Joe gave a grim enough laugh in reply, and we started, he carrying his crowbar in his right hand towards the advancing sea, and I my oak-stick in my left towards the still water within.
“Quick march!” said Joe, and away we went out on the breakwater.
Now the back of the breakwater was very rugged, for it was formed of huge stones, with wide gaps between, where the waters had washed out the cement, and worn their edges. But what impeded our progress secured our safety.
“Halt!” cried Joe, when we were yet but a few yards beyond the shelter of the rocks. “There’s a topper coming.”
We halted at the word of command, as a huge wave, with combing crest, rushed against the far out-sloping base of the mole, and flung its heavy top right over the middle of the mass, a score or two of yards in front of us.
“Now for it!” cried Joe. “Run!”
We did run. In my mind there was just sense enough of danger to add to the pleasure of the excitement. I did not know how much danger there was. Over the rough worn stones we sped stumbling.
“Halt!” cried the smith once more, and we did halt; but this time, as it turned out, in the middle front of the coming danger.
“God be with us!” I exclaimed, when the huge billow showed itself through the night, rushing towards the mole. The smith stuck his crowbar between two great stones. To this he held on with one hand, and threw the other arm round Agnes’s waist. I, too, had got my oak firmly fixed, held on with one hand, and threw the other arm round Agnes. It took but a moment.
“Now then!” cried Joe. “Here she comes! Hold on, sir. Hold on, Aggy!”