The marine, emboldened by the sounds from the barracks, pursued the fugitives, firing as he came. His bullets, launched while he was running, went wide of their targets.
"We'll never make it!" breathed the ensign.
"We've got to make it!" flung back Dick over his shoulder.
"But the Grampus—it will take time for those aboard to get up the anchors and to come to the wharf for us!"
"We'll win out!" asserted Dick stoutly. "Save your breath and run!"
Stumbling over the litter that had been scattered from the wharf, the three fugitives reeled and sprawled their way through the darkness. Even a fall, if it was in the right direction, was a distinct help.
Dick, being in the lead, was the first to reach that part of the wharf nearest the Grampus. The boat, looking like a black blot on the water, was tantalizingly out of reach.
Dick whistled shrilly.
Bang! It was not another bullet, but the hatch cover being thrown open.
"Vat it iss?" came the wavering voice of Carl.