CHAPTER XXV
Riding it Out
"What is the time, please, Miss Baird?" inquired Peter.
"Nine o'clock," replied Olive, consulting her wristlet watch, the only one of five in the boat that had survived.
"Too early for grub, then," continued Mostyn "We must economize. And with water, too. It's going to be a scorching hot day."
He omitted to add that in all probability there would be a stiffish wind before long, possibly increasing to hurricane force. The thundery rain, coming before the wind, pointed to a severe blow before many hours were past. Meanwhile the breeze had dropped until the boat was making less than one knot.
Peter had practically shaken off the effects of his prolonged immersion. He was feeling a bit stiff in the limbs, and had developed a healthy hunger. The latter troubled him far more than the stiffness. Work would relieve his cramped arms, but it would also increase the pangs of the inner man.
In the light breeze he could safely entrust the helm to one of the lascars, provided he kept his weather eye lifting in case a sudden squall swept down upon the boat. The native might or might not be able to handle a sailing craft, but Peter was resolved to take no risks on that score. He would rather place Olive at the helm, although in the event of danger he meant to stick to the tiller for hours if needs be.
"Due east, mutli," ordered Mostyn, having signed to the lascar to come aft.
The man nodded and repeated the compass course. Since Peter had displayed his automatic the pair of lascars had been remarkably tractable.