What a dreary, depressing hope it was that now possessed the souls of Captain Horn, of Burke and Shirley, and of even the three negroes! After all the hardships, the labor, and the anxieties, after all the joy of success and escape from danger, after all happy chances which had come in various ways and from various directions, after the sweet delights of rest, after the super-exultation of anticipation which no one on board had been able to banish from his mind, there was nothing left to them now but the eager desire that their vessel might keep afloat until she could find some friendly sands on which she might be run, or some shallow water in which she might sink and rest there on the wild Patagonian coast, leaving them far from human beings of any kind, far from help, far, perhaps, from rescue and even safety.
To this one object each man gave his entire energy, his mind, and his body. Steadily went the pumps, steadily the captain kept his eyes fixed upon the approaching headland, and upon the waters beyond, and steadily, little by little, the Miranda sunk lower and lower into the sea.
At last the headland was reached, and on its ocean side the surf beat high. Keeping well away to avoid shoals or a bar, the Miranda passed the southern point of the headland, and slowly sailed into a little bay. To the left lay the rocky ridge which formed the headland, and less than half a mile away could be seen the shining sands of the smooth beach. Toward this beach the Miranda was now headed, every sail upon her set, and every nerve upon her strung to its tightest. They went in upon a flood-tide. If he had believed that the brig would float so long, Captain Horn would have waited an hour until the tide was high, so that he might run his vessel farther up upon the beach, but he could not wait, and with a strong west wind he steered straight for the sands.
There was a hissing under the bows, and a shock which ran through the vessel from stem to stern, and then grinding and grinding and grinding until all motion ceased, and a gentle surf began to curl itself against the stern of the brig.
Every halliard was let go, and down came every sail by the run, and then the brig Miranda ended this voyage, and all others, upon the shore of a desolate Patagonian island.
Between the vessel and dry land there was about a hundred feet of water, but this would be much less when the tide went out. Beyond the beach was a stretch of sandy hillocks, or dunes, and back of these was a mass of scrubby thicket, with here and there a low tree, and still farther back was seen the beginning of what might be a forest. It was a different coast from the desolate shores of Peru.
Burke came aft to the captain.
"Here we are, sir," said he, "and what's to happen next?"
"Happen!" exclaimed the captain. "We must not wait for things to happen! What we've got to do is to step around lively, and get the gold out of this brig before the wind changes and drives her out into deep water."
Burke put his hands into his pockets. "Is there any good of it, captain?" said he. "Will we be any better off with the bags on that shore than we would be if they were sunk in this bay?"