“An’ you’se gwine ter hab wuss ef dis yere diggin’ is kep’ up. It’s a pow’ful bad plan ter fool ’round’ whar dem debbils hang out.”
The boys were not in the humor to discuss this phase of the affair at this moment. Both felt as if they were personally responsible for the disaster, because of having urged Captain Mansfield to allow them to spend a certain length of time on the island, and the knowledge that all hands would now be forced to remain at this place was far from cheering.
These gloomy thoughts were in their minds when the bows of the boats were run up on the sand, and after the first hearty greetings had been exchanged the brief story of the wreck was told.
After leaving her anchorage the _Day Dream_ was headed down the coast for the purpose of running into Gonaive, where a commodious and safe harbor would be found.
The night was dark, the gale so furious that the little craft could not look up to it as she should have done, and a miscalculation as to the distance run caused her to be brought around just in time to strike the reefs west of Pearl Point.
By what, at that moment, was believed to be a rare piece of good fortune, she slipped off into deep water after the first shock, but the sharp coral had rent and torn her timbers so cruelly that all efforts to keep her afloat were useless.
It was possible to work her under the lee of the land, where she was sheltered, to a certain degree, from the angry blast, and the crew took to the boats, with such supplies as could be gotten at in the hurry and excitement of the moment, the jaunty little craft going to the bottom before they had had time to row more than a dozen yards from her side.
“When the gale partially abated we started for this island to satisfy ourselves that you were safe, and now I propose to make Cuba in one of the boats, taking with me a couple of men,” Captain Mansfield said, when his story was concluded. “We have got canvas enough for a small sail, and once at Havana there will be no trouble about chartering a craft to run over here.”
“Is it safe to go so far in the tender?” Gil asked, in alarm.
“The distance to the coast of Cuba is only seventy miles, and, with a fair wind, we should be able to make that in less than twenty-four hours.”