Frank was paddling with all his strength, but the seat was little better than nothing, and, at times, it took all his skill to hold the boat steady so she would not upset or be swamped.
The waves tossed them high and then fell away beneath them, dropping them down with a sickening sensation. They were drenched with spray and sheets of water. The wind tore the breath from their lips as it hissed along the surface of the sea.
Steadily and surely they were driven toward the ledge that lay out there in the night, roaring like an infuriated wild beast. As they rose on the waves they peered in the direction of the sound, trying to see where the fatal rock lay.
“We must strike her soon!” cried Wallace. “The end will come in a hurry when we do. Oh, dear! oh, dear!”
Not a word from Frank, but he continued to ply his rude paddle, hoping to pull past the point of danger. He knew the frail boat would be smashed like an eggshell if flung on the ledge, but his heart did not fail him. While he lived he would struggle and hope.
“There she is!” screamed Wallace, as they rose high on a great wave.
Near at hand a wall of foam was flung upward into the darkness. They saw it a moment, and then it vanished as they sank into the trough of the sea.
Wallace began to pray.
Toot! toot! toot!
Through the night came the shrill blast of a whistle, electrifying the imperiled lads. The sound was close at hand.