The Radio Boys Under the Sea; or, The Hunt for Sunken Treasure

by J. W. Duffield

Benton had hoped that the storm would exhaust itself almost as quickly as it had arisen, but, on the contrary, as night fell it seemed to increase in fury. It was a fearsome thing to see the pale sheen of a great roller looming up over the stern, and the boys would hold their breaths, expecting every second to have some watery mountains come crashing down on their little craft and carry it to the bottom. At times great seas did come aboard, entirely engulfing them until the ship shook itself free and rose, shuddering, to the next blow.

Through it all Benton clung doggedly to the wheel, half smothered by the flying surges, but sticking gamely to his post. Phil fought his way aft at last, and offered to relieve him, but Benton refused to give up the wheel.

“I’ll hang on a while longer,” he yelled, “You go forward into the bows, Phil, and keep a lookout. Heaven only knows where we’re driving to, and it will be a miracle if we miss some of the reefs and islands around here. All I can do is keep us headed before the waves, and leave the rest to Providence.”

Phil shouted a few words of encouragement, which it is doubtful if Benton heard above the fiendish uproar of the storm, and groped his way forward, clutching desperately at anything that came to hand to keep from being swept overboard. Most of the rail had been demolished, so that there was nothing to save any of them from being swept over the side if they once lost their hold on some securely fastened object.

At length Phil reached the bows, and wedged himself in between the side and the capstan, straining his eyes through the inky blackness. Soon it began to rain in torrents, but this made little difference to any of the party, as they were already soaked to the skin and had been for many hours.

Swept by rain and sea, and almost deafened by the howling of the wind, Phil peered ahead, striving to pierce the murky darkness. Long ridges of white foam hissed by, so close that he could dip his hand in as the bow dropped into some boiling eddy. High above all else rose the booming and whistling of the wind, and this kept him from hearing an even greater sound until suddenly he saw a huge spout of foam not a hundred feet ahead of the ship, and at the same time heard the menacing roar of breakers.

With a shout that was lost in the uproar of the elements, he sprang to his feet and raced aft, forgetful of the seas washing across the deck. But by the time he reached Benton, the latter had also seen the ominous spout of foam, and the roar of the reef was loud in their ears as they drove toward it under the pitiless urge of sea and gale. To change their course was out of the question then, and their only hope lay in driving through some passage in the reef.

Now the reef was almost under their bows, and they all held their breath, waiting for the shock that seemed inevitable. On every side great waves leaped and hammered on the reef, spouting fifty feet into the air in sheets of foam that fell back booming onto the deck of the vessel. The surf was tremendous beyond description, and the Fleeting was picked up and whirled about like a toy. A giant roller reared its crest over them, picked them up in its mighty grasp, and hurled them toward the spouting inner reef.

With a crashing impact the vessel struck—shivered—rose—and struck again, with a sickening crunch of riven timbers. Then with the last of its expiring strength the tremendous wave smashed them clear over the reef, while a flood of roaring water tore everything living from the decks and hurled them toward the beach some three hundred feet distant.

Lucky it was for them that they were all strong swimmers. Battered and dazed, they found themselves in the lesser surf that beat upon a sandy beach, and after a desperate, choking struggle, Phil and Benton dragged themselves out upon the sand. A pale dawn was glimmering in the east, and by the sickly light they could make out black dots still struggling in the raging surf, and they knew that these must be their comrades. Almost exhausted themselves, they hesitated not a moment, but rushed back into the combing waves and deadly undertow to rescue the others.