This increased as they drew nearer, the opening proving to be about a hundred yards in width, and the water, which had seemed to be so smooth and calm at a distance, being just outside one wild turmoil of eddy and cross currents consequent upon the action of the breakers on either side.
The boat danced about so at last, as they rowed slowly on to enable the man in the bows to sound more frequently in this the entrance part, that Jack was unable to keep back the question he felt ashamed to put.
Out it came.
“Is it safe for such a small boat as this to go through there, Mr Bartlett?”
“If it were not I should row back,” said the mate with a quiet smile. “Oh, yes, we could go through far worse places than this. But look there to the right; you see now why the captain said no boat could cross the reef.”
Jack could not forbear a shudder.
“The oars are nearly useless in that broken water, nearly all foam. The men can get no grip. But here we could run in twice as fast if we liked. Seems to be deep water. Capital channel. Not a suggestion of a rock.”
Then after contenting himself with letting the lead go down a few fathoms in the deep water, the man began to keep to one level length of ten fathoms, and this always went down without finding bottom till they were well in the jaws of the reef, when all at once he cried the depth—“By the mark nine,” and repeated the announcement again and again. Then it was eight, then seven, and as they glided out of the turmoil into perfectly smooth water the depth shallowed to six fathoms, and kept at that, no less, wherever they rowed.
“Plenty of good anchorage in shelter,” said the mate, slewing the boat round head to the opening once more, and they rowed out, sounding again as they went back, after proving that there was a perfectly clear channel for the yacht to pass in.
Once well outside the mate bade the men lie on their oars, and he hoisted the boat-hook with a handkerchief on the end for the signal agreed upon with the captain.