“I’m going too,” said Roger.
“No, you are not,” said the mate, “you’re dry.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do, Roger,” said John. “You can lend Captain Nancy your torch. Her lantern’s no good and you’ll want the big one in the tent.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Roger. If he could not go, at least his torch could, and that was better than nothing.
Titty, John, and Nancy slipped out of the tent into the storm. Using the torches and bending low against the wind and rain, they forced their way along the path to the harbour. There was a lot of water in the boats and the lake had already risen a little, but the Swallow and the Amazon , moored as they were, were quite all right.
“I’m going to slacken away my bow warp,” said Captain John. “It’s got very taut with all this wet.”
“I’ll do the same with mine.”
They loosened the painters a little.
“It’s a grand harbour, you know,” shouted Nancy. “Just listen to it outside.”
In the sheltered harbour there were waves, but nothing to matter. The big rocks on either side broke the waves before they could get in. But they could hear the crashing of breakers on the outer shoals and along the steep western shore. Titty slipped away from the others and crawled to the edge of the low cliff that ran along that shore, and crouched there, facing into the wind. Spray from the waves breaking beneath her was blown into her face. Flashes of lightning lit up the whole lake and showed great waves stretching right across it with white curling tops.