The Dartaway’s flag, upside down, a signal of distress, was fastened to a boat-hook, that being the tallest pole they had, and fastened in the bow. Then, under Sam’s direction they fastened the awning well down, and, with a bit of tarpaulin rigged up a small sail, by means of some boat-hooks.
“We’ll need steerage way,” said the sailor, “and we haven’t a drag this time.”
“Had we better throw overboard some of this cargo?” asked Ned.
“No, it’s not heavy enough to do any harm, and it will make the boat a little steadier,” said the sailor.
It was getting quite hazy by this time, and there was a curious calm to the air, as though the storm was just waiting for the word to break in all its fury. The water had a strange oily look, and the waves rolled without the least bit of foam flying from their crests.
The Dartaway was the only craft in sight, save where a dull blot showed that part of the wreck still clung to the rocks that had broken her back. The other boats had long ago scudded for shelter. The shore could not be discerned, and even the lighthouse, which was usually visible for a long distance, was wiped out.
There was nothing more to be done. Anxiously the boys scanned the ocean for a sight of some craft that might tow them in. They had no means of moving, as there was no wind, as yet, and they had some time ago gotten into the habit of leaving out a pair of oars with which most motor boats are provided to use in case of emergency. They had seldom needed them, and they would have been of small service, anyway, as the craft was too heavy to be propelled in that fashion at sea.
“Well, we’re as ready for it as we’ll ever be,” remarked Sam, when he had seen for a second time to all the fastenings. “Let her come and get it over with.”
“Do you think we’d better eat now, or—or afterward?” came from Bob.
“Chunky, if you mention grub again until we’re safe ashore I’ll throw you overboard!” cried Jerry. He had seldom spoken so sharply, and it told of the strain he was under.