Away shot the canoe directly to the surf.
“Ease, Charlie; pull, John; steady together; grab, Charlie! it’s right under the bow, on your side.”
Looking over his shoulder, Charlie caught sight of it; dropping his oar, he strove to grasp it; but the canoe, ceasing to feel the influence of his oar, sheered and went over it. The next time it was on John’s side, but the result was the same; the canoe could not be kept stationary a moment without both oars.
“Pay out the line, Fred,” said John; “let’s go beyond it; I’ll risk the surf.”
Fred, who needed no prompting, did as he was ordered. Familiarity with danger had made them reckless. With set teeth and white lips they strained at the oars; the canoe stood almost on end, and the din was awful. At that moment the blade of John’s oar struck the ball; feathering[B] his oar with a jerk, he sent it skipping over the water out of the eddy, where the wind drove it directly to the shore.
[B] Turning it edgewise.
“Haul, Fred! haul for your life!” shouted he, for the canoe was now within the undertow, that set directly towards the breaker. Shipping their oars, they sat down in the bottom of the canoe, which now stood almost perpendicular, and bracing their feet against the knees that ran across the bottom, grasped the line, and united their efforts to those of Fred.
“Haul and hold!” cried John; “take a turn, Charlie!”
Charlie ran the end of the line through a hole in the head-board, and took in the slack. Slowly the canoe yielded to their efforts, as with desperate energy, they strained at the line, and began to recede from the surf. All at once the line slackened in their grasp.
“It’s coming,” cried John; “haul hand over hand; the breaker is after us.”