"We are making water," he shouted to me; "and the island is to leeward. We scarce can weather it, and if we do——"
A faint hail reached us from the fo'csle.
"Land——"
And a rent in the storm-clouds showed a second and lower headland fair over our larboard bow.
Peter started to put the helm down to enable us to bear off as much as possible and have whatever chance there was of clearing it; but Murray caught his arm.
"No, no, Peter!" cried my great-uncle. "Head up! Head up! 'Tis the North Inlet! If we can pass in to sta'b'd of that spit we are safe."
"Ja," squeaked Peter, and his iron muscles forced the rudder over until it neutralized the drive of the wind and sea; and foot by foot the Royal James made her southing, passed the east spit with half a cable's length to spare and opened a narrow, bottle-shaped roadstead, with tree-clad shores that offered protection from any storm that blew.
The rain was still pelting down. The surf was foaming on the outer beaches; the wind whistled shrilly in the rigging. But to us that prospect was the fairest ever seen. Moira sank to her knees in prayer beside the dead pirate. My great-uncle stepped to the rail and bade the survivors of the crew get sufficient sail on the ship to give us steerage way. And I—I tried to shake Peter. He blinked at me solemnly.
"I t'ink Gott spoke out loudt to der tdefil today, Bob," he said. "Ja!"