“But we are,” cried Brace warmly. “Look and see.”
“Yes, that’s right enough, sir,” cried Dan sharply. “The current’s setting dead for the falls, and we’re being sucked sharply towards the broken water underneath them.”
“Ay, true for you, mate,” cried one of the sailors; “and if we get there we shall be swamped before we know where we are.”
Lynton started up in the boat and stood in a stooping position holding on by the gunwale with his unoccupied hand, as he peered over the side to look at the direction of the current and then gazed up the river at the falls.
The others saw him change countenance, but he did not say a word. He gave ample proof, though, that he fully realised the danger they were incurring, for he bore hard down upon the tiller till the boat glided round, the sail filled on the other side, and they began to sail slowly in a direction parallel with the falls.
“She don’t make much way, sir,” said Dan, in a grumbling tone hardly above a whisper, the words being meant for Brace’s ear, but the mate evidently heard what was said.
“I don’t quite understand this,” said he. “I never noticed any change, but the current’s setting now right for the falls.”
“Don’t you see why that is?” Briscoe asked the question sharply.
“No. Do you?”
“Yes. I’m a bit used to cataracts. There’s thousands of tons falling yonder and going down ever so deep. That makes the surface water set towards the falls, and while there’s a deep current rushing down the river there’s a surface current now setting upward, and it’ll take us right up to the falling water as sure as we sit here if something isn’t done, and that quickly.”