"No; if anything, it is growing worse."
"Don't you want me to help on deck? I hate to stay down here alone."
"You can do nothing, Sam. Dick and I are tending the wheel, and there is nothing else to be done."
"I might go on the lookout. You can't watch very well from the stern," added the youngest Rover, who did not relish being kept back by his older brothers.
"We can watch good enough. Stay here—it's safer. If the yacht should swing around—Great Scott!"
Tom Rover broke off short, and with good reason. A strange creaking and cracking sound had reached his ears, followed by a bump and a jar which nearly pitched him headlong. Sam was thrown down on his back.
"Something is wrong!" burst out Sam, as soon as he could speak. "We must have struck something."
Tom did not answer, for the reason that he was already on his way to the deck, with a lantern slung in the crook of his right elbow. Sam followed with another lantern, leaving the remaining ones wildly swinging on the hooks in the cabin's ceiling.
"Help! help!"
The cry came from out of the darkness, somewhere in the wake of the Swallow; a cry cut partly short by the piping gale. With his heart thumping violently, Tom leaped over the deck toward the wheel.