The words were barely out of his mouth, when the launch, rising on a big wave, came down with a crash and the next wave sweeping over her carried them off into the sea.
Like drowning men catching at a straw, the four clung to the rope as the rushing comber swept them on with it. Bruised, battered, and breathless, it hurled them upon something hard.
"Quick!" Charley cried, as he realized that they had been safely cast up into shoal water. "Quick! Up for the beach before the next comber!"
His companions had not waited for the command, but were already scrambling ahead. A few strides carried them out of danger—but there was no beach. Everywhere great trees rose up out of water nearly to their knees. Even in the darkness, they could see that the towering giants were almost bare of limb, and from high up above the water great crooked roots grasped down for a hold on the bottom.
Charley grasped one of the elbow-like roots and pulled himself up out of water. "Come on," he cried, "it's high and dry up here. These roots grow so close together one can almost lie down upon them."
His companions climbed weakly up beside him, where they rested, panting to gain their breath.
"Come on, we can make ourselves more comfortable than this," Charley said, when he had regained some of the wind that had been battered out of him.
They followed him as he crept cautiously from root to root. When they got about fifty feet from shore, he stopped.
"We had not better try to go any further," he said. "We're shut off from the wind all right. Now, for a good, long drink."
He slipped off into the water and, stooping, lapped greedily.