“You say, ‘if the wreck is still above water’. Is there any possibility that she may not be?” demanded Mrs Vansittart.
“I very greatly fear so,” I said. “When we involuntarily left her she was being steadily driven ever nearer to the edge of the reef; and if she passes that point I believe she will sink like a stone. Still, there is no use in anticipating the worst. I would recommend you to compose yourselves to sleep, if you can, until daylight; then we shall know for certain exactly how we stand. By the way, is the boat leaking at all?”
For a few seconds there was no reply; Mrs Vansittart was evidently feeling round for indications of a leak. Presently she spoke.
“There has been a little water here, Walter,” she replied, “but I believe it all came in through the cockpit, in the form of spray, and now no doubt it has all run aft with the tilt of the boat. There is nothing worse now than a little damp.”
“I am sorry,” I said; “but I am afraid you will have to make the best of things as they are. Luckily it is anything but cold, and if you can but get to sleep you will soon forget your discomforts. I will keep a look-out.”
So saying I backed out from under the deck, and in the first place proceeded to search for the water complained of. I found it right aft, as Mrs Vansittart had suggested, and in order to test the tightness of the boat I baled it all out, or at least as much of it as could be got rid of with the baler, leaving no more than perhaps half a tumblerful. Then, wading ashore, I sat down on the sand, with my back against the upright oar to which the boat was moored, and began to review the situation. Five minutes later, despite my soaked clothing and my general state of discomfort, I was fast asleep.
When I awoke, the sun was just showing on the eastern horizon. The sky was clear, save for a few tattered fragments of ragged-looking scud that speedily disappeared, the wind had died down to a piping, topsail breeze, and the sea-birds, which had evidently been driven out to sea by the gale, were wearily winging their way back to the sandbank, filling the brisk, clean morning air with their mournful cries. I looked for the wreck, but the reef was bare. She had vanished, leaving not a trace behind her, save a few planks remaining of the stock from which I had built the boat; these, upon looking more carefully about me, I saw floating in a little bunch near the middle of the lagoon. My clothes had dried upon me during my sleep, and I was feeling just a trifle chilled, but the air was already warming up, and a brisk walk along the edge of the water and back again soon restored my circulation.
I climbed aboard the boat and, barefooted, padded softly along the deck until I reached the cockpit, into which I dropped softly; then, peering in under the deck, I looked to see whether any of the occupants were stirring. They all appeared to be asleep except the boy, who, as soon as my eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, I saw was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He presently saw me and was evidently about to speak, but I silenced him with a gesture, and beckoned him to come to me in the cockpit. He obeyed, and when he was standing beside me, staring round him in wonderment, I pointed out the floating planks to him and said:
“It has just occurred to me, Julius, that one of those planks, or rather, a small portion of one of them, will be exceedingly useful to us. I am therefore going to swim off and fetch one; and I want you to stand here and keep watch while I am gone. If anyone wakes and wants to come out from below, just tell them that I am having a swim, and that I shall be much obliged if they will stay below until I return and am dressed. My clothes are dry now, and I don’t want to wet them again, so I shall strip. You understand?”
“Sure! I get you all right,” answered the lad. “I won’t let any of them out until you are ready to be seen again. Better ‘git’ as quickly as you can, hadn’t you?”