The ballast is doing better work, and we are not falling so rapidly; but only half of the treacherous forest has been cleared: there is more and enough of it, that stands threatening below us.
“We shall never sail over it,” mutters the owner.
At this moment we swing into a violent gale, forerunner of the storm behind us. The “Rolla” quivers in its net, seems to hesitate for a mere second, and bravely leaps ahead.
“Too much of a good thing——,” and above us the valve is roaring furiously.
“Whatever happens, don’t jump!” cries the captain.
Of course, had I done so at any time, he would have shot up in the air ten or fifteen thousand feet.
“Attention! Voici le moment psychologique——.”
Like a hawk swooping down on its prey, and with the same graceful curve, the “Rolla” clears, with ten feet to spare, the crest of the last trees.
We hear the guide-rope dragging in the branches.
As quick as a flash the captain has the anchor overboard.