It was Perry who undertook that task, while the others followed Steve to the breakers’ edge and watched him return to the Adventurer.  He made no attempt to swim, but pulled himself along by the line, hand-over-hand, his head for the most of the time under the water.  But presently he emerged and they saw him clamber to the deck, crawl along it and disappear.  He seemed a long time there, but he came into sight again eventually and began the return trip.  Perry was back by then and they formed a line by clasping hands and Joe stood well above his waist, battered by the surf, and Steve was helped along from one to another and presently they were all back on the beach once more.

“I got it over,” gasped Steve, “but it was hard work.  I think it will hold.  If the storm will only go down pretty soon she may get through.  I think some of her planks are sprung, though.  There’s a foot of water in the after cabin.  I got some matches and this cup.”  He pulled a tin cup from a trousers pocket.  “Can we get up the cliff a way?”

“Yes,” answered Perry.  “There’s a sort of a shelf about a hundred feet beyond there.  I’ll show you the way.”

[Illustration:  “Those waves will batter her to pieces”]

They followed.  Real darkness was coming fast now and Perry found difficulty in retracing his steps.  But in a few minutes, by dint of scrambling and pulling themselves upward, they reached the shelf.  It was barely large enough to hold them all and was scarcely ten feet above the level of the beach below.  Nor was it at all level, for it had been formed by the accumulation of falling debris from the cliff and sloped outward at a steep angle.  Some dwarf firs and low bushes had gained rootage, however, and it was possible for them to huddle there without fear of rolling to the rocks beneath.  Steve tried to find some dead branches to build a fire, and did succeed in getting a few, but his first attempt to set them alight proved the futility of the undertaking.  There was nothing for it save to lie as close together as they could, for warmth, and await the morning.

That was a miserable night.  They all slept at times, and by changing places they all, for a while at least, found some degree of warmth.  But they had been drenched through to start with and when, at last, the stormy world began to lighten their garments were still sodden and they shivered whenever they stirred.  Ossie was ill toward morning, but there was nothing they could do for him except huddle closely about him.  He complained of intense pains in his chest and Steve had horrible visions of pneumonia until Ossie, asked to locate the trouble more definitely, laid a trembling hand on a portion of his anatomy and muttered “Here” through chattering teeth.

“That’s not your chest, you idiot,” said Steve, vastly relieved.  “That’s your stomach!”

“Is it?” returned the sufferer miserably.  “Well, it hurts just the same!”