“More like a hurricane!” snorted old Billy Dill. “The wind is growin’ wuss each minit!”
“Draw that boat up into the bushes and fasten it well,” ordered the captain. “We don’t want to have it stove in or floated off by the breakers.” And the rowboat was carried to a place of safety.
“Where is the ship?” asked Roger.
“Slipped away when the blow came up,” answered the captain. “An’ I hope the mate knows enough to keep away,” he added, gravely.
Soon it started to rain, first a few scattering drops and then a perfect deluge. The castaways spoke of a cave that was near by, and all hurried in that direction, taking the stores from the boat with them.
“How long will this last, do you think?” asked Phil, of the master of the Golden Eagle.
“No telling. Maybe only to-day, maybe several days.”
“If it last several days, we’ll have a time of it getting food,” broke in the senator’s son.
“We’ll watch out for fish and turtles,” said Billy Dill. “Nothin’ like turtles when you are good an’ hungry.”
“That’s true,” answered Dave. He had not forgotten the big turtle the old tar had managed to catch down on one of the islands in the South Seas.