"Hold on tight, boys," shouted Bob, as he headed the boat squarely into the wind.
With a roar, the storm struck the little craft. She staggered and shook under its blast, then plunged her prow into the choppy water, while clouds of spray dashed over the boys.
A blinding flash of lightning seemed to start directly overhead, accompanied almost instantly by a crash that fairly dazed them. Crouching under the awning, the Ramblers screened themselves as best they could. The rain, however, beat in torrents under it, splashing in their faces, while the "Rambler," like a toy, bobbed up and down.
It was an anxious time to the little crew. Each passing minute found the waves growing higher and higher, until they broke over the bow with a force that made the little boat tremble.
The "Nimrod" could not be seen amidst such a flood of rain, but Bob courageously held the "Rambler" upon a steady course, and as the boat had successfully withstood the storm's first onset, he rapidly began to gain confidence.
"Help, help!"
A series of cries but faintly heard above the roar of the tempest suddenly reached their ears.
Bob's heart beat wildly. He knew only too well what it meant.
"Help, help!"
Then came the report of a gun.