Page:Barbour--Lost island.djvu/330

 the mainsail, quick," he added, letting go the sheet. "That's right. Now the jib—stop! It's too late. Hang on for your life. Here she comes."

A furious blast struck the Nautilus on the starboard quarter. The little craft quivered and then wallowed in a welter of seething water. The jib gave a crack like a mighty whip, one rope tore away, and the canvas flapped madly as it hung over the side. Tempest gave one glance at it, decided nothing could be done to make it secure in such an emergency, and crawled to the Kanaka's side. At all costs they had to keep the boat running before the wind. She was slewing round desperately, spun by the corkscrew action of the growing waves. In an incredibly short space of time the whole surface of the ocean had become a smother of white, boiling crests, with yawning valleys of water between them. At one moment the trim little Nautilus was buried down, down, with great swirling walls on every side. Then she