All the tigers of the deep seemed to be at play along that white line. They saw the boat and its helpless crew. They roared their delight over the coming feast.
But ahead—what was that? A spot where the white line was not dancing and howling. The boat made for that spot.
“Hold fast!”
Frank was not sure it was the mouth of the cove. He could not tell in that dense darkness, but he headed straight toward that spot. They might strike at any moment.
Onward floundered the Jolly Sport, making a last gallant effort to keep afloat. The roaring surf was on either side. The leaping tigers in white were there, gnashing their teeth and howling with impotent rage.
“It’s the cove!” screamed Harry Rattleton. “We’re all right! Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!” cheered Diamond.
Frank said nothing; he knew their peril was not over.
Bart Hodge said nothing; he would not have murmured had they gone down in mid-sound.
Bruce Browning was silent; he was exhausted by his efforts at bailing.