Between the foam-swept barriers she made her way, until she lay quietly upon the peaceful waters of the lagoon.
The Pelikan prepared to follow.
"Ten to one she'll bump," exclaimed Captain Pennington. "There you are! I said so," he added, as the raider touched the bottom with a dull grinding sound. Still she carried way. Scraping along for nearly her own length she slid into deep water.
"Hope she's stove in her bottom," said O'Hara. "See, they're using her bilge pumps."
A signal was hoisted on the raider. What it meant the British officers were unable to say, but it was evident from the expression of the face of Unter-leutnant Klick that the damage to the Pelikan was but slight.
By this time the mist was rising. The mainland could now be discerned, low-lying ground densely covered with mangroves and backed by rugged hills at a distance of about ten miles from the coast.
The lagoon was quite three miles in breadth and extended in a northerly direction beyond the range of vision. Southward it gradually converged towards the coast, apparently joining it at a distance of five miles from where the ships lay.
"An anchorage big enough to take the whole of the British Navy," declared Denbigh. "It's the bar that spoils the place, apart from the pestilential swamps. Do you see that peculiar isolated tree? It's a casuarina. It marks the principal entrance to the Mohoro—or did when I was here last, but these African rivers have a peculiar knack of altering their course entirely in a night."
"I suppose we are going straight up," remarked O'Hara. "There's depth enough for us."
"Goodness knows," replied his chum. "At all events the Pelikan can't."