Ben's surmise was right. The adventurers passed the remainder of the night in peace.
As soon as day broke over a sea unmarred by a single ripple, there was an eager scrutiny of the horizon by all the castaways, but to their bitter disappointment not a sign of the Southern Cross, or any other vessel, could be descried.
"Looks like we'll have to spend some more time on 'Monkey Island'," said Ben with a shrug.
"We can't spend much more time," said Frank, grimly.
"Why not?" demanded Ben.
"What are we to do for water?"
Things did, indeed, look black. Breakfast was eaten in comparative silence, and after the meal was concluded, at Frank's suggestion, it was decided to explore the island for a spring that could be tapped for further water supply. The boys all admitted to themselves that the chance of finding one was remote, but they determined to try and locate one in any event. At any rate Frank felt it would keep their minds off their troubles to have something to do.
The best part of the morning was spent in the search and although they came across occasional driblets of water,—the remnants of springs started by the heavy rain that marked their first night on the island,—they found nothing that promised an available supply. At noon they sat down in the shade of a huge palm to rest and made a meal off the nuts that lay at its foot. The milk of these proved cool and refreshing and was drunk out of the shell after one end of it had been hacked off with Frank's hunting knife.
"Well, we might as well make a start back for our camp," suggested
Frank, after some moments had passed in silence.
"Camp," repeated Harry, bitterly, "that's a fine camp. Why, there's nothing there but trees and sand and howling monkeys."