The current was not all that Stew had hoped for. It carried them along at no more than two miles an hour. And the distance was far greater than they had imagined. For several hours they were obliged to paddle beneath hot, tropical skies. Finally, when the sun had gone to rest and the moon had taken up its watch, they found themselves listening to the easy wash of the surf against the mysterious shore.
As they came close it seemed that the island’s one mountain leaned over like a vast giant for a look at them.
“Be just our luck to land close to a native village.” Stew shuddered as they neared the shadowy shores. The moon still was low.
“They might have chickens,” Jack suggested.
“I’ll be content with emergency rations,” Stew decided.
Once Stew imagined that he caught a glimpse of a flicker of light along the shore. “Cannibals,” he whispered.
“Might be worse.” Jack fingered his automatic. “Could be Japs.”
And then, a long, sweeping wave picked up their small raft with startling suddenness and they found themselves on a gravel beach. Before the next wave arrived they had dragged the raft to safety.
“That’s service!” Jack exclaimed. “Now let’s have a look.” He snapped on a small flashlight.
They discovered the beach to be very narrow. Back of it were tumbled piles of massive rocks, and behind these, a solid, stone wall.