"And the Pelikan—or Zwaan, as we are accustomed to call her—hopes to ascend the Mohoro River. Her draught is about twenty-two feet, and she may be able to lighten to eighteen."
"She won't do it," declared Pennington decisively. "It will be as much as she can manage to cross the outer bar. She'll be nabbed before she does that."
"When's high water?" enquired Denbigh.
"Let me see. New moon's on Friday. To-day's Saturday. High water, full and change, is at 4 p.m. I take it that it's the top of the tide to-day at eleven or thereabouts. They'll have to be pretty sharp about it to arrive off the entrance to the lagoon by that time."
As a matter of fact von Riesser signalled for the prize to steam full speed ahead, the Pelikan following at four cables' lengths astern. By 8.30 the Myra slowed down off the entrance to the Mohoro River.
There was a considerable amount of mist about, for the land breeze had not commenced to make its influence felt.
All that could be seen was a long, irregular line of coral reefs against which the ground-swell broke with a sullen roar into masses of milk-white foam. There were nearly a dozen visible gaps in the reef, the largest, bearing directly ahead, being marked by a couple of coco-nut palms.
At this point an island was in course of formation, there being a few feet of soil accumulated upon the coral. These trees marked the entrance to the lagoon, into which the Mohoro River made its way by means of three separate estuaries.
The Germans left nothing to chance. Way was taken off both vessels. A boat was manned and lowered from the Pelikan and rowed towards the entrance, soundings being taken methodically and frequently.
Having found the deepest water the officers in the boat signalled to the Myra, and at half speed the captured tramp crept towards the narrow passage.