Around the boat the sea swirled and seethed. It rolled darkly on either hand, and the Jolly Sport cut through the water with a hissing sound.
Somehow through the darkness they could see great white bubbles of foam that came up out of the water and winked at them like the eyes of the mighty demons of the deep.
Those blinking eyes filled them with awe and horror. They shuddered and turned sick at heart. Their ears listened for the breaking of the surf on the beach of the islands, a sound which they longed, yet dreaded, to hear.
But all they could hear was the shriek of the wind, the swish of the sea, and the rushing sound of the boat.
“Bail!”
The word came like a pistol shot. It woke them to a realization of the peril that was creeping upon them.
Water was pouring into the boat from her leaks. It was rising around their feet, and the Jolly Sport was beginning to plunge and flounder distressingly.
“Bail!”
Again the word shot from Frank Merriwell’s lips.
They hastened to obey. They scooped the water up with the bailing dishes, with a sponge, and with their caps; but it came in faster than they could throw it out.