“Just a prison,” said Burd sepulchrally from the doorway.
“Close that door!” exclaimed Jessie. “Don’t let that spray drift in here.”
“Yes. Do go away, Burd, and see if the yacht is sinking any more. Don’t bother us,” commanded Amy.
The men were keeping the pumps at work, but it was an anxious time. It was long dark and the lamps were lighted when Jessie pronounced the set complete. Darry and Burd came in again and asked what they could do?
“Root for us. Nothing more,” said Amy. “Jessie has fixed this thing and she is going to have the honor of sending the message—if a message can be sent.“
“Well,” remarked Burd Alling, “I guess it is up to you girls to save the situation. I have just found out that there isn’t as much provender as I was given reason to believe when we started. We ought to be in Boston right now. And see where we are!”
“That is exactly what we can’t see,” said Jessie. “But we must know. Did you get the latitude and longitude from the skipper, Darry?”
“Yes. Here it is, approximately. He got a chance to shoot the sun this noon.”
“The cruel thing!” gibed his sister. “But anyway, I hope he has got the situation near enough so some vessel can find us.”
“Let us see, first, if we can send a message intelligibly,” said Jessie, putting on the head harness, and speaking seriously. “It will be awful, perhaps, if we can’t. I know that the yacht is almost unmanageable.”