“Yes,” Frank shouted back, “if it were not for the Goodwins. They lie right across ahead of us.”
Ruthven said no more, and for another hour he and Frank rowed their hardest. Then Handcock and Jones took the oars. Ruthven lay down in the bottom of the boat and Frank steered. After rowing for another hour Frank found that he could no longer keep the boat head to wind. Indeed, he could not have done so for so long had he not shipped the rudder and steered the boat with an oar, through a notch cut in the stern for the purpose. Already the boat shipped several heavy seas, and Ruthven was kept hard at work baling with a tin can in which they had brought out bait.
“Ruthven, we must let her run. Put out the other oar, we must watch our time. Row hard when I give the word.”
The maneuver was safely accomplished, and in a minute the boat was flying before the gale.
“Keep on rowing,” Frank said, “but take it easily. We must try and make for the tail of the sands. I can see the lightship.”
Frank soon found that the wind was blowing too directly upon the long line of sands to enable him to make the lightship. Already, far ahead, a gray light seemed to gleam up, marking where the sea was breaking over the dreaded shoal.
“I am afraid it is no use,” he said. “Now, boys, we had best, each of us, say our prayers to God, and prepare to die bravely, for I fear that there is no hope for us.”
There was silence in the boat for the next five minutes, as the boys sat with their heads bent down. More than one choking sob might have been heard, had the wind lulled, as they thought of the dear ones at home. Suddenly there was a flash of light ahead, and the boom of a gun directly afterwards came upon their ears. Then a rocket soared up into the air.
“There is a vessel on the sands,” Frank exclaimed. “Let us make for her. If we can get on board we shall have a better chance than here.”
The boys again bent to their oars, and Frank tried to steer exactly for the spot whence the rocket had gone up. Presently another gun flashed out.