It burst at less than a hundred feet in the air, but the report was so faint and the flash so weak that Mostyn could only reiterate his doubts as to whether the tramp could see or hear anything. "It's lucky she didn't run us down," he added. "I know those blighters. They think they've got the whole ocean to themselves and carry on at full speed. In fog it's often the same, the idea being to get into better weather as soon as possible." For another ten minutes it blew hard, but, thanks to the improvised sea-anchor, the boat was making very little leeway and riding head to wind. Occasionally the crested tops of the cross-seas flopped in over the gunwale, and the two lascars were kept baling steadily. Olive and Mahmed were tending the still delirious Preston, the former holding him to prevent further injuries to his badly damaged head, while the boy kept a strip of painted canvas over the Acting Chief's body to shelter him from the rain and spray. Mrs. Shallop was the only idler. Refusing Peter's offer of his oilskin, she sat huddled up on the bottom-boards, with the water swirling over her feet and her clothing saturated with the torrential rain. Too dispirited to use her voice in complaint, she sat and shivered in morose silence, posing as a martyr and yet getting no sympathy from anyone. At length the wind ceased, although the rain continued in violence. This had the effect of calming the water considerably, and Peter took the opportunity of ordering the lascars to spread out the square of painted canvas, and catch as much rain as possible to augment the precious store of fresh water. Within an hour the sky cleared and the wind freshened into a one-reef breeze. The sea-anchor was taken in and sail again set; but there was the disquieting knowledge that the wind was dead in their teeth. Either the boat must be kept "full and bye", gaining little or nothing on each tack, or Mostyn must "up helm" and retrace his course on the chance of making the now far-distant Mozambique shore, which meant that the previous sixteen-hour run was utterly wasted. "If only we had a motor!" he exclaimed. CHAPTER XXVI Mostyn's Watch Just before sunset the wind dropped to a flat calm. Peter took advantage of the practically motionless conditions to employ the fishing-lines that had been discovered in the after locker. The hooks were sharpened by means of the sandpaper fixed to the solitary box of matches in the boat. Small pieces of biscuit, soaked in water and rolled between the finger and thumb, served as bait. The lines were old and far from sound, but might be relied upon to bear a steady strain of about seven pounds. "Do we fish on the bottom, Mr. Mostyn?" asked Olive facetiously. "Yes, rather," replied Peter, entering into the jovial spirit. "That is, if your line is long enough. We're only about a mile from the nearest land, and that's immediately beneath us."