“Thad, what d’ye think, has she broken away from her moorings?” demanded Giraffe; and the anxious listeners felt a shock when they heard the patrol leader reply:
“I’m afraid that’s just what’s happened, boys, and that we’re adrift on the flood.”
CHAPTER XI.
ADRIFT ON THE FLOOD.
“What can we do, Thad?” cried Bumpus, as a lurch of the boat caused him to bang up against some of the others.
“Hold on, don’t smash me against the side of the cabin, you elephant!” roared Davy, who had been unfortunate enough to serve as a buffer for the stout scout.
Thad struck a match, and somehow even the small glow thus afforded seemed to give the boys new cheer.
“Thank goodness the tin lamp hasn’t been knocked over and the glass broken!” said Step Hen, as he reached out, and just saved the article in question from slipping off the table.
“Here, let me put this match to the wick,” said Thad; “things won’t seem quite so bad then as in the pitch dark.”
After that they fixed it so the precious tin lamp could not be spilled; and so long as the oil held out they meant to keep it burning.
When the door was opened so that they could look out, it was a dreadful sight the scouts saw. All before them lay heaving water, that had a sickening motion to it, but did not seem to be rushing past as they had noticed it do before.