CHAPTER XXII.

STRANGE ADVENTURES.

Save for the tropical tempest that descended, the experience passed through that night was not a new one to Nick Collins. He had known what it was to live through dreary hours of darkness longing for the dawn, and he had gone through that ordeal alone in an open boat, as the reader knows.

But for the other boys it was a new, and therefore all the more terrible, experience. How the little yawl escaped being overturned seemed to the three lads a miracle when they thought about it the next morning; but escape it did, and to that extent the castaways had to consider themselves lucky.

When the sun got high enough to illumine the ocean for miles around, they scanned the horizon with still a glimmering of hope. But there was no sail in sight, nor any sign of land.

“I suppose we have drifted far away from the reef,” said Frank.

“Very likely,” Nick had to admit.

“We’ll never see the ship again,” groaned Will.

“That’s not sure, by any means,” returned Nick, in an effort to save his friends from despair. “But we’ve a great deal to be thankful for at that.”

“What?” wailed Will.

“That we are alive this morning,” replied Nick.

“But the storm isn’t over,” Will moaned.

“Oh, come, Will,” urged Nick. “I know it’s pretty hard on you, but don’t give way. We might be worse off. The storm isn’t over, yet the worst of it has passed.”

“But we’re nowhere near land.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Nick. “But whether we are near land or far from it, one thing we must do.”

“You’re right, Nick,” put in Frank. “You mean we must keep our spirits up.”

“Yes, that’s _just_ what I mean. Thousands of people have been in as bad a fix as this, and they have got out of it. So try to cheer up, Will.”

“I’ll try, Nick.”

“That’s the way to talk. We may be found by the _Regent_ in an hour. We may sight land any moment. Now, there’s another thing that is certain.”

“What’s that, Nick?” asked Frank.

“We must be in the region of Treasure Island.”

“What of it?”

“It means that we are in a part of the ocean where islands are numerous.”

“And we may be able to reach one?”

“That’s it. So, you see, it isn’t so bad as it may look.”

“Do you think the _Regent_ will hunt for us?” asked Will.

“I do.”

As Nick spoke he had been busy fishing out a piece of tarpaulin that had been crumpled up in a ball in the bow.

“Here, Frank,” he said. “Catch hold of this.”

“What for?”

“Spread out your two corners of it--so.” Nick did the same with the two corners that he held. “We’d better catch some of this rain. I don’t see any other way of getting a drink.”

Thus it was that they quenched their thirst. Then Nick carefully brought the ends together, making a sort of bag, and in this he preserved some of the rain water for future use.

It was as Nick had guessed. The worst of the storm was over. They drifted on until noon, the sea getting quieter as the wind died down. But it was not a calm that set in by any means. There was still a brisk breeze.

They were all feeling pretty hungry, you may be sure. They had not tasted food since supper the evening before, on the _Regent_. The chances for getting anything to eat were certainly very slim. They had no means of catching fish. At about three o’clock in the afternoon, Nick, who had been scanning the expanse of water in all directions, uttered a cry of excitement.

“What is it?” asked Frank. “A sail?”

“No.”

“Land?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“Look!”

Nick pointed into the distance, but high above the waves.

The others looked in the direction he indicated.

“Oh, only a bird!” said Frank, disappointed.

“_Only_ a bird!” repeated Nick. “That means land.”

“How so?”

“Because, if I am not mistaken, it is a tree or swamp bird.”

“How can you tell that?”

“See how short its wings are.”

“That’s so.”

They were all country-bred boys, and knew something about the points of birds.

“And its short bill!” cried Nick. “You can see it plainer now.”

“Yes, yes. I guess you’re right, Nick. And--isn’t there something white on one foot?”

“Sure there is, Will! Good for you!”

They watched the bird as it flew in another direction, and passed out of sight.

For two or three hours there was no other incident to revive their hopes or break the monotony of their dreary wait for something to turn up. Gloomily they realized that night would soon be upon them again, and, to make matters worse, it looked as if another storm were brewing.

Suddenly Frank cried out:

“Look! There’s another bird!”

Nick and Will cast their eyes upward.

“No, no,” said Frank. “In the water. Quick! Give me the oar!”

Nick passed him the oar, and with a rapid movement Frank drew to the boat a dark object that had been floating by. He leaned over and caught it up.

It was a dead bird.

“It’s a pigeon, isn’t it?” said Nick.

