It was about five o'clock in the morning when Dave awoke, to find the wind blowing furiously. Two of the sailors were busy stamping out the campfire, for the burning brands were flying in all directions, threatening to set fire to the undergrowth.
"What's this?" he asked of Captain Sanders.
"No telling, lad," was the grave reply. "Looks like a pretty big blow."
"More like a hurricane!" snorted old Billy Dill. "The wind is growin' wuss each minit!"
"Draw that boat up into the bushes and fasten it well," ordered the captain. "We don't want to have it stove in or floated off by the breakers."
And the rowboat was carried to a place of safety.
"Where is the ship?" asked Roger.
"Slipped away when the blow came up," answered the captain. "An' I hope the mate knows enough to keep away," he added, gravely.
Soon it started to rain, first a few scattering drops and then a perfect deluge. The castaways spoke of a cave that was near by, and all hurried in that direction, taking the stores from the boat with them.
"How long will this last, do you think?" asked Phil, of the master of the Golden Eagle.
"No telling. Maybe only to-day, maybe several days."
