"If there isn't any opening in the reef, what are we to do?" asked Phil, blankly. "Why, the Stormy Petrel will have to remain here forever!"
"Which puts me in mind of a story, as Shadow Hamilton would say," came from Dave. "I once heard of a fellow who built a rowboat in the garret of his house. After the boat was done, it was so large he couldn't get it out of the door or window, and he had to take the boat apart again."
"If the boys at Oak Hall could see us now!" cried Roger. "But about our ship. We didn't build it here—the tidal wave sent it in, over yonder reef. Now the question arises, how are we to get over the reef again?"
"If there is no opening in the reef, maybe we can blow one out with dynamite," suggested Phil.
After dinner Captain Marshall went out in the largest of the rowboats, taking with him his pick of the sailors. They took a lead line along, and remained away until dark, taking as many soundings as they possibly could. It was dangerous work, and those on the bark were glad when the rowboat returned.
"Well, did you find a channel?" asked the first mate.
"No," was the short answer. "There are several openings, but none, that I discovered, wide enough for the Stormy Petrel."
"Of course, you didn't cover the whole reef?"
"By no means. I will go out again to-morrow—or you may do so."
The news the captain brought was very disheartening, and it was a gloomy party that assembled in the cabin of the bark that evening.