“Then we’ll try,” said Brace, “when we anchor for the night.”
As the morning progressed, the wind rose higher and the river widened. It was as if the opening out gave play to the breeze, and a good ten miles were run before sundry warnings of shallowing water made the captain give orders for reducing the sail; but, in spite of this, as the brig rounded a curve which disclosed to the delighted vision of the travellers a glorious landscape of open park-like country backed by mountains, with the sparkling waters of a furious rapid running from side to side where the river contracted again after opening out like a lake, there was a soft grinding sensation, and the way of the vessel was slowly checked, while the next minute it was fully grasped that they were fast on a sandbank, with the open forest on one side only a hundred yards or so away, and on the other fully a mile.
“We’ve done it now, squire,” said the captain, turning to Brace and mopping his face with a handkerchief he took out of the crown of his straw hat.
“Done it?”
“Yes; here we are, wrecked and set fast in the bed of the river.”
“But I suppose we shall only remain here for an hour or two.”
“Or for a year or two, or altogether, my lad. Maybe we shall never be able to get the brig off again; but we must hope for the best. It’s just as if we were set in the ice up yonder in the Arctic regions, eh?”
“This place is not very Arctic,” said Brace, laughing.
“No, my lad, not very,” said the captain, as Sir Humphrey came up. “We seem to be in for it now, sir.”
“Yes, but I suppose we are not stuck very fast. You’ll send out an anchor and haul upon it with the capstan.”