“We haven’t been all over it yet,” said Mr. Damon.  “We may find cannibals on the other side.”

“Cannibals don’t live in this part of the world,” Tom assured him.  “No, I think this island is practically unknown.  The storm brought us here, and it might have landed us in a worse place.”

As he spoke he thought of the yacht resolute, and he wondered how her passengers, including the parents of Mary Nestor, had fared during the terrible blow.

“I hope they weren’t wrecked, as we were,” mused Tom.

But there was little time for idle thoughts.  If they were going to build a shelter, they knew that they must speedily get at it.  Accordingly, with a feeling of thankfulness that their lives had been spared, they set to work taking apart such of the wreck as could the more easily be got at.

Boards, sticks, and planks were scattered about, and, with the pieces of canvas from the wing-planes, and some spare material which was carried on board, they soon had a fairly good shack, which would be protection enough in that warm climate.

Next they got out the food and supplies, their spare clothing and other belongings, few of which had been harmed in the fall from the clouds.  These things were piled under another rude shelter which they constructed.

By this time it was three o’clock, and they ate again.  Then they prepared to spend the night in their hastily made camp.  They collected driftwood, with which to make a fire, and, after supper, which was prepared on the gasolene stove, they sat about the cheerful blaze, discussing their adventures.

“To-morrow we will explore the island,” said Tom, as he rolled himself up in his blankets and turned over to sleep.  The others followed his example, for it was decided that no watch need be kept.  Thus passed several hours in comparative quiet.

It must have been about midnight that Tom was suddenly awakened by a feeling as if someone was shaking him.  He sat up quickly and called out: 

“What’s the matter?”

“Eh?  What’s that?  Bless my soul!  What’s going on?” shouted Mr. Damon.

“Did you shake me?” inquired Tom.

“I?  No.  What—?”

Then they realized that another earth-tremor was making the whole island tremble.

Tom leaped from his blankets, followed by Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, and rushed outside the shack.  They felt the earth shaking, but it was over in a few seconds.  The shock was a slight one, nothing like as severe as the one in the morning.  But it set their nerves on edge.

“Another earthquake!” groaned Mr. Damon.  “How often are we to have them?”

“I don’t know,” answered Tom, soberly.

They passed the remainder of the night sleeping in blankets on the warm sands, near the fire, for they feared lest a shock might bring the shack down about their heads.  However, the night passed with no more terrors.