Gustav was thrusting a great knife into his hand, screaming to him to cut. The schooner was drifting fast toward the shore, a short quarter of a mile away. Together they slashed at the tackle that was dragging the Condor’s bows half under water, and the craft righted as the sail tore loose and surged sinking alongside.
“This is the end!” Lang thought, following Gustav’s gaze toward the shore. It was a long, sloping, gravelly beach, where the surf rushed up and ran back, two hundred yards away now, so fast the wind was driving them in.
But the shore was not the danger. It was a broken line of black points, spouting white froth, that was hardly a hundred yards ahead—an almost submerged sprinkle of barrier rocks that they could avoid only by luck.
Long moments passed as the men clung to the uncontrollable hull, before it became evident that she was going to strike fairly on the reef. Lang threw off his heavy poncho, preparing to swim for it. Gustav crept forward to the prow with a long, stout pole, evidently with the insane idea of fending off.
The last moments of the approach seemed endlessly slow. Fascinated, Lang watched that jagged black crag, almost within arm’s length. He saw the water draw back, showing its wet, weed-grown sides, surge up foaming to the top and again suck back, and then the Condor smashed with a terrific surge and shock.
Gustav was dashed helplessly forward, clean over and upon the crag, and Lang saw a sudden flicker of crimson through the foam. The schooner half recoiled, sticking on the rock, lifted to another wave and smashed down again.
Lang hardly knew whether he jumped or was pitched overboard. He went clear of the rock, battered by the waves, swimming with all his strength, drawn back, floating, fighting, growing almost automatic, till at last he felt solidity under his feet and rose gasping and choking.
CHAPTER XIV
THE CASTAWAY
Knocked down, recovering himself, scrambling and stumbling, Lang made footing, got into waist-deep water, and finally struggled out and beyond reach of the surf that seemed rushing in pursuit. The breath was battered out of him, he felt limp and weak and as if bruised all over.
Wiping his eyes, he looked up and down for another survivor. Nothing but the foamy water moved along that shingly shore. He had scarcely any hope. Gustav’s brains must have been knocked out instantly on the reef, and Henry was long since drowned. Out on the rock the Condor still hung spiked. She heaved up and down, and spray flew clean over her from the striking seas.