THE MOTOR BOAT 



tossing channel that we had tried to cross, and whose 

 treacheries he knew so much better than I. 



We dropped our anchor in a little rocky bay, out 

 of the worst of the wind, and set ourselves to wait. 

 But the storm only grew worse ; it swung us round 

 and round at the end of our chain until Jerry feared 

 that the anchor would drag. Night fell with the 

 wind still howling, so we made up our minds to a 

 night in the boat, and foraged under the seats for 

 eatables. We found some tins of meat and a bag of 

 ship's biscuit, rather tough and unpalatable food for 

 folks who were half seasick ; however, we were 

 thankful not to be starving, so we gnawed our 

 supper like rats and settled for the night. There 

 was not much sleep to be had, though we rolled 

 from side to side, and counted sheep in our minds ; 

 the ceaseless howling of the wind, and the constant 

 shocks as the waves battered against our walls, 

 would have kept most folks awake ; and Jerry, the 

 only one of us who could, perhaps, have slept 

 through the din, stood watchful and serious, leaning 

 against the window of the engine room, with his 

 eyes upon the anchor chain and the line of white 

 breakers that marked the shore. Each time I turned 

 to try a fresh position, there he stood ; and in the 

 grey of the morning, when I woke from a drowse, he 

 was just as I had seen him last, silent and faithful, 

 watching and waiting for the wind to drop. 



We got ashore during the morning in the little 

 punt that we had with us, and varied the monotony 

 by finding some water to drink. Then came break- 

 fast, a nameless mush of meat and biscuits and 

 water, mixed in a meat-tin and warmed over a smoky 



fire among the stones ; but once again I found that 



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