The boys worked with all the energy they could command to get the water out as fast as it came in. Bruce Browning did his best. They were chilled to the bone, dripping wet, and sick at heart. Every man of them felt that his chance of being drowned was most excellent. Swish--bump! the big waves came down on the boat, struck her, piled over her. A score of times it seemed that she was swamped, a score of times she fought her way to the surface, a score of times prayers of relief were whispered by white lips. She was not making much headway. The wind was carrying her off helplessly. Still Frank clung to the tiller, trying to steer and succeeding in a measure, so that he kept her from rolling helplessly broadside to the seas. “Light again!” cried Diamond, as the flash of fire again gleamed out and disappeared. Now came a sound that was like the sullen roar of an animal in distress. It was the booming of the surf on shore. “If I don’t strike the mouth of the cove, we’ll be piled up on a ledge, or high and dry on shore in less than two minutes,” came from Frank’s lips. They heard him, and they realized they were close upon the islands. The sound of the surf added a feeling of terror to their other sensations, and yet they were thankful they had not missed the Thimbles and been driven out to sea. Louder and louder came the booming roar of the surf. Through the darkness they seemed to see a white wall of foam that shifted and heaved, leaped and roared. All the tigers of the deep seemed to be at play along that white line. They saw the boat and its helpless crew. They roared their delight over the coming feast. But ahead--what was that? A spot where the white line was not dancing and howling. The boat made for that spot. “Hold fast!” Frank was not sure it was the mouth of the cove. He could not tell in that dense darkness, but he headed straight toward that spot. They might strike at any moment. Onward floundered the _Jolly Sport_, making a last gallant effort to keep afloat. The roaring surf was on either side. The leaping tigers in white were there, gnashing their teeth and howling with impotent rage. “It’s the cove!” screamed Harry Rattleton. “We’re all right! Hurrah!” “Hurrah!” cheered Diamond. Frank said nothing; he knew their peril was not over. Bart Hodge said nothing; he would not have murmured had they gone down in mid-sound. Bruce Browning was silent; he was exhausted by his efforts at bailing. The great waves pursued the fugitive boat into the cove, like wolves in chase of a wounded deer. All at once a black hulk loomed before them. “A vessel!” cried Harry. “Look out!” warned Jack. With all his strength, Frank pulled over the tiller. The boat obeyed slowly and with reluctance. She could not clear the black hulk entirely. “Confound them!” muttered Frank. “Why don’t they have a light out? There’s a law for this, and----” Bump!--the _Jolly Sport_ struck. Scrape!--she slid along the side of the vessel.