"Quick, Fred!" cried Grant. "Bring her up into the wind. You help me let
down this sail, Pop."
An angry gust of wind scudding across the lake, caught the catboat and
made her heel far over.
"Let go your sheet, Fred!" shouted Grant. "Quick or we'll upset."
He and George sprang forward and feverishly tried to loosen the ropes
that held the sail aloft. The wind was increasing in strength now,
however, and the boat was becoming more difficult to manage every
moment. The sky was inky black and sharp flashes of lightning cut the
clouds from end to end. The thunder roared and echoed and reëchoed over
the wooded mountains round about. It was now raining hard.
"Keep that sheet clear of everything," cried Grant, who usually assumed
command in every crisis. "Let it run free whatever you do."
"You hurry with that sail," retorted Fred.
"They're doing their best I guess," said John.
"If they don't get it down soon we'll go over," cried Fried. "I can
hardly hold her now."
"Can I help you, Grant?" asked John, striving to make his way forward.
The boom, however, swung violently back and forth threatening to knock
him overboard every second. It was almost impossible to keep out of its
way in the tiny catboat.
"Go sit down," cried Grant. "We'll get it down in a second."
The rain now fell in torrents. The wind whistled and shrieked all about
them and it seemed as if at any moment the sail must be torn to shreds
and the mast ripped from its socket. Lucky it was that Fred was an
experienced sailor and endowed with nerve as well. The squall drove the
boat backwards but Fred managed to keep her nose pointed straight into
the teeth of the gale. Otherwise the Balsam could not have lived two
minutes.
"Why don't they hurry with that sail?" exclaimed Fred peevishly.
"They are hurrying," said John. "The ropes are wet and they're nervous."
"Ah, there it comes," cried Fred suddenly. "Now we'll stand a chance."
With a rush the sail came down, its folds almost completely covering the
four boys in the boat. The strain on the tiller was greatly relieved
however and the Balsam maintained a more even keel.
"Whew!" exclaimed George, groping his way astern. "What a storm this
is!"
"I never saw it rain so hard," said John. "Just look; you can't see more
than about ten feet."
"We'll go aground if we're not careful."
"How can we stop it?" demanded Fred. "We're at the mercy of the storm."
"Throw the anchor overboard," suggested George.
"A good idea, Pop," exclaimed Grant. "Come along and I'll help you."
"You'll get struck by lightning," warned Fred, half seriously. The
flashes were blinding and almost continuous. The thunder ripped and
roared all around and so near at hand was the center of the storm that
sometimes the smell as of something burning could be detected in the
air.
"That anchor will never hold us," said John who sat in the stern,
huddled close to Fred. Grant and George were feeling their way forward.
"Don't throw the lunch basket over by mistake," called Fred.
"The lunch won't be worth much now, I'm afraid," said John ruefully.
"Oh, I don't know; it's under the deck."
"I know, but the boat has a lot of water in her now and if it touches
that basket it will soon soak through."
"How deep is this lake?"
"I've no idea. I don't even know where we are."
"I'm afraid we're going to run ashore all of a sudden somewhere."
"The anchor ought to catch before that happens," said John. "It's
trailing now you know."
"I know it is, but suppose we hit a lone rock."
"We're running that chance. I don't know what we can do about it."
"Are you trying to steer, Fred?" asked Grant who together with George
had now crawled back to the stern of the boat.
"I'm trying to keep her headed with the waves; that's all I can do."
"I know it. I think the squall's letting up some though."
"Perhaps it is," agreed John. "It does seem a little bit lighter."
"It isn't raining so hard either," observed Grant. "These squalls stop
just as quickly as they start sometimes."
"The lake must be deep here," said Fred. "How long is that anchor
chain?"
"About fifteen feet I guess," said John.
"That ought to keep us from going ashore anyway," exclaimed Fred. "Who
said this storm was over?"
"It must be coming back," said Grant. "It certainly let up for awhile
though."
"But it's making up for it now all right," observed George. "I'm so glad
I took all that trouble to get my clothes dry."
The four boys looked at one another and could not help laughing. Every
one of them was drenched through to the skin and no one had a dry stitch
of clothes on. The rain pelted them mercilessly and the water ran off
their faces in streams. All huddled together, they made a forlorn
looking party.
"This is what all campers get I suppose," remarked George.
"They certainly do," agreed Grant. "Some of them get it worse than this
too."
"Do you suppose our tent is still there?" inquired John.
"Let's hope so," exclaimed George fervently. "We'd be in a nice fix if
we found it blown away when we got back."
"If we do get back," said Fred dolefully.
"What's the matter with you, Fred?" demanded Grant. "You don't think
we're all going to die or be killed, do you?"
"I don't know. This is a bad storm and we can't see where we are."
"But the anch--"
There was a sudden jolt. Every boy was almost thrown from his seat as
the boat came to a quick stop. Then the bow swung slowly around and a
moment later the Balsam was pointed straight into the wind, her anchor
chain taut.
"We're aground," cried George.
"Not at all," corrected Grant. "The anchor chain has caught, that's
all."
"Where are we?"
"I can't see."
"We must be somewhere near shore," said John.
"We might be on a shoal."
"No, there's land," cried John. "I can see it."
"Maybe it's on our island," said George. "Wouldn't that be queer."
"Well, I wish the old storm would be over so we can see just where we
are located," exclaimed Fred. "I've had enough of this."
"You'd better be thankful the anchor holds and not worry about anything
else," observed Grant. "So far we can't complain."
"It's stopping," said George suddenly. "The sun will be out in a
minute."
"If it comes out it had better bring an umbrella, that's all I can say,"
observed John.
"A pretty poor joke, String," said George. "Try another one; it might be
better."
"The sun is coming out," cried Grant. "The storm is almost over, I
guess."
"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Fred. "Now we can see where we are."
Little by little the rain abated, the wind died down and the thunder
melted away in the distance. Before many moments had passed the sun
broke forth from behind a cloud and blue sky appeared.
"Do they have many of these squalls around here, I wonder?" said George.
"I don't think very highly of them myself."
"Nor I," agreed Grant. "Just look where it carried us."
"There's our island," exclaimed Fred. "I thought it was in the other
direction though."
"So it was," said John. "We traveled the whole length of the lake, I
guess."
"Right past our camp?"
"It looks so."
"Suppose we had hit one of those big rocks where I fell in," said
George. "Our anchor wouldn't have done us very much good there."
"I should say not," agreed Grant. "Isn't that a camp over there?"
His three companions gazed in the direction he indicated and sure enough
a big white tent very similar to their own appeared on shore, a short
distance from the spot where the Balsam lay at anchor.
"I don't see anybody around," remarked Fred. "Do you suppose they're all
away?"
"The best way to find out is to go and see for ourselves," exclaimed
Grant.
"That's right," observed George. "Let's get the anchor up and sail in."
"There's a dock there too, where we can land," said Fred. "Perhaps the
people who are camping here have been caught out in the storm."
"We'll soon know anyway," said Grant, making his way forward to assist
George in getting up the anchor.