"Lumme! won't we have a job to clean our bloomin' rifles when we get back," muttered the "stroke" in tones loud enough for the Sub to hear. Dick smiled grimly. It was a typical grumble of a British seaman. He paid no heed to the present danger; the possibility of not returning to the ship never occurred to him. He was anticipating the irksome task of removing the effects of salt water from his rifle and bayonet. "See anything, Jones?" asked Dick of the bow-man, raising his voice to enable the man to hear above the roar of the elements. The bowman faced about and, shading his eyes, peered through the mirk. For a few moments he gazed steadily. "Something on our starboard bow, sir," he reported, "but it may be a rock. Luff, sir, luff--there's a brute a-coming." Farnworth tugged at the yoke-line, at the same time ordering the men to "back water, port--pull starboard!" "Give way, all." Forward dashed the whaler to meet the wall of water as near as possible. It seemed as if nothing could prevent the frail craft from being overwhelmed by the avalanche of foam. The oarsmen, "keeping their eyes in the boat", saw nothing of the danger. The midshipman gripped the tiller-lines tightly and set his teeth. Dick realized the peril, but with great self-control moved hardly a muscle of his face, although he fully expected to find himself and his boat's crew struggling for dear life in the water within the next few seconds. Like a feather the boat's bows rose in the air as she began to climb the wall of water. It seemed as if the strenuous efforts of the rowers would be totally insufficient to enable her to mount the towering barrier. The bowman, missing the resistance to his blade, collapsed in a heap on the thwart. Even in this moment of peril the Sub felt inclined to smile at the grotesque attitude of the unfortunate man. Then, with less than half a dozen bucketfuls of water in her, the whaler hung irresolute on the crest of the wave, and commenced her rapid plunge down the other side. Two more waves of less height followed in quick succession. Then in the ensuing "smooth", Farnworth steadied the boat on her course. "That's her, sir!" sung out the bowman, who had extricated himself from his undignified position. "Well on the starboard bow now, sir." The man was right. It was the unfortunate trawler. She lay with a considerable list to port, with the waves breaking right over her. Her mast and funnel had gone by the board. It was too dark to see whether any of her crew remained. But in the meanwhile what had happened to the _Tremendous's_ whaler, for there was no sign of her? Had she, Dick wondered, been overwhelmed by the heavy breakers which had all but swamped his boat? CHAPTER VII The "Hammerer's" Whaler