Every head was lifted, and when the boat rose again on a wave they could see a line of white foam ahead of them as far on either side as the eye could see through the mist.
“Keep a look-out for a break in the line, Wilcox,” the mate shouted.
The man forward waved his hand, and, holding to the mast, stood up. A minute later he turned and shouted something to the man next to him, and the message was passed from mouth to mouth to the mate.
“It is not a reef, sir; it is a low sandy coast.”
“Take your places on the thwarts,” the mate shouted, “and get your oars out.”
The men did so. Then, in a momentary lull in the blast, the officer said:
“Get ready to pull for your lives when I give the word. Our only chance is to go in on the top of a wave. The instant we touch the ground and she loses her way, jump out and stick your heels in the sand.”
They approached the edge of the surf rapidly.
“Stick your oars in deep and check her way,” the mate shouted.
He stood up in the boat when they were within fifty yards of the point where the waves curled over and fell with a roar like thunder on the beach. Two or three waves passed under her, then he saw one of greater height approaching.