Just what occurred during the five minutes that followed it would be hard to describe. The boys clung to each other, bound to live or die together. Even in that awful moment the thought of separating was still more terrifying. Occasionally they saw a light, but soon these were lost to view, and they found themselves in the blackness of the night, alone.
“Frank, are you—you alive?” Such were the first words spoken between the pair.
“Ye—yes,” came with a gasp. “Ho—how are we going to get back to the—the steamer?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see the vessel anywhere, can you?”
As the waves carried them upward they gazed around eagerly. Not a light was anywhere.
“The steamer has gone on—we are deserted!” cried Mark, and his heart sank like a lump of lead in his bosom.
“Oh, don’t say that,” returned Frank. “Surely, they won’t leave us to drown!”
A period of silence ensued. Then Frank felt something sheer up alongside of him. He put out a hand and felt a stick of wood—one washed overboard from the lumber craft.
“A log!” he cried. “Catch hold, Mark!”
Mark was willing enough and they caught hold of the log, to find that it was fastened with a short chain to a number of other logs. Not without difficulty they crawled to the top of the crude raft.