“I suppose we’re about as safe here as anywhere,” muttered the professor; “but I must say that is the most terrific sound I’ve ever heard.”
We waited ten or fifteen minutes in silence, when the stillness was broken by the wash of oars as Garnett started to come aboard. We could not see the boat against the dark outline of the shore, but we could hear the clank of the rowlocks, and I leaned over the side, knowing it would be in sight in a few moments.
As I watched the water I was suddenly aware of a strong current setting past the vessel towards the entrance, and at the same instant Frisbow uttered a startled exclamation. In an instant the boat showed clear in the moonlight and Garnett’s voice bawled out for to throw him a line.
Seizing the main-sheet, I threw it to him as the men were bending to the oars as if rowing through a rapid. The man forward caught it and hauled alongside, all hands wasting no time in clambering to the schooner’s deck.
“It’s a tidal wave, sure,” grunted Garnett, out of breath. “Look out for the hatches.”
In less than a minute we had everything lashed down forward, and then all hands came aft to the companion-way of the cabin. As we stood there we heard a deep murmur from the northward and westward, which gradually increased as the seconds flew by.
“How are the anchors?” asked the professor of Garnett.
“Every fathom of the best Norway iron tailing to each one,” answered the mate; “but they’ll never hold if the sea comes over the reef.”
Suddenly the deep murmur swelled into a thundering roar. The schooner strained at her cables as the water flashed past, and then above the reef we saw a hill rise white in the moonlight with its crest ragged and broken against the night sky. The very air shook with the jar of that foaming crest as it fell with a mighty crash on the reef and went over it.
“Get below!” roared Garnett, and we tumbled down the companion into the cabin, the mate pulling the hatch-slide after him and fastening it.