of the craft, and the force of the wind. The Clytie was tugging hard at her mooring cable, which was strained taut.
“It wouldn’t do any harm to put on another rope!” cried Blake.
“We’ll do it,” answered Mr. Ringold, from the sleeping cabin.
Blake made his way to the cleat to which the boat end of the rope was made fast. He saw, with concern, that the rope was frayed, and would not hold much longer.
“Better hurry!” he called, but he had scarcely spoken when the very sky seemed rent with a bolt of lightning, and, as the raging, roaring, flooded river was lighted up by the flash, the rope parted and the motor boat was carried away.
“We’re adrift!” yelled Blake, as intense darkness succeeded the bright glare.