The rest of the day until four in the afternoon passed almost uneventfully. The breeze still held, but blew steadily from the same quarter with hardly a point difference in eighteen hours. With one reef in the mainsail the boat had all she could carry with comfort, and, save for an occasional fleck of foam over the weather bow, was dry and fairly fast.

The disconcerting doubt in Peter\'s mind was whether the boat was making good to wind\'ard. Apparently she was, but whether the leeway counter-balanced the distance made good, or whether the boat was actually losing on each tack remained at present an insolvable problem.

During the greater part of the day the heat of the sun was tempered by the cool breeze, but late in the afternoon more indigo-coloured clouds began to bank up to the east\'ard. The roseate hues of early morn were about to vindicate themselves as harbingers of boisterous weather.

"Sea-anchor again, I suppose," soliloquized the skipper of the boat. "Beat and beat and beat again, then drift to lee\'ard all we\'ve made. We\'ll fetch somewhere some day, I expect."

He rather blamed himself for not having put the helm up directly the previous gale had blown itself out. Running before the easterly breeze would have brought the boat within sight of the Mozambique coast before now. On the other hand, how was he to know that the easterly breeze would hold for so many hours? It rarely did.

"It\'s a gamble," he thought philosophically. "I\'ve backed the wrong horse. I\'ve got to see this business through."

Once more the tent was struck. This time Mrs. Shallop, who had taken possession when Olive came out, made no audible protest. Possibly she was too busy eating Turkish delight. In that respect she acted upon the principle of "Never leave till to-morrow what you can eat to-day".

The sea-anchor was prepared ready to heave overboard. Loose gear was secured, and the baler placed in a convenient spot to commence operations should a particularly vicious sea break into the boat.

Darkness set in. No stars were visible to mitigate the intense blackness of the night. The candle-lamp of the boat-compass had to be lighted in order to enable the helmsman to keep the craft on her course. Its feeble rays faintly illuminated Peter\'s face as he steered. Beyond that it was impossible to distinguish anybody or anything in the boat, the bows of which were faintly silhouetted against the ghostly phosphorescence of the foam thrown aside by the stem.

So far there was no necessity to ride to the sea-anchor. The wind, slightly increasing in force, demanded another reef in the mainsail. No doubt the boat would have stood a whole mainsail, but Peter was too cautious and experienced to risk "cracking on" in a lightly trimmed craft unprovided with a centreboard or even a false keel.

The two lascars were told off to tend the halliards, Mahmed stood by the mainsheet, while Peter steered. The latter, his senses keenly on the alert, was listening intently for the unmistakable shriek that presages the sweeping down of a squall. In the utter darkness the sense of hearing was the only means of guarding against being surprised by a violent and overpowering blast of wind.

"It may not be so bad after all," he remarked to Olive, who had insisted on keeping by him at the tiller. "There\'s rain. I expected it. Luckily it\'s after the wind, so the chances are we\'ve seen the worst of it."

It was now nearly ten o\'clock. The boat had been footing it strongly, since Peter had eased her off a point. The seas were high—so high that between the crests the boat was momentarily becalmed. Yet, thanks to Mostyn\'s helmsmanship, she carried way splendidly, until the ascent of the on-coming crest enabled the wind-starved canvas to fill out again.

Very soon the few heavy drops gave place to the typical tropical downpour. Even had it been daylight it would have been a matter of difficulty to see a boat\'s length ahead. In the darkness it seemed like crouching under a waterfall. Breathing resulted in swallowing mouthfuls of moisture-laden air. In less than half a minute from the commencement of the downpour, there was an inch or more of water over the bottom-boards in spite of Mahmed\'s strenuous work with the baler.

Contrary to Peter\'s expectations, the strength of the wind did not appreciably diminish, but the rain had the effect of considerably beating down the crests of the waves.

It was now quite impossible to hear anything beyond the heavy patter of the big raindrops upon the boat. It was a continuous tattoo that outvied the roar of the wind. At this juncture the candle of the binnacle lamp blew out. To attempt to relight it was out of the question. Every part of the boat\'s interior was subject to a furious eddy of wind. A match would not burn a moment.

"Hardly good enough," decided Peter, wiping the moisture from his eyes. "I\'ll get canvas stowed and out sea-anchor till the worst of this is over."

With his disengaged hand Mostyn tapped Mahmed on the shoulder. Desisting from his task of baling, the boy looked into his master\'s face.

"Tell them to stow canvas," shouted Peter, indicating the invisible lascars crouching against the main thwart. "I\'ll tend the mainsheet. Look sharp!"

Mahmed raised himself and began to crawl over the thwarts on his way for\'ard.

Suddenly there was a terrific shock. The boat seemed to jump a couple or three feet vertically, and then come to an abrupt stop with a jar that flung Peter from the tiller, and pitched Mahmed headlong until he was brought up by his head coming into contact with Mrs. Shallop\'s portly back. Olive, taken unawares, was jerked in a for\'ard direction, until she saved herself from violent contact with stroke-bench by grasping Peter\'s arm. The pair subsided upon the gratings, narrowly missing what might have been a serious collision with the helpless Preston.

Mostyn regained his feet in double quick time, and made a grab at the tiller. The boat was aground, lifting to every wave that surged against her port-bow. That she was badly damaged there could be no doubt, since water was pouring in through a strained garboard.

Steadying himself by the now useless tiller, Peter peered anxiously into the darkness. Except for the phosphorescence of the breaking water alongside, there was nothing distinguishable. Sea and sky were blended into a uniform and impenetrable darkness.

Everyone on board the boat, although fully aware of the immediate danger, maintained silence. The grinding of the boat\'s planking upon the sharp rocks, the howling of the wind, and the swish of the breaking waves were the only audible sounds.

It seemed to Mostyn that, in his self-assumed position of skipper of the boat, he must do or say something. He did neither. He could form no sentence of encouragement; he was unable to take any action to further safeguard the lives and interests of his companions. He felt cool and collected, yet he had a suspicion that he "had the wind up". Try as h............