“Pass them younkers down here!” shouted Bill, when this manoeuvre had been executed.
Jack and I were accordingly sent crawling down to the stern under the benches, and presented ourselves in a pitiable condition before the coxswain.
He was not a man of many words at the best of times, and just now, when everything depended on the steering, he had not one to waste.
“Stow ’em away, Ben,” he said, not looking at us, but keeping his eyes straight ahead.
Ben, another of our acquaintance, dragged us up beside him on the weather bulwarks, and here we had to stand, holding on to a rail, while the boat, with her sail lying almost on the water, rushed through the waves.
We were no longer among the breaking surf through which we had had to straggle at starting, although the sea still rolled mountains high, and threatened to turn us over every moment as we sailed across it. But the gallant boat, thanks to the skilful eye and hand of the coxswain, kept her head up, and presently even we got used to the situation, and were able to do the same.
Where was the wreck? I summoned up courage to ask Ben, who, no longer having to row, was standing composedly against the bulwarks by our side.
“Not far now. Straight ahead.”
We strained our eyes eagerly forward. For a long time nothing was visible in the darkness, but presently a bright flash of light shot upward, followed almost immediately by a blaze on the surface of the water and a dull report.
“They’re firing again!” said Ben; “we’ll be up to them in a jiffey!”