"We are certainly in a pickle," said Dave. "If we can't find the ship, what then?"
"We must find the Swallow," declared Captain Broadbeam. "Unless we do, we'll starve to death."
"We might return to the island at nightfall," said the doctor. "Remember, we need water and so do these poor sufferers." And he pointed to Bob and the Irishman.
"That's a scheme," cried Dave. "We might land under cover of darkness and hide somewhere until we can locate the ship."
Slowly the day wore away. Towards nightfall the wind began to blow strongly, sending the spray flying in all directions.
"We can't stand this," was Dave's comment. "If it blows any harder, we'll be swamped."
"We must take to the oars and keep the boat up to the seas," said the captain, and this was done.
A little later it began to rain. At first it did not amount to much, but presently it began to pour. As best they could, they gathered a small quantity of the water and drank it greedily. They also gave Bob and Stoodles a drink, which did the injured much good.
At last night was upon them, black and threatening. The rowboat was drifting in the wind and the rain, but where to none could tell.
"We must take what comes," said Captain Broadbeam, gravely. "We are in the hands of Providence."