She was laying on her beam-ends with the waves pounding against the timbers with a force that threatened to convert the hull into kindlings, but Ned fancied the waters had receded somewhat since he first ventured down to the shore.
“I suppose she is bound to go to pieces,” Roy said mournfully as he gazed at the little craft.
“I’m not so certain about that,” Ned replied. “It strikes me the sea isn’t runnin’ quite as high as it was an hour ago, and if you’ll notice, the water doesn’t come up as far as it did.”
As he spoke he pointed to the line of foam and drift which had been left on the sand some time previous, and all three watched it several moments.
“It’s certain the waves are not reaching that mark,” Vance said with a sigh. “Perhaps the little craft won’t go to pieces after all.”
“It ain’t likely you’ll ever see her afloat again.”
“That may be; but if she holds together we shall have a good supply of provisions, and I don’t fancy you’ve got more than you need.”
“My stock is yet to be caught. All I’ve had so far is fish, with a few clams that weren’t very good, an’ I couldn’t get breakfast this mornin’ because of the storm.”
“The Zoe is well fitted out, and in addition to plenty of provisions, we shall be able to get from her canvas enough with which to make a tent.”
“If that’s the case we’d better keep a mighty sharp lookout, so if she does go to pieces we can save some of the stuff,” Ned replied eagerly, for the idea of having a shelter which would be water-tight was particularly pleasing to the boy who had had a short but rather unpleasant experience in a less substantial dwelling.