“Down with the helm, then,” cried Harold, springing forward, “and I’ll ease off the sheets.”
In a few minutes the ‘Aurora’ was surging before a stiff breeze towards the line of foam which indicated the outlying reef, and inside of which all was comparatively calm.
“If we only manage to get inside,” said Harold, “we shall do well.”
Disco made no reply. His whole attention was given to steering the brig, and running his eyes anxiously along the breakers, the sound of which increased to a thunderous roar as they drew near.
“There seems something like a channel yonder,” said Harold, pointing anxiously to a particular spot in the reef.
“I see it, sir,” was the curt reply.
A few minutes more of suspense, and the brig drove into the supposed channel, and struck with such violence that the foremast snapped off near the deck, and went over the side.
“God help us, we’re lost!” exclaimed Harold, as a towering wave lifted the vessel up and hurled her like a plaything on the rocks.
“Stand by to jump, sir,” cried Disco. Another breaker came roaring in at the moment, overwhelmed the brig, rolled her over on her beam-ends, and swept the two men out of her. They struggled gallantly to free themselves from the wreck, and, succeeding with difficulty, swam across the sheltered water to the shore, on which they finally landed.
Harold’s first exclamation was one of thankfulness for their deliverance, to which Disco replied with a hearty “Amen!” and then turning round and surveying the coast, while he slowly thrust his hands into his wet trouser-pockets, wondered whereabouts in the world they had got to.