The waves rose, and sheets of spray flew ever the fast-driven schooner.
It was so cold that, in spite of all the warm clothing they could find on board, all hands felt numbed.
"Land ahead!" was an appalling cry which rang out suddenly.
Captain Sumner himself hurried forward.
A rough, rocky island, the waves dashing in foam against its low cliffs, was discerned through the flying spray.
Already the edge of the eastern floe was crushing itself to pieces against the projecting reefs.
On the right, or western side, was a lane of broken water.
To venture into it was very dangerous, but seemed their only chance.
Bok and another sailor were at the wheel.
Over it went, strained down by their united strength, and the Dart dashed through the breaking water.