In such a perilous position, with the wreckage heaving up and down on the water, sleep was almost out of the question. Occasionally one or another would doze off, to awaken with a start as the uncertain flooring beneath him gave an extra lurch or an ominous crack. They did not know whether the ropes they had used would hold the wreckage together. If it parted, they might at any instant find themselves again floundering around in the ocean.
Before morning came, the ominous clouds began to gather once more, and now the wind came up in fitful gusts. In a little while the wreckage was bobbing up and down and creaking fitfully.
“If only we had a few more strong ropes,” said Ira Small. “Those we have are good enough if the weather stays calm, but I’m afraid a heavy storm would prove too much of a strain on ’em.”
The day proved one of alarming uncertainty. The heavy clouds soon brought on more rain, and the wind became almost as violent as it had been the day before. Anxiously all of the boys and the lanky sailor watched the ropes that held the wreckage together.
“Well, anyway, we can get a drink out of this, maybe,” said Randy, and he and the others spread the canvas so that they might catch as much of the rain as possible.
They swallowed the liquid eagerly. It did not help their hunger, but it cut off that awful thirst which was little short of maddening.
Thus another night was spent on the wreckage. By this time their hunger had become acute. Andy and the old sailor suffered the most, because of their hurts.
“Gee, I can’t stand this much longer, Randy,” said Andy to his twin, at last. “I feel as if I was getting sick all over.”
“I’m sorry, Andy, that I can’t do anything more for you,” was the brotherly response. “But there isn’t a thing here to work with.”