The Boy Ranchers of Puget Sound by Harold Bindloss

The wind freshened after they reached shelter and it blew very hard. For a time Frank found sleep impossible, though he was glad to lie snug in the warm cabin with the lamp burning above him and the stove snapping cheerfully. The sloop lurched and rocked, drawing her chain tight now and then with a bang, while a muffled uproar went on outside her. Frank could distinguish the angry splash of water upon her bows and the drumming and rapping of loose ropes against the mast, though these sounds were partly drowned by the furious clamor of the ground sea beyond the point and a great deep-toned roaring made, he supposed, by long ranks of thrashing trees. Once or twice, when Jake, who crawled out to see if the anchor was holding, left the slide open, the sound filled the cabin with tremendous pulsating harmonies.

Besides this, the boy's face smarted after the lashing of icy spray, and he wondered whether Mr. Barclay's plans were working out successfully and what fresh adventures awaited Harry and himself on the morrow, all of which was sufficient to keep him in a state of restless expectation. He envied his companion who presently went to sleep, but it was toward morning when at last his own eyelids closed and he got a few snatches of fitful slumber broken by fantastic dreams. He was awakened by a chill upon his face, and looking around saw that Jake had gone out again into the well. The roar of the wind did not seem so overwhelming as it had been, though there was no doubt that it was still blowing hard. By and by Jake called out.