As soon as this decision had been arrived at, to the general satisfaction, John Block got busy putting the boat in order. Not that it required any repairs, for it had come to little harm since it had been cast adrift, but it was well to overhaul it and fit it up in anticipation of a possible extension of the voyage to some adjoining land. So the boatswain worked his hardest to make it more comfortable, enclosing the fore-deck so that the women might have shelter from squalls and breaking waves.
There was nothing more to do but wait, and meanwhile lay in provisions for a voyage which might perhaps be longer than was intended. Besides, if it were necessary to leave Turtle Bay finally, ordinary prudence suggested that they should do so without delay, that they should take advantage of the fine season just beginning in these southern regions.
They could not but quail before the idea of a winter here. True, the cave offered them a sure shelter against the storms from the south, which are appalling in the Pacific. The cold, too, could no doubt be faced, for there would be no lack of fuel, thanks to the enormous collection of sea-weed at the foot of the cliff.
But suppose the turtles failed? Would they be reduced to fish as sole diet! And the boat—where could they put that in safety, out of reach of the waves which must break right up to the back of the beach in the winter? Would they be able to haul it up above the highest tide-marks? Harry Gould and Fritz and the rest had only their own arms to rely on, not a tool, not a lever, not a lifting-jack, and the boat was heavy enough to resist their united efforts.
At this time of year there was happily nothing but passing storms to fear. The fortnight that they had spent ashore had enabled them all to pick up their moral and physical strength as well as to recover confidence.
Their preparations were completed in the morning of the 26th. Fritz observed with some uneasiness that clouds were beginning to gather in the south. They were still a long way off, but were assuming a lurid hue. The breeze was almost imperceptible, yet the heavy mass of cloud was rising in a solid body. If this thunderstorm burst it would burst full upon Turtle Bay.
Hitherto the rocks at the far end of the promontory had protected the boat from the easterly winds. From the other side, too, the westerly winds could not have touched it, and firmly held as it was by hawsers, it might have escaped too severe a buffeting. But if a furious sea swept in from the open main, it would be unprotected and might be smashed to pieces.
It was useless to think of trying to find some other mooring on the other side of the bluff or of the bastion, for, even in calm weather, the sea broke there with violence.
“What’s to be done?” Fritz asked the boatswain, and the boatswain had no answer.
One hope remained—that the storm might blow itself out before it fell upon the coast. But as they listened they could hear a distant rumbling, although the wind was very faint. The sea was roaring out there in the distance, and already intermittent flaws were sweeping over its surface, giving it a livid tint.