For the next ten minutes they were extremely busy. The oar showed some three feet of water at the bow and they decided with an enthusiastic unanimity that three feet of salt water would leave them no wetter than they already were. The anchor cable was made fast at the bow and Toby, dropping breast high into the water, bore the anchor ashore.
“It isn’t a beach,” he announced presently. “Not exactly a beach, anyhow. There are some rocks here and—Ouch! That was one of them!” He laughed and the others on the yacht joined him. No one had laughed before for a good three hours!
“Is it real, sure-enough dry land?” asked Arnold.
“It’s real, all right, but it doesn’t feel awfully dry,” was the answer. “I’m coming back. The water’s as warm as anything!”
“I’ll bet it’s a lot warmer than I am,” said Arnold. “Say, I’m going to hold my match-box in my mouth so it won’t get wet. Maybe we can have a fire and get dry. Where do you think we are, Toby?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Toby’s voice was plainly puzzled as he waded back to the boat. “I don’t recognize the place at all. If there was a sand beach I’d think it was the Head, but I don’t remember these rocks. Where are you? Oh, all right! You come on in, Arn, and we’ll lug Phebe across. There’s no use in her getting soaked.”
Two minutes later, having furled the sails, the three shipwrecked mariners stood huddled together beyond the lapping waves on a tiny stretch of coarse sand and pebbles in a darkness that they could almost feel. For sound there was the swish and trickle of the surf, the lapping of the water against the Aydee, the regular, monotonous wail of the fog-horns, and, once, the far-off shriek of a locomotive. Unfortunately that locomotive was in one direction, according to Toby, and in two entirely different directions, according to Arnold and Phebe, and therefore didn’t help much in determining their whereabouts. Two paces to the left was a low ledge that apparently ran well into the water at high tide and some three paces to the right were a number of huge rocks, weather-smoothed boulders, bedded in the steep beach. Doubtless it was possible to climb over them, but Toby’s experiment had not been successful. Behind them the sand and pebbles shelved abruptly to a bed of shingle, and beyond that beach-grass and a tangle of weeds and bushes climbed the side of a high bank. Although Toby thought and thought, he could not for the life of him recall any such place in the neighborhood of Greenhaven. Nor, when called on for aid, could Phebe.
“I don’t know where we are,” acknowledged Toby at last. “Light one of your matches, Arn, and let’s see if we can tell.”
“I hope they’re dry,” muttered Arnold. They heard him fumbling at the little silver box and then came an exclamation of disappointment. “Gee,” said Arnold. “I’ve only got three! I thought I had a lot of ’em!”
“Hold on, then,” said Toby sharply. “Don’t waste any. Let’s see if we can find some twigs and driftwood to start a blaze. Got any paper?”