“Whacher mean?”
“Mean! Look at the sea and the stuff that’s coming. Could we put the ship about in this sea? No, we couldn’t. You know very well the old rolling log would turn turtle. Well, what’s before us? A lee shore. If we don’t reach the opening of the Straits of Magellan before sundown we’re dead men all. Germans! I wish I were safe in the hold of a good German ship.”
The truth of his words burst upon Harman. There are no lights at the entrance of the Magellan Straits; the entrance is not broad; to hit it in the darkness would be next door to impossible, and not to hit it would be certain death.
It was impossible to put the ship about. Harman’s extraordinary mind did not seem much upset at the discovery.
“D’ye think we’ll do it?” asked he.
“I don’t know,” said the Captain. “We may and we mayn’t. You see, we haven’t a patent log. I haven’t had a sight of the sun for two days. I can’t figure things to a nicety. But if I had ten patent logs I wouldn’t use them now. I’d be afraid to—what would be the good? Mac is whacking up the engines for all they’re worth.”
“Well, maybe we’ll do it,” said Harman, applying his eye again to the glass. Then: “She’s going about.”
The Captain took the glass.
The cruiser was turning from her prey before it was too late. It was a terrific spectacle, and once the Captain thought she was gone. The foam was bursting as high as her fighting tops and the grey water pouring in tons over her decks.
Yet she did it, and the last Blood saw of her was the kick of her propellers through sheets of foam.