Back came Captain Stormleigh's reply:
"What's wrong with the grapnels? Too rough to lower a boat. Anchor and veer under our quarter."
"Pity we hadn't thought of that before," thought Guy. "It's blowing half a gale. We ought to have anchored much farther up the inlet."
Quickly descending from his perch, Guy, with the assistance of those of the passengers capable of bearing a hand, succeeded in bending the largest grapnel to a coil of rope. The treble glass plates in the foremost scuttle were removed, leaving an aperture just sufficient to admit the passage of the four-barbed anchor.
"Lower away!" ordered Guy. "Check the rope well in time."
The grapnel plunged to the bed of Desolation Inlet, taking with it the rope, which ran out so swiftly that the gun-metal rims of the scuttle were quite hot with the friction.
Then, as the rope took the strain, the Bird of Freedom swung round as if on a pivot, almost capsizing every man on board who had neglected to obtain a firm grip. This was followed by a sudden jerk, and the sleigh, riding head to wind, brought up within ten feet of the starboard side of the Polarity.
It was quite near enough to be pleasant, for the ship was pitching violently, while the Bird of Freedom, riding lightly on the white-crested waves, was at one moment level with the Polarity's bulwarks; at another the ship towered thirty feet or more above the sleigh.
Now came the question of how to transfer the passengers and crew from the sleigh to the ship. An active man would have great difficulty in essaying the task, since it was impossible to get a foothold on the sloping deck. The sick and injured could not possibly be taken through the hatchway.
"We'll have to hang on till the wind moderates," declared Leslie. "I hope the rope will hold."