"Heave!" cried a breathless voice. "Handy, noo! Away she goes!"
There was a splash and a rattle as the chain ran out, a thud as the returning boat came alongside, and then the vessel quivered, listed down on one side, and became motionless.
"I'm thinking she's hard and fast, but we'll try to shake her off," Macallister said and vanished, and soon the engines began to turn.
The Enchantress trembled, straining hard and rattling, but when somebody lighted the cargo-lamp, which still hung from a boom, it could not be seen that she moved. The light showed a narrow stretch of water, sliding past, blotched with foul brown foam. Then it fell upon the boat's crew, who had come on board, and Grahame saw that Walthew was gasping for breath. His flushed face was wet and drawn with effort, and his bare arms and neck were marked by small red spots.
"Sorry we couldn't manage to reach the bank," he panted. "Warp kept getting across her and the stream was running fast. But I'd better help Mack."
"Sit still a minute," Grahame said. "What are those marks on your neck?"
"Mosquito bites, I guess. Hadn't time to swat the brutes; they were pretty fierce."
The deck was now slanting steeply, and Grahame, looking over the rail, saw a wet strip a foot broad between the dry planks and the water.
"You can tell Mack to shut off steam," he said. "She's here until next tide and I'm not certain we can float her then."
The engines stopped, there was by contrast a curious stillness, and the men went below; but Grahame spent some time studying a chart of the coast and a nautical almanac before he went to sleep.