“I think so. And see! There’s something white on its foot!”

“By jiminy! You’re right.”

Attached to one of its legs was a substance of light color.

“It’s a piece of bark!” exclaimed Nick when he had examined it. “It’s tied on with the fiber of some plant.”

“So it is.”

“It must have been something like this the other bird had tied to it.”

“I think so.”

“This means something, boys. The thing didn’t get on this bird by accident.”

“That’s a sure thing, Nick.”

“Some one must have tied it on. Why, look here, boys!”

They looked, and saw what had caught Nick’s eye.

“Writing!” exclaimed Frank.

“That’s what it is, as sure as we’re alive. Now, let’s see if we can make it out.”

Nick set to work. Although upon the wood were traced unmistakably letters and words, the water had obliterated some of them. Over the remainder Nick bent and tried to make out something.

“What does it say?” asked Will impatiently.

“Wait a minute,” said Nick, still studying the scrawl. At length he said: “Boys, it’s a message.”

“A message?”

“No doubt of it. Listen, and I’ll read what I can of it: ‘On--islan--over--en--years--a castaway. If--s--found--send a ship--t--s--y--years--.’ There’s something else,” Nick went on, “but I can just make it out. Wait a second. By gracious! I’ve got it: ‘_Sta--f--ope_.’ Hooray! That means _Star of Hope_!”

The other boys bent over the writing eagerly.

“That’s _Star of Hope_, all right,” agreed Frank. “Now let’s see if we can’t put it all together so as to make some sense out of it.”

And they did so, with the result that they had a message reading thus:

“On an island, over ten years a castaway. If this is found send a ship. _Star of Hope._”

There was more of which they could make nothing--a blurred mass of color, where the pencil or ink employed in the writing had been washed out by the water.

“It’s a puzzle, sure,” said Frank.

“Of one thing I feel certain, though,” Nick announced.

“What’s that?”

“The person who wrote this knows something of the lost ship, the _Star of Hope_.”

“It looks so.”

“And this is my guess,” Nick went on: “Some sailor wrote the thing, and a sailor that was on that ship, and he was cast away on some island not far from here.”

“It seems likely.”

“You see, the message speaks of ‘ten years’. That’s certain. There isn’t room for more than one letter in the space between the word ‘over’ and ‘en.’ So it couldn’t have been fourteen, fifteen, or any other ’teen. Do you see?”

“Yes,” the others answered, in chorus.

“Well, it was ten years ago that the _Star of Hope_ was reported lost at sea.”

The singular occurrence gave the boys much to talk about, but their own position and its renewing perils claimed their immediate attention. With the approach of darkness the signs for a stormy night increased. By the time the sun had gone below the sea the wind was blowing strong and the waves running high. The boys had all they could do to cling to the sides of the yawl. They were hungry, weary, almost exhausted, and it is not likely that they would have been able to weather the storm another night; something occurred to put them in the last extremity of danger.

It was at a moment when the lads had reached, it seemed to them, the utmost limit of their endurance. They were yielding to the despair of their situation when suddenly Nick called out, and with sufficient force to be heard by his companions above the swish of the waves, and despite the shrieking wind:

“A light! A light!”

He pointed straight ahead, where a somewhat feeble gleam appeared and disappeared, then showed again:

“What does it mean?” asked Frank feebly.

“We must be nearing land,” murmured Nick.

Oh, yes; they were nearing land.

Crash!

The yawl had struck a rock amid the breakers of an island beach!

The timbers of the small boat parted; the boys were flung into the sea. Nick caught a glimpse of Frank and Will struggling in the foam, and he made an effort to reach them, but the next moment they had vanished. Then he was forced to think of his own safety.

For a while he battled with the waves and rocks, and then, unable to continue the unequal fight, he surrendered to the inevitable.

* * * * *

When Nick, after several hours had gone by, regained consciousness, the waves had washed him ashore. He opened his eyes, and felt the cooling rain upon his face. He saw the light of day. The surf, pounding near by, sent its spray over him.

But he was not alone.

There was a human face near his own. It was not the face of Frank or Will.

It was that of an aged, careworn man. Its eyes were riveted upon his with an expression of great tenderness and anxiety.

The man supported Nick in his arms. And when the boy opened his eyes he heard the words:

“Saved! Thank Heaven!”

“Who--who are you?” asked the wondering lad.

“Your father, Nick. The castaway of the _Star of Hope_!”