Toward noon on the following day, as there was no sign of the Kestrel, Keith took eight oarsmen and put off in the whale-boat. He cast an anxious glance at the sky as they started. A few wisps of fleecy cloud were passing overhead, indicating that there was a good deal of wind above, but the sailor decided they would be safe for a few hours at any rate. They were cutting along, about a dozen miles from Tao Tao, however, when a squall struck the little craft, followed almost immediately by another. They were fierce gusts which made rowing and steering increasingly difficult.
Keith altered his course a few points to allow for drifting.
"I'm afraid it's going to blow hard," he said. "It may pass off in a while, but the best thing we can do now, anyway, is to keep on for Tamba."
Joan nodded, but sat silently in the stern. She knew enough of the mad antics of South Pacific weather to anticipate anything, and did not need to be told there was probably a wetting in store for them before they reached shelter. She placed reliance, however, on Keith's judgment and seamanship.
The next quarter of an hour brought a disagreeable change for the worse. A succession of violent squalls quickly raised a nasty chop on the sea. Again he had to alter the course to make more allowance for the wind. A hissing wave seethed
