Still fastened together by the rope, the castaways were tumbled over and over in the surf.  The yawl was east upon the strand with dreadful force and if they had continued to cling to it their chances of being seriously injured would have been great indeed.

Lightly the men and boys lashed to the rope were tossed by the surf—­rolling over and over, but still clinging to each other and to the hawser.  Mr. MacMasters at one end and Whistler Morgan at the other managed to obtain a footing on the sand despite the undertow.

They threw themselves upon the beach and clung “tooth and toenail” when the breaker receded.  Slim was completely exhausted; but before another comber rolled in those who were strong managed to drag the weaker ones out of the reach of the undertow.

There was only a fitful light on sea and shore.  The castaways lay in a panting group, looking at each other dripping with brine, and very miserable.

“Begorra!” exclaimed Irish Jemmy at last, “I broke me poipe.  Lend me a cigareet, will you, Rosy?”

Rosy gravely reached into his blouse and brought forth a little package filled with tobacco pulp.

“You’re welcome, Jemmy,” he said gravely.  “Help yourself.”

“Begorra!” growled the Irishman, “ye might have kept thim dry.”

“That’s a good word!” exclaimed Mr. MacMasters, briskly, struggling to rise.  “We all need to get dry.  I have matches in a bottle in my pocket, and the bottle didn’t get broken.  Come on and find some dry wood.  We’ll have a fire.  We may have to camp out here till morning.”

“Oh, Mr. MacMasters!” urged Whistler, who was loosening himself likewise from the rope.  “Let us look for the fellows who were on the raft first.”

“Shout for them,” advised the ensign.  “But don’t worry if they do not answer at once.  This is a big piece of land, this island.”

Whistler and Torry shouted loudly; but after fifteen minutes they were hoarse, and the wind seemed to blow their voices back into their teeth.

“Save your breath to cool your porridge,” advised Jemmy.  “You’re wastin’ it.  If ye shout from now till doomsday ye won’t bring them back if they’re drowned.  And if they are all right we’ll find them safe and sound.”

That was sensible; but it did not make Phil and Al any the less anxious regarding Frenchy and Ikey.  The younger lads had always been in their care, and the situation looked serious.

Whistler and Torry knew they were expected to help gather wood, and so they gave up shouting and followed Rosy and the others toward the forest.  The whole island, as far as they had seen, was forest-covered.

There had been a heavy fall of rain that day, and to find dry fuel was not an easy task.  While they were thus engaged the two boys came upon an opening in the trees.  In the dusk it seemed that the opening was the beginning of a well-tramped path, leading inland.