It was decided that this would be a good plan, and they started it that same day. Trees were felled, with axes and saws that had been aboard the Whizzer, and bound together, in rude fashion, with strong trailing vines from the forest. A smaller raft, as a sort of ferry, was also made.
This occupied them all that day, and part of the next. In the meanwhile, Tom continued to flash out his appeals for help, but no answers came. The men cut down their rations, and when the two ladies joked them on their lack of appetite, they said nothing. Tom was glad that Mrs. Nestor did not renew her request to him to get out the reserve food supply from what remained in the wreck of the airship. Perhaps Mr. Nestor had hinted to her the real situation.
The large raft was towed out into a quiet bay of the island, and anchored there by means of a heavy rock, attached to a rope. On board were put cans of water, which were lashed fast, but no food could be spared to stock the rude craft. All the castaways could depend on, was to take with them, in the event of the island beginning to sink, what rations they had left when the final shock should come.
This done, they could only wait, and weary was that waiting. Tom kept faithfully to his schedule, and his ear ached from the constant pressure of the telephone receiver. He heard message after message flash through space, and click on his instrument, but none of them was in answer to his. On his face there came a grim and hopeless look.
One afternoon, a week following the erection of the wireless station, Mate Fordam came upon a number of turtles. He caught some, by turning them over on their backs, and also located a number of nests of eggs under the warm sands.
"This will be something to eat," he said, joyfully, and indeed the turtles formed a welcome food supply. Some fish were caught, and some clams were cast up by the tide, all of which eked out the scanty food supply that remained. The two ladies suspected the truth now and they, too, cut down their allowance.
Tom, who had been sitting with the men in their sleeping shack, that evening, rose, as the hour of ten approached. It was time to send out the last message of the night, and then he would lie down on an improvised couch, with the telephone receiver clamped to his ear, to wait, in the silence of the darkness, for the message saying that help was on the way.
"Well, are you off?" asked Mr. Damon, kindly. "I wish some of us could relieve you, Tom."
"Oh, I don't mind it," answered the lad "Perhaps the message may come to-night."
Hardly had he spoken than there sounded the ominous rumble and shaking that presaged another earthquake. The shack rocked, and threatened to come down about their heads.