"I trust the storm ain't found the yacht," replied old Jacob, dubiously. "If it got in the harbor it would play high jinks with the shipping."
"Oh, I hope it passed by San Juan," said Dick. The Dashaway was his pride, and he did not wish to see the beautiful vessel harmed.
It was with difficulty that the entire party found enough dry wood with which to kindle a fire. All were soaked to the skin, and it was decided to remain in camp until noon.
"Perhaps we would have been better off in the cave," said Bob. "I wonder if Joseph Farvel remained down there."
"As like as not," said Robert Menden. "But I think staying in such a hole in a hurricane is dangerous. You don't know what pranks a storm might play."
"Yes; if the wind got in there it would haul down a good bit o' the roof," said old Jacob.
While Danny was nursing the fire into a big blaze, several flocks of birds flew over the cliff. At once the boys got out their firearms and half a dozen shots brought down twice that number of the feathered specie. The birds were speedily dressed, and cooked, and made a welcome addition to their otherwise scant breakfast.
Robert Menden was anxious that no more time be lost, and promptly at noon, with clothing once more dried, they started off again for the caves. Carlos Remora had disappeared entirely, nor did he show up again, thinking that all of the party were buried under the fallen ceiling of the cave.
The side of the mountain was wet and slippery, and they had to proceed with care, for fear of slipping into some hollow and becoming seriously hurt.
On all sides were the evidences of the terrific storm—shattered trees, bushes laid flat, and here and there a ripped-up portion of grass, as if some giant's hand had reached down and twisted it up from the roots.