In a few minutes the boat was stripped of every piece of movable gear. Twice the salvage party returned to the boat, until nothing was left but the bare hull.
Work for the night was not yet over. By the aid of the masts, sails, and spars, four tents were rigged up under the lee of the cliffs, and a fire was made with the dry kelp and driftwood, augmented by a few detached planks from the boat. A double ration of biscuit and water was served all round, followed by cigarettes for the men and Turkish delight for Mrs. Shallop and Olive. The last commodity came entirely from the latter's share, since the naval officer's daughter had already eaten hers. Yet without the faintest compunction, and looking upon Olive's generosity as a right, the worthless woman had no hesitation in asking her former paid companion for more.
"I'll buy some at the first shop we see," she added, as if Africa's largest island was a hot-bed of up-to-date confectionery stores.
To this the girl made no reply. In fact, she had hardly heeded the fatuous remark. Gazing into the comforting glow of the fire, she was deep in thought as to what the future held in store for the handful of survivors from the S.S. West Barbican.
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Island
With the first streaks of dawn, Peter, who had been sleeping soundly in the open, with his feet towards the still glowing embers, shook himself like a great mastiff, and stretched his cramped limbs. It had been a strange sensation sleeping on the hard ground after days and weeks on the ocean. Some moments elapsed before he was fully aware of his surroundings.
He looked seawards. The flood-tide was making, and the wavelets were lapping against the edge of the serrated reef. The boat was still aground. Her anchor warp had not tautened, so that it was obvious that she had not shifted her position on the top of the previous high water.
The wind had piped down considerably, but was now blowing softly from the west'ard. During the night the breeze had veered completely round from east to west.