I now insisted on taking his oar, and he took my place at the helm.
While this change was being effected, our pursuers gained upon us perceptibly. Every moment was precious. Luerson urged his men to greater efforts; the turning point of the struggle was now at hand, and the excitement became terrible.
“Steer close in; it will save something in distance,” gasped Morton, almost choking for breath.
“Not too close,” panted Arthur; “don’t get us aground.”
“There is no danger of that,” answered Morton, “it is deep, off the point.”
Almost as he spoke, a sharp, grating sound was heard, beneath the bottom of the boat, and our progress was arrested with a suddenness that threw Max and myself from our seats. We were upon a ledge of coral, which at a time of less excitement we could scarcely have failed to have observed and avoided, from the manner in which the sea broke upon it.
A shout of mingled exultation and derision, as they witnessed this disaster, greeted us from the long-boat, which was ploughing through the water, but a little way behind us, and some twenty yards further out from the shore.
“It is all up,” said Morton, bitterly, dropping his oar.
“Back water! Her stern still swings free,” cried Arthur, “the next swell will lift her clear.”
We got as far aft as possible, to lighten the bows; a huge wave broke upon the ledge, and drenched us with spray, but the yawl still grated upon the coral.