They set to work at once to make a raft. This was not difficult, for plenty of excellent material was at hand. It was late afternoon when they got afloat. At ten o'clock that evening, caught in a terrible storm, the appearance of breakers denoted the nearness of land.
"Jump for your lives!" suddenly rang out the voice of Captain Broadbeam.
The raft had struck an immense rock and was splintered to pieces by the contact. Now it was a wild swim for shore in the boiling surf.
Captain Broadbeam anxiously and eagerly counted his men a few minutes later as they ranged on the beach.
"None lost," he announced gladly. "Where are we, Stoodles?"
"I can't exactly tell, your honor, but I should say on the second western island. I'll take a short trip and report, sir."
Stoodles strolled away in one direction; Dave, ever active, went in another.
In half an hour Stoodles was back to the little group of refugees with the statement that they were on the second west island, as he had guessed before.
"Dave seems to be gone a long time," observed Amos Fearless, after an hour had passed by, during which they all busied themselves in securing such pieces of the wrecked raft as came ashore.
Suddenly Dave appeared. He was out of breath, he had been running fast. Something of suppressed excitement in his manner showed itself plainly.