The way was literally strewn with dangers, and prudence suggested lowering the sail; but prudence was wrong—quick sailing was the only way to safety, so that they might have speed enough to insure good steering in the rapid current.
“We must keep on going,” said Vince, “or we shall be on the rocks, as sure as we live. I say, can you keep an eye on the shore?”
“No: I’m obliged to mind the rocks ahead. You look.”
“I can’t,” said Vince; “it’s impossible, with all these shoals about. Look out! here’s quite a whirlpool. Port a little more—port!”
The eddy they had to pass was caused by a couple of rocks close to the surface; and in avoiding these they went stern over another, which appeared to rise suddenly out of the clear sea, and was so close that the wonder to them was that they did not touch it. But the little boat drew very little water, and probably they were a few inches above it as they glided on into deep water again.
“That was a close shave,” cried Vince. “I say, it’s impossible to try and find the way in there while we have to dodge in and out here.”
“Think there would be less current closer in?” said Mike.
“No, I don’t. Look for yourself: it’s rushing along, and there are twice as many rocks. I say, Ladle, we had better get out of this as soon as we can.”
Mike said nothing, but he evidently agreed, and sat there steering with his oar over the stern, his teeth set and his brow knit, gazing straight ahead for the many dangers by which they had to pass, before, to their great relief, the last seemed to be past, and they had time to turn their attention toward the shore.
“It’s easy enough now,” said Vince. “Why, that’s North Point, and the Scraw must be half a mile behind!”