“I think we can get through all right, fellows,” he said, “but if we should be swamped going in, it won’t mean anything more than a good wetting. When I say the word, Fred, we want to act fast and together. If we can get a wave just right, we’ll shoot in like an arrow.”
“All right, say when, and I’ll pull my arms out,” promised Fred, taking a firm grip on the oars. “Let her go.”
“Look out you don’t pull the boat apart,” admonished Teddy. “Remember, I’m in the stern, and I don’t want to be left behind.”
His more serious brother rebuked Teddy’s frivolity with a glance, and then turned his eyes toward the line of thundering surf they were rapidly approaching. Lester was absorbed in the problem before him, glancing now at the line of breakers and then at the big waves chasing the boat, each one looking as though it must surely overwhelm it. At last, when they were not more than a hundred feet from the beach, Lester bent to the oars with all his strength, calling:
“Now, Fred, pull! Pull for all you’re worth!”
An involuntary exclamation broke from Bill as 191 he glanced astern. Close behind was a gigantic roller, its foaming crest already starting to bend over. As he gazed, fascinated, the crest broke and rushed at the little boat with a seething hiss. Up, up went the stern and the bow dug deep into the water.
“Pull, pull!” yelled Lester.
His oars and Fred’s bent beneath the force of their straining backs. For a moment it seemed as though the wave must surely break into the boat and swamp it. But suddenly they felt the boat leap forward, as though some giant of the deep had seized it and thrown it from him. With the white water boiling under the stern the boat raced on, caught in the grip of the breaker and traveling inshore with the same speed at which the wave itself moved. The bow cut through the water, curling up a bow wave on each side that at times came into the boat.
Suddenly the little craft started to turn to starboard.
“Pull on the starboard side,” shouted Lester, suiting the action to the word.