“Well, Mr. Dunton, there’s nothing to leeward that you could call a harbor, but there’s a small inlet to the south of us and if the cable snaps our only chance will be to run for it.”
“But how are you to find it in this darkness?”
“It will soon be dawn, Mr. Dunton; in about an hour’s time, I should say. If we’re lucky enough to hold on till then we may make it. Once over the outer bar we shall be safe.”
Dunton had to be satisfied with this, though the prospect was a poor one. He asked Hoppy how they were to moor the schooner in case they lost the heavy anchor? The pilot told him that there would be smooth water inside the outer bar and that a light anchor would do.
Sea after sea kept pounding the vessel. As the time was near for decisive action, Hoppy suggested to Dunton that it would be well to pay out a few more fathoms of cable.
“It will ease her a bit, Mr. Dunton; I’ll make my way forward and see that it runs out all right.”
Dunton agreed. Hoppy groped his way to the bow where he crouched unobserved in the gloom. Dunton gave the order to pay out, but just then a curious thing happened. Hoppy drew his keen knife from its sheath and slashed the stout rope in such a manner that he knew it would soon part. On his way aft he managed to have a few words with Jackson.
The night was drawing to a close. The first faint streaks of dawn were appearing and the pilot drew Dunton’s attention to them:
“Day is coming, Mr. Dunton; I think there’s a slight break in the gale.”
And so it seemed. There was a perceptible lessening of the schooner’s motion and Dunton felt relieved.