“We’re all right,” spoke Sam, encouragingly. “We’ll weather the gale.”
A small acetylene lamp inside the awnings gave light and by its glow Ned made some coffee on the gasolene stove. It took the last of their slender supply of water, but Sam said they had better keep their strength up through the storm, as they would probably get help by morning. Then, with the ten sardines and the crackers they made a midnight lunch which, in spite of the surrounding, was much enjoyed.
Through the whole of the night they were driven by the storm. How he steered Jerry never knew. It was going it blind, in the dark. But the Dartaway carried them safe, and, when morning dawned, the rain had ceased, the sun came up and the wind had become merely a fresh breeze. It had shifted its direction again, at which Sam, after a glance at the compass, uttered a joyful cry.
“Couldn’t be better,” he announced. “It’ll take us right back home again. Say, you boys are certainly lucky!”
They opened the awnings and let the boat dry out. Then, with the wind at their backs, filling the sail, which had been made as large as possible, they headed for home.
“No breakfast!” sighed Chunky, but to himself. He did not want the others to overhear.
No one except the fleshy youth seemed to mind the lack of food, however, though all were very thirsty, and there was not a drop of water aboard.
“We ought to make land by noon, at this rate,” Sam said.
Chunky said nothing, but he pulled his belt a little tighter across his stomach. He seemed to feel better, when he had thus reduced the “size of his hunger.”
It was about ten o’clock that morning when Sam, who was steering, cried: