The light of the Boca Grande Pass showed him the direction of the reef. The surrounding blackness showed nothing. He must make his landing by the bearing of the lighthouse, and trusting that his distance would be run right.
A heavy squall snored over him, and the straining bit of foresail responded to the furious rush, heeling the Sayonara down to her deck. All about them the water was snow-white with the sweep of the wind. He heard a call from forward, and saw his mate running aft at full speed. A heavier sea lifted the yacht, heeled her to leeward; then there was a tremendous shock.
A wild burst of sea tore over the yacht, the following sea had broken against her side as she stopped in her run. The water was blinding, but Smart could feel her swing up, and off from the wind. The wheel was suddenly whirled out of his hands, and with a crash the Sayonara set her heel again into the coral of the reef.
"Get below, every one," roared Smart, and the struggling Dunn, with the major, who had been washed to leeward, fought their way back to the companion.
Smart shoved them roughly down and followed, closing the hatchway after him. It was the only way. To remain on deck while the sea broke over her would be to invite almost certain death. Again and again the yacht rose and crashed down upon the coral bank beneath, the smashing crash of her rending timbers making a deafening noise to those confined in her. It was like being within a drum while it was being beaten by a mighty stick.
If they could remain below until the vessel drove well up on the bank, it would be well. If the filling hold drove them on deck they would have to face a whirling sea, which was breaking in a wild smother clear across the wreck. Smart watched the water rising above the cabin floor, and waited.
Forward, the mate