The crew of the Sea-Horse watched him as he went slowly in. In an hour after the westerly shift he was so close that the white coral showed through the blinding clouds of spray thrown up by the sea on the reef. Then, by hard work, he managed to get some head sail on the ship and start in for Gun Key.
She ran the half-mile between her and the beach at a tremendous pace. Lifting upon a sea, she rushed shoreward and struck, swung, lifted again, and then was hove solidly broadside into the surf. The men on the wrecker saw her strike. When she stopped a great burst of white told of a smashing sea going over. The slanting spars and funnel told how high she had hit, and the huge, bursting clouds of white water smothering her told of the rending power that she was exposed to in that surf. The hundred yards between the bow and the sand was a churning, boiling stretch of whiteness.
"That's the end of her," said the mate. "Looks like we're in fer the same thing."
In silence the rest watched the wreck. They were going in themselves; but the fate of the ship held their attention in spite of the death that they knew lay in the white line to leeward. It had been blowing now for four hours with hurricane force, and as they went in within a mile of the surf the shifting squalls swung more and more to the westward. Then it began to ease suddenly. Between gusts there was not more than a stiff gale. It was growing brighter, and they knew that they had missed the storm-centre, which must have passed to the eastward.
"Get the mainsail on her—we'll poke her to the s'uth'ard!" bawled Sanders.
Led by the mate, the men lay forward, and working for life raised the balance-reefed mainsail. Bahama Bill lay flat on his stomach, knife in hand, while they cleared the forestaysail and ran it up. Then he cut clear the drag. A wave of the hand, and Sanders filled the vessel off on the starboard tack, and as it went the dull booming thunder of the surf came up against the gale.
"If the wind keeps goin' we'll poke her off yet," said Sanders as the mate came aft.
"Ay, we'll poke her out to sea; but I could swim that surf good an' easy," said the mate quietly.
The Captain grinned, and looked at his giant form, its huge proportions made all the larger by the loose-fitting oilskins.