“We shall know in the morning,” said Brace. “If it’s a storm the water will have risen in the night.”
“Let it,” said Briscoe drowsily. “We’re in shelter, and the boats will rise, so it will not matter to us.”
The next minute both were asleep, and the night passed tranquilly enough till they were awakened by Lynton, who had the morning watch.
“What is it?” said Brace confusedly: “time to get up?”
“Yes, if you don’t want to be scratched out of the boat. Look sharp, please. We’re going to get the awning down.”
It was quite time, as Brace found on getting his eyes well opened, for the boat was tugging at her moorings, the awning rigged up overnight for shelter was close up among the leafage beneath a bough of the tree to which the rope was made fast; and, instead of the water upon which they floated being like that of a placid lake as it had seemed overnight, it was now rushing rapidly by the boat’s sides.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Brace excitedly.
“Storm up in the hills somewhere,” replied Lynton gruffly. “Water’s rising fast.”
“Mind what you’re about there, Dellow, or you’ll be capsized,” shouted the captain to the first mate. “Make all snug, and keep the boat clear of the trees.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came from the other boat, and a few minutes later the mooring-lines were cast off, while the men in each boat lay on their oars, and then as they began to drift swiftly with the rushing waters, a few strokes were given to get well clear of all overhanging branches before the grapnels were let go, but refused for some minutes to get a sufficiently good hold of the bottom.