Once again, helpless and in imminent danger of foundering, now that the steam-pumps were useless, the ship rolled broadside on in the trough of the waves. The motion was now decidedly sluggish, her recovery slow. Another hour, or two at the very most, would see the end unless something totally unforeseen occurred to baulk the sea of its prey.
"Land ahead!"
Five miles to leeward appeared a chain of rugged cliffs, topped with treeless ground that culminated in a gaunt peak. Here and there were gaps of varying sizes, but whether these were inlets, or merely patches of low-lying ground, invisible owing to the curvature of the ocean, the lieutenant could not for the time being decide.
All this while, from the moment the Norwegian operator thought it advisable to relinquish his attitude of passive resistance, the wireless had been sending out calls for aid; but, although Terence swept the horizon with his glasses, no smoke announced the approach of a succouring steamer.
Presently a line of surf, as the tremendous seas hurled themselves against the rock-bound coast, became visible. The "Roldal" was evidently doomed either to founder or else be driven upon the bleak and frowning cliffs.
Suddenly the quartermaster, forgetting disparity in rank in his excitement, grasped Terence by the arm.
"Look, sir!" he exclaimed. "A submarine!"