Suddenly a shout that the cable had parted arose and for some time the utmost confusion prevailed. The vessel fell off before the wind which had shifted a point to the north.
“Our only chance is to run for it, Mr. Dunton,” cried Hoppy. “I think we had better make for the inlet, though it must be shallow water on the outer bar now!”
The storm jib was set and the schooner plunged forward, Hoppy at the wheel. It was now sufficiently clear to distinguish the shore. The appearance of the sky denoted a change near though the gale was still strong.
Hoppy held her head in the direction of what he called the inlet. It could not be much of an inlet, was Dunton’s thought, for as far as the eye could range along shore there was nothing but a stretch of surf-beaten beach.
“Not much of a harbor, Mayo?”
“You will see it better in a short time, Mr. Dunton.”
Onward raced the schooner and the sea was surely getting smoother as she approached the land. When about half a mile from it, Hoppy ran her right into the wind’s eye and with a shock the little craft stood still.
“What’s that for, Mayo?” demanded Dunton suspiciously.
“It means, Mr. Dunton,” replied Hoppy coolly, “that we are aground on the outer bar.”
“Then what are we going to do now?”