She crept past the point, rolling wildly and lifting out her screw, while the air got thick with spray and the thud of engines was drowned by the turmoil of the sea. Some distance off, white ridges leaped out of the gathering dark, but nearer at hand they were broken by the shoals and raged in foaming confusion. The Enchantress must cross this belt without much steam to help her, but it was obvious that Macallister was hard at work below, for thick smoke with fiery sparks in it poured from the funnel.
Miguel's white-clad figure, swaying in the channels, cut against the gloom, but Grahame could not hear his hail. Though he glanced at the compass now and then, he was feeling his way rather by instinct than definite guidance, and so far the upward sweep of the bows showed there was sufficient water under the vessel. Sometimes a sea came on board and poured aft in a frothing flood, but she was steadily forging ahead, and a few minutes would take her across the worst of the shoals.
Suddenly she stopped with a crash, lurched sideways, and lay still while a foam-tipped mass of water rolled up ahead. It broke on board, burying her forward half, and the next moment Grahame was wet to the waist; but she lifted as the roller surged by; and then struck the shoal again. A few more blows of that kind would crush in her bilge, but Grahame set his teeth and clung grimly to his wheel. There was nothing to be done but wait; the crash would warn Macallister what was required of him, and if he could not drive her off, they must cut the boats adrift and leave her to her fate.
Another sea came tumbling in, but while its crest broke across the rail it picked her up and she moved on slowly with the water sluicing aft down her inclined deck. For a few seconds Grahame held his breath, waiting for the shock; but she went on, and lifted her head buoyantly as the next comber rolled up. When she had lurched over it and the spray had blown away, he saw that the sea was more regular and the worst of the turmoil lay astern. Five minutes afterward, she reeled out into open water, and Macallister came on deck.
"We've started the bilge-pump, but it's no' drawing much," he said. "I dinna think she's the waur for the knocks she got."
"That's satisfactory. You know what you have to do."
Macallister smiled with quiet enjoyment.
"We've no' had the need to drive her yet, but noo I'll let ye see."
He went below, and Grahame gave Miguel an order, for in swinging round after leaving the lagoon the Enchantress had brought the wind on her quarter, and she carried a good spread of sail. He would not, however, luff her off her course to make the work easier; the crew must hoist the canvas as best they could, and there was a furious banging and clatter of flying blocks as fore-staysail, foresail, and mainsail went up. Then she listed down with her rail in the white surges that boiled up to lee, while tall, hollow-fronted combers ranged up astern and sped after her.
Wire shrouds, strung to the breaking-point, shrieked in wild harmonies as the blasts struck them; chain funnel-guys roared in deeper tones, and there was a confused groaning of masts and booms. Spray swept her, lashing Grahame's back and blowing past his head in clouds, and now and then a sea-top broke on board; but she drove on furiously before the wind.