"I'm off to have a look at the sea-planes," decided Alec. "Nothing like keeping on the move when you're soaked to the buff. Come along, Trevear, old son."
The airmen departed. The others, unable to communicate with the ship, thought that activity was the best antidote to saturated clothing, and proceeded to set things in order.
It was a big task. Their first objects of attention were the three boats that were kept ashore at night. Fortunately they had been hauled up well above high-water mark and secured by their painters to some stout trees, while a line and grapnel had been laid out from the stern of each. Even then it had been touch and go. Only the heavy downpour preceding the hurricane had prevented the boats from being hurled away, the weight of the water in the bilges being barely sufficient to counterbalance the lifting-force of the wind.
They found the three boats nearly filled to the thwarts with water, sand, and lumps of coral.
Having pulled out the plugs and allowed the water to drain from the boats, the men proceeded to the site of the store-house, and set to work to collect the scattered cases.
"Look!" exclaimed Swaine, pointing to the box of explosives. "We've had a narrow squeak, lads. The wood's charred."
"So it is," agreed Merridew. "How? It's yards from the blaze caused by the lamp. Lightning, perhaps. Don't you think so, Beverley?"
"P'r'aps," replied Bobby. "Anyone got any dry tobacco? Mine's a wash-out."