But their joy over their lucky escape was soon dampened by the threatening appearance of the Western sky. A heavy bank of clouds was slowly rising there from which came flashes of lightning and the rumble of distant thunder.
"I reckon, it ain't nothin' but a thunder squall," the captain assured them. "Thar ain't no call to be uneasy, this is a mighty seaworthy little craft. I reckon, we could ride out a right smart gale in her if we had it to do."
Before they ran much further the captain gave the order to lower and reef the great sail. When hoisted again, it was only a tiny patch of canvas, as compared with its former size.
"Thar's only one thing for us to do when that squall strikes us an' that's to scud before it," the old captain declared. "We can't heave her to under that sail. Luckily, the way it's coming won't blow us out of our course much."
They had not long to wait for the storm to burst. The wind soon descended with a violence that threatened to bury the diving boat in the seas it brought with it. But the little craft had been built to stand just such weather, and, quickly gathering headway, she darted away before the gale. With the wind came the rain in great driving, blinding sheets. The boys hailed its appearance with joy. They spread out their jackets, bits of sail, and even their hats to catch the precious drops. In a short while they had secured enough to quench their intense thirst. This done, they gathered around the captain at the helm ready to render any assistance in their power. There was little they could do for the old sailor would trust no one but himself to steer in the heavy sea-way. As the hours passed by without showing any abatement of the storm, it became evident to his companions that he was growing anxious.
"I don't like the way it's hanging on," he declared. "We must be making at least twelve miles an hour and, at that rate, we will have the land close aboard before daylight. Crawl forward, Charley, an' keep a sharp look-out, the sky is clearing some an', I reckon, you can see a few hundred feet ahead."
The lad obediently worked his way up into the bow, and bracing himself against the anchor bitts, peered ahead into the darkness. He could make out nothing at first but the heavy foam-flecked, tossing water. He sat watching intently till, at last, Walter crawled forward to take his place. He had only got part way back to the stern when there came a cry from his chum,
"Hard down! hard down!"
With true seaman's quickness, the Captain jammed the long tiller over and the little craft, escaping broaching in the trough of the seas by a miracle, shot up into the wind—a second too late.