“This is more than a joke,” said Pooke; “we are down opposite Shaldon. I can see the Teignmouth lights. We shall never get across like this.”
“We must.”
“The tide tears between the end of the Den and the farther shore like a mill-race.”
“We must cross or run aground.”
“Kate, can you see the breakers over the bar?”
“No, but I can hear them. They are nothing now, as wind and tide are running off shore. When the tide turns then there will be a roar.”
“I believe we are being carried out. Thunder! I’m not going to be swept into Kingdom Come without having put on box-hat and new suit, and cut a figure here.”
The wind poured down the trough of the Teign valley with such force, that in one blast it seemed to catch the boat and drive it, as it might take up a leaf and send it flying over the surface of a hard road.
The waves were dancing, foaming, uttering their voices about the rocks of the Ness, mumbling and muttering on the bar. If the boat in the darkness were to get into the throat of the current, it would be sucked and carried into the turbulent sea; it might, however, get on the bar and be buffeted and broken by the waves.
“Take an oar,” said Pooke; “we must bring her head round. If we can run behind the Den, we shall be in still water.”