"She's a sailing corvette, or I'm much mistaken," said the mate,
"but--mind yourselves, men! Pull with a will."

The first line of breakers was passed without trouble. The second was
rougher, and the men strained at the oars to give the yawl as much
headway as possible.

The last wave came "quartering" and threw a hatful of water into
Ralph's face, whereat Mr. Duff laughed cheerily.

"One ducking!" he cried. "But now comes the tug of war. Jump her,
boys! Jump her, I say!"

The third and last line was longer, larger, and in every way more
formidable, owing to the sudden deepening of the water. Both Ben and
Ralph were rather exhausted from their previous exertions, and Duff
yelled himself hoarse in his repeated entreaties to:

"Give way! G-g-give wa-a-a-y I tell you! Don't you see--we're gone?
Keep her nose up! K-e-e-p it u-u-u-p-p! Sharks and sawfish, men! are
you going to let her broach? Now then! All together, a-n-d--over
she--good heavens!"

A barrel or two of brine hurled over the starboard quarter choked off
the mate's adjurations. But it was the last of the angry combers and
the next minute the three were wiping the salt water from their faces
while the yawl was riding easily on the glassy swell just beyond the
bar.