The little schooner was now indeed within less than half a mile of the wharf; but here at length the wind entirely failed her, and she sat idly on the water. De Vaux was watching her through the glass; there seemed to be some little hesitation and confusion on board; Sam, the boy, had given up the tiller to Black Bob. Suddenly the first blast of the gust from the east came rustling through the wood, making the young trees bend before it; then as it passed over the water there was a minute's respite. "How she dodges!--What are they about?" exclaimed Harry. "What do they mean?--Are they blind?--can't they see the squall coming?" cried de Vaux in great anxiety, as he watched the hesitation on board the Petrel. "As my name is Nat Fisher, that nigger is drunk!--I thought so this morning!" exclaimed the steward. "And Smith and Hubbard know nothing of a boat!" cried de Vaux, in despair. The words had scarcely passed his lips before the wind came rushing over the wood, in a sudden, furious blast, bringing darker and heavier clouds, accompanied by quick, vivid flashes of lightning, and sharp cracks of thunder; the rain pouring down in torrents. It was with difficulty the young men kept their footing on the end of the wharf, such was the first fury of the gust; but they forgot themselves in fears for their friends. "Are they mad!" cried de Vaux, as he marked the uncertainty of their movements; while the wind was sweeping furiously over the darkened waters towards them. A heavy sheet of rain, pouring in a flood from the clouds, completely enveloped the party on the wharf; another second and a shout was indistinctly heard amid the tumult of the winds and waters; a lighter cloud passed over, the bay was partially seen again; but neither the white sails of the Petrel nor her buoyant form could be traced by the eager eyes on the wharf. She had been struck by the gust and capsized. "She is gone!" exclaimed de Vaux, with a cry of horror. "Charlie can't swim!" cried Harry. "Nor Bob, for certain," said the steward. "I don't know about the others." Three shots from a fowling-piece were rapidly fired, as a signal to the party in the Petrel that their situation was known to their friends on shore. The steward was instantly ordered to run along the beach to the farthest point, and carry the boat from there to the spot; it was a distance of more than two miles by land, still de Vaux thought it best to be done; while he himself and Stebbins seized another pair of oars, and set off at full speed in the opposite direction, to the nearest point, about a mile from the wharf, beyond which Stryker was fishing with their own boat, intending to carry her instantly to the relief of the party in the schooner.