“We’re being carried out to sea, sir,” declared George with some disgust. Just then a tremendous sea caught the boat and she gave a lurch, throwing him violently down. The plunging masses of water made her quiver to her keel, and threatened to swamp her, but digging her nose into the great waves she staggered on.
“Thank God we are still afloat,” murmured Mr. McLeod. “Another shock like that and it will be all up with us.” Then turning to Hopkins he enquired whether he had been hurt in the fall.
Hopkins shook his head.
“We are being carried out to sea, you say, but what can we do?” questioned the Factor.
“We can drop anchor, and try to ride it out, sir.”
The Factor shook his head. “The seas would smash us,” he said.
George nodded. “Then we must hoist the mainsail again. I’m afraid she won’t carry it, but we can try. There’s a shoal that runs from a point of land ahead of us; if we can make that we’ll anchor in the lee of it.”
“All right! Hoist your mainsail, then. But have it close reefed.”
Staggering back to the stern, Hopkins resumed charge of the rudder and the mainsail was reefed and hoisted, but with great difficulty, for the wind, catching the spreading canvas, flapped it with a report like a gun-shot, threatening to snatch it away. The extra sail caused the boat to heel over alarmingly.
A smothered ejaculation of concern came from the cabin and soon Lena appeared, enveloped in a serviceable macintosh. Perceiving that she was alone the Factor hastened to assist her to a position of safety. Meanwhile Hopkins was straining his eyes in search of land. He was feeling very uneasy, for it seemed impossible that the boat could much longer resist the perpetual attack of the waves. The point at issue was simply—would the coast-boat last till they reached a place where they could anchor, or would she be swamped or smashed to pieces before they reached a place of safety?