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A furious blast roared through the trees, making everything sing as it went.

One blinding flash after another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder.

And now a drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the ground.

The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the booming thunderblasts drowned their voices utterly.

However, one by one they straggled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared, and streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something to be grateful for.

They could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other noises would have allowed them.

The tempest rose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging away on the blast.

The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood upon the riverbank.

Now the battle was at its highest.

Under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies, everything below stood out in cleancut and shadowless distinctness: the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the driving spray of spumeflakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloudrack and the slanting veil of rain.

Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth; and the unflagging thunderpeals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling.

The storm culminated in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to the treetops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it, all at one and the same moment.

It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be out in.

But at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and weaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway.

The boys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found there was still something to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter of their beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were not under it when the catastrophe happened.

Everything in camp was drenched, the campfire as well; for they were but heedless lads, like their generation, and had made no provision against rain.

Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and chilled.

They were eloquent in their distress; but they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had been built against (where it curved upward and separated itself from the ground), that a handbreadth or so of it had escaped wetting; so they patiently wrought until, with shreds and bark gathered from the under sides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again.

Then they piled on great dead boughs till they had a roaring furnace, and were gladhearted once more.

They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep on, anywhere around.

As the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over them, and they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep.

They got scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast.

After the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once more.

Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the pirates as well as he could.

But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or swimming, or anything.

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