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Bursting star-shell and questioning searchlight fought with the darkness, betraying to the guns the sinister black hulls driving through clouds of silver spray, the loaded tubes and streaming decks, the oilskin-clad figures on each bridge forcing the attack home against the devastating blast of the shrapnel. Death was abroad, berserk and blindfold.
"Guns, Frank!" said Jack quietly. "They are coming at us." "Leave it to me," replied Frank. "You run the boat. I'll do the rest." "Don't shoot unless you have to," warned Jack. Frank made no reply. Jack kept the light full upon the approaching boat. He could see several oilskin-clad figures and that was all; and then came a hail from the oncoming boat. "What do you want here?"
Then two or three oilskin-clad figures crept forward into the spray that still broke over the bows. The crew of the Olaf, crowding to the rail, looked down on the deeply laden little vessel from the height of their dry and steady deck. They watched the men working quickly almost under water on the low forecastle, and saw that it was good.
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