“We’ve got to have rudder,” said the ever practical Trolley. “Sail no good without rudder.”
“Sure thing,” replied Joy. “Don’t worry, we’ll get one all right. There’s a spare oar wrapped up with this sail.”
He had made the welcome discovery while unfolding the canvas.
The three castaways set to work without delay, and after half an hour’s hard labor, during which they were compelled to stop and bail a dozen times, they finally had the mast stepped, and a closereefed sail spread.
By degrees the launch worked around until it at last fell off before the wind. It was a change from the constant, dangerous rolling in the trough of the sea, but the pitching caused by the enormous waves was anything but pleasant.
The three lads took turns at steering. The solitary oar found with the sail answered the purpose well enough.
The night dragged slowly. As time passed, however, it became apparent that the gale was abating. The sea still ran high, but the wind lessened, until at last, just before dawn, it died down to an ordinary breeze.
And how the miserable, water-soaked, poor castaways waited for the first gray streaks of the coming day!
Light would mean much for them. It would reveal either the welcome outlines of the practice ship, or a dreary expanse of desolate ocean. It would tell at once whether they were destined to find hope or be condemned to an uncertain fate.
Small wonder then, that Clif and Joy and Trolley stood up and watched and watched as the first faint rays of the sun drew the expanse of ocean from its pall of darkness.