"
When they boarded the hulk, the sky, with the exception of a filmy haze
overhanging the eastern end of the island, was clear. Now, as they
emerged from the cabin, this haze had solidified and was coming--one of
the black and vicious squalls of the West India seas.
"No man can tell what wind there is in them," remarked Boston, as he
viewed it. "But it's pretty close to the water, and dropping rain.
Hold on, there, Doc. Stay aboard. We couldn't pull ashore in the
teeth of it." The doctor had made a spasmodic leap to the rail. "If
the chains were shackled on, we might drop one of the hooks and hold
her; but it's two hours work for a full crew."
"But we're likely to be blown away, aren't we?" asked the doctor.
"Not far. I don't think it'll last long. We'll make the boat fast
astern and get out of the wet." They did so, and entered the cabin.
Soon the squall, coming with a shock like that of a solid blow, struck
the hulk broadside to and careened her. From the cabin door they
watched the nearly horizontal rain as it swished across the deck, and
listened to the screaming of the wind, which prevented all
conversation. Silently they waited--one hour--two hours--then Boston
said: "This is getting serious.
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