The versatile Irishman was the first to break the silence. Throwing his paddle to the ground he ejaculated: "Dash it all! Our luck's out this time." CHAPTER XX Adrift in the Indian Ocean "Wish to goodness we hadn't been so prodigal with our provisions," said Denbigh as the three chums ruefully surveyed the excavation. "It will be short commons, unless----" "Unless what?" asked Armstrong. "Unless the fellows who have forestalled us have omitted to remove all the stuff." "It looks as if they've made a clean sweep of most of the gear and burnt what they couldn't move. They've evidently poured petrol over the place and set fire to it. Now, what was the object?" "Perhaps a landing-party from one of our ships destroyed the cache," suggested O'Hara. "Possibly," replied his chum. "But, on the other hand, unlikely. It's my opinion that some of the Germans, finding that the _Pelikan_ was held up, have made a dash for the island. In that case it is reasonable to suppose that they have fitted out the whaler, and are either making tracks for some navigable river lower down the coast or else they will attempt to capture the first tramp they fall in with." "Not much chance of escaping capture themselves," said Armstrong. "I don't know. Remember the case of the _Ayesha_ with the _Emden's_ landing-party. They managed to fetch home all the way from the Cocos Keeling Islands. These fellows, with luck, might reach Batavia and be interned by the Dutch Colonial Government." "And here are we stranded on a desolate sandbank, with precious little grub in the locker," remarked Armstrong. "There's one consolation. We have a boat." "Of sorts," rejoined the Irishman. "Since she brought us here she ought to take us back to the mainland, although it will be dead to windward." "What's wrong with Zanzibar?" asked the mate. "It's only about fifty miles to the nor'-west. We've a breeze slightly abaft the beam. She'll do it all right, especially if we take some sand aboard as ballast." "Right," assented O'Hara. "Let's make a start. It's a howling pity to lose the breeze, and it's a jolly sight cooler on the water than on this sun-baked sandbank." Quickly the new plan was put into operation. The canoe was launched, and about three hundred-weights of sand thrown into her. On re-embarking the crew found that their frail craft was considerably "stiffer", and showed no great tendency to capsize when one of their number stood upright. In her ballasted state more sail could be carried, and, what was more, she could be steered a point closer to the wind. All went well until about three in the afternoon, when, with disconcerting suddenness, the wind died utterly away. The crisp, crested waves subsided into a long, sullen, oily swell. The canoe, without steerage way, floated idly upon the water. "Out paddles!" ordered Denbigh. "You and I, Pat, will take the first trick. At every thousand strokes one man will be relieved. Ready?"