Watching their opportunity the men heaved their clumsy sea-anchor overboard and anxiously waited the result.
To their intense satisfaction they found that directly the rope took the strain the canoe floated head to wind without any assistance on the part of the paddles. The crew were, therefore, able to rest, but with the disquieting knowledge that every moment they were drifting farther and farther away from their desired haven.
The three officers were in good spirits notwithstanding the privations they had undergone and were still experiencing. They realized that this was part of the game. They had taken chances, and fate, in the shape of a strong head wind, had been unkind to them. The idea of mutual recriminations never occurred to them. Their adventure was of the nature of a joint-stock concern. They had done their best, and were ready to stand by each other till the end in whatever form it came.
For some hours O'Hara and Armstrong dozed fitfully on the bottom of the canoe, regardless of the spray that dashed over their recumbent forms. Denbigh, crouched aft, kept an occasional look-out, while at intervals he baled with half a coco-nut shell.
The sea showed no signs of moderating. The prospect of spending a night afloat in a mere cockle-shell became imminent.
Just then the sub heard a faint cry. He looked in the direction from whence the shout came, but could see nothing. He was about to put it down to a freak of his imagination when the cry was repeated.
Fifty yards or more to leeward was a man hanging on to an upturned boat.
"Wake up, you fellows!" exclaimed Denbigh. "There's someone overboard."
Seizing the paddles O'Hara and the mate checked the drift of the canoe until its course would bring it close to the upturned craft.
"Steady!" cautioned Denbigh. "As close as you can to her bows."