It was indeed blowing a regular hurricane, and it did credit to the builders of the huts that they should have withstood its force. The waves, crested with foam, came rolling in from across the harbour, breaking with great violence against the rocks. The seamen, aroused from their sleep, hurried out of their huts, encountering as they did so thick showers of spray, which, driven by the wind, broke over them. The first thing to be done was to haul up the cutter, which, dashed about by the foaming seas, ran the risk at any moment of being knocked to pieces on the rocks. So violently, however, did the waves break on the shore, that the seamen could not without much difficulty get hold of her. "Now, my lads," cried Bollard, "we will make a dash at the boat. A strong pull, and a pull altogether, and we will have her in safety." Inspired by his and Harry's example, the men succeeded in getting hold of the boat, and as the next sea lifted her, they hauled her up on a level part of the rock. The launch meantime was tossing about at her anchor; the foam-topped seas now breaking on board her, now lifting her up as if they would send her bodily on shore. The sailors watched her anxiously; for should no vessel appear to take them off the island, she would afford them the only means of escaping. The hurricane was apparently not yet at its height. The wind howled and whistled louder and louder through the woods, the sea, breaking in white masses along the shore, every instant roared more fiercely; first one hut, and then another was overthrown, and their materials scattered over the ground; but the men were too anxious watching the boat to care about the matter. Another and another foaming sea came rolling onwards. It was evident that they would either swamp the boat or drive her from her anchor.