CHAPTER XVIII.
An awful storm and its consequences--Narrow escape--A rock proves a sure foundation--A fearful night and a bright morning--Deliverance from danger.
It was evening before we left the island of the penguins.

As we had made up our minds to encamp for the night on a small island, whereon grew a few cocoa-nut trees, which was about two miles off, we lay to our oars with some energy.

But a danger was in store for us which we had not anticipated.

The wind, which had carried us so quickly to Penguin Island, freshened as evening drew on, to a stiff breeze, and, before we had made half the distance to the small island, it became a regular gale.
Although it was not so directly against us as to prevent our rowing in the course we wished to go, yet it checked us very much; and although the force of the sea was somewhat broken by the island, the waves soon began to rise, and to roll their broken crests against our small craft, so that she began to take in water, and we had much ado to keep ourselves afloat.
At last the wind and sea together became so violent that we found it impossible to make the island, so Jack suddenly put the head of the boat round and ordered Peterkin and me to hoist a corner of the sail, intending to run back to Penguin Island.
"We shall at least have the shelter of the bushes," he said, as the boat flew before the wind, "and the penguins will keep us company." As Jack spoke, the wind suddenly shifted, and blew so much against us that we were forced to hoist more of the sail in order to beat up for the island, being by this change thrown much to leeward of it.

What made matters worse was, that the gale came in squalls, so that we were more than once nearly upset.
"Stand by, both of you," cried Jack, in a quick, earnest tone; "be ready to dowse the sail.