Seaward, the waves were breaking tumultuously, but the tidal wave had spent its fury. Dizzy, sick and battered the boys made their way over the side of the lost liner and crept up the beach. It was littered with the smashed fragments of the two boats and the remnants of the hastily abandoned camp.
Through the glowing darkness a figure came toward them.
“Great heavens, boys, is it you?” they heard.
“Yes, Captain,” rejoined Jack. “We’ve come ashore.”
“Thank Heaven you are safe! We are all right except for four poor sailors who did not awaken in time. But where have you been? How did you get on board?”
“We swam out,” said Jack simply, “and had just got out a wireless call when the big blow-up came.”
“A wireless call! Are you out of your head, boy?”
“By no means,” said Jack. “We got out a call, and, better still, got an answer. I don’t know what ship it was, but it was a naval craft. I gave our position and then came the tidal wave.”
“It is our only chance,” said the captain. “Both boats were, of course, smashed, and we are marooned till aid comes.”
It was the next night. The disconsolate castaways were huddled near the pathetic wreck of the lost liner. Food had been obtained from on board, so that there was no actual suffering, but the volcano still glared and rumbled and at any moment a disastrous eruption was to be feared.