the events just chronicled, the women came
ashore to occupy the practically completed huts.

The Doraine was deserted except for Captain Trigger and the half-dozen
sailors who remained with him. These sailors were ancient tars whose
lives had been spent at sea. They were grizzled, wizened old chaps. One
of them, Joe Sands, had been an able seaman for forty-six years, and,
despite a perpetual crick in the back, he insisted that he was still
an abler seaman than ninety-five per cent, of the thirty-year-olds
who followed the sea for a living. When Captain Trigger announced his
resolve to stay on board, where he belonged, these vainglorious old
seadogs elected to remain with him to the end.

The exodus of women was hastened somewhat by the further listing of the
Doraine. This was due primarily to the removal of thousands of tons from
the holds, the galley and the engine room. A more sinister cause for
alarm, however, was the action of the greatly lightened vessel when a
tidal wave swept into the basin from the north. This came at the tag end
of the storm,--on the third day, in fact. The Doraine seemed actually to
be afloat for a few seconds, heaving, shuddering, groaning. Her bottom,
after scraping and grinding and giving up the most unearthly sounds,
suddenly appeared to have freed itself completely from the rocks on
which it was jammed. She seemed on the point of righting herself. Then
she started to roll over on her side! Almost as abruptly she stopped,
shivered, and then lay still again. But she was not in her old position.
She was lying over at least two degrees farther than before the
upheaval.

This same, tremendous tidal wave, driven up by the strong wind that
had blown steadily and viciously out of the north for three
days,--or perhaps created by some vast internal convulsion of the
earth,--completely inundated the low-lying point of land known as Cape
Sunrise, At least two miles of the island was temporarily under water.
The high ridge lining the shore alone prevented the sea from hurtling
over into the valley to destroy the fields and gardens and even to
imperil the row of huts along the opposite slope.

Out on Cape Sunrise the waters swept over the lonely grave of Betty
Cruise, but fell back baffled when they attacked the foothills that
protected the homes of the living. There were superstitious persons who
read meaning into this startling visitation of the sea. They made ugly
romance of it. For, said they,