“Oh, if it was only light!” groaned Mike.
“Yes, we could use the oars or hook to fend her off.”
Bump went the boat again, and they caught at the side to save themselves, conscious now, in the thick darkness, that they were being whirled round and round in some great whirlpool-like eddy, which dealt with the boat as if it were a cork.
“Don’t seem as if we can do anything,” said Vince at last, as the boat swept along, with the water lapping and gurgling about them just as if it were full of hungry tongues anticipating the feast to come as soon as they were sucked down.
“No,” said Mike, “it doesn’t seem as if we can do anything.”
“’Cept one thing, Mike,” said Vince in a low deep tone, which did not sound like his own voice.
“What?”
“Say our prayers—for the last time.”
And in the midst of that intense darkness, black as ebony on either side, while above and below there were still the bright glittering and softened streaks of light, there was an interval of solemn silence.
Vince was the first to break that silence, and there was something quite cheerful in his tones now as he said,—