“Do you suppose they are a party from some disabled airship, Tom,” asked Mr. Fenwick.

“Not from an airship,” answered the lad.  “Probably from some vessel that was wrecked in the gale.  But we will soon find out who they are.”

Tom led the way for his two friends.  The fall of the cliff had made a rugged path around the base of it, over rocks, to where the other people stood.  Tom scrambled in and out among the boulders, in spite of the pain it caused his wounded leg.  He was anxious to know who the other castaways were, and how they had come there.

Several of the larger party were now advancing to meet the lad and his friends.  Tom could see two women and seven men.

A moment later, when the lad had a good view of one of the ladies and a gentleman, he could not repress a cry of astonishment.  Then he rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not some blur or defect of vision.  No, his first impression had been correct.

“Mr. Nestor!” cried Tom, recognizing the father of his girl friend.  “And Mrs. Nestor!” he added a moment later.

“Why—­of all things—­look—­Amos—­it’s—­it can’t be possible—­and yet—­why, it’s Tom Swift!” cried the lady.

“Tom—­Tom Swift—­here?” ejaculated the man at her side.

“Yes—­Tom Swift—­the young inventor—­of Shopton—­don’t you know—­the lad who saved Mary’s life in the runaway—­Tom Swift!”

“Tom Swift!” murmured Mr. Nestor.  “Is it possible!”

“I’m Tom Swift, all right,” answered the owner of that name, “but how in the world did you get on this island, Mr. Nestor?”

“I might ask you the same thing, Tom.  The yacht resolute, on which we were making a voyage to the West Indies, as guests of Mr. George Hosbrook, was wrecked in the awful gale.  We took to the boats and managed to reach this island.  The yacht sunk, and we only had a little food.  We are almost starved!  But how came you here?”

“Mr. Fenwick’s airship was wrecked, and we dropped down here.  What a coincidence!  To think that I should meet you here!  But if you’re hungry, it’s the best thing in the world that we met you, for, though our airship was wrecked, we have a large supply of food.  Come over to our camp, and we’ll give you all you want!”

Tom had rushed forward, and was shaking hands with Mary’s parents, so unexpectedly met with, when Mr. Nestor called out: 

“Come over here, Mr. Hosbrook.  I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

A moment later, the millionaire owner of the ill-fated resolute was shaking hands with Tom.

“I can’t understand it,” Mr. Hosbrook said.  “To think of meeting other people on this desolate island—­this island of earthquakes.”

“Oh, please don’t speak of earthquakes!” cried Mrs. Nestor.  “We are in mortal terror!  There have been several since we landed in the most terrible storm day before yesterday.  Isn’t it awful!  It is a regular earthquake island!”