“We know nothing about what should be done here,” Nancy told them miserably. “Or at least I don’t. I’ll leave it up to Mabel or—” she paused to glance at the other girl.
“Hilda Newton,” said the strange nurse. “But heavens, I have no idea what we should do.”
“Neither have I,” stated Mabel. “If you’re all agreed I move we put the bluejacket in command. He probably knows more about this business than all of us put together.”
This met with the hearty approval of all except the surly, still befuddled corporal. The sailor introduced himself as Olan Meyer, and the rest in turn told their names.
A few minutes later Olan dealt out the morning’s portion of food and water. And so began the monotonous round of nights and days that were to stretch on as endlessly as the sea on which they drifted.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE PLANE
At the end of the first week when there was still no hope of rescue, nor any sight of land, their water had to be reduced to one portion a day. Only by the notches Olan Meyer cut on the stem seat, could they tell how much time had passed. After the first few sunrises, days and nights seemed a muddled succession without hope of ending.
Once they saw a smudge of smoke on the horizon, but it vanished swiftly. Another time Nancy thought she heard the drone of a plane, but no moving speck appeared in all the cloudless, blazing blue overhead. She wondered if her mind was weakening and she was beginning to hear sounds, as a wanderer in the desert sees mirages.
On their second day afloat Nancy had had another chill, then to her amazement, after the fever had burned itself out, the attacks did not come back. Her illness made her think of the small golden vitamins Major Reed had given her. She found them still in her musette bag. By dealing them out one a day to each person there would be enough to last them two weeks.