“What about the other side of the island? Perhaps there is some way out there,” suggested the Lieutenant.
Frank shook his head.
“By the time we get there the flames would be roaring up the hillside here,” he said, “there is only one thing to do. Run for it.”
“Run for it?”
“Fly for it rather. In an hour’s time this island will be a black charred ash-heap,” was Frank’s reply.
“But, Frank,” was Harry’s exclamation, “the Golden Eagle II will only carry four, and then she is overburdened, and there are five of us here!”
“She’s got to carry us,” said Frank grimly, “or we’ll be burned to crisps, or starved if we escape death by fire.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Lighten her,” was the quiet reply, “dump overboard every ounce of weight we can spare.”
Feverishly the little party went about the work. First the transoms were ruthlessly ripped out and thrown aside. Then came the provisions and other equipment, and lastly even the navigating instruments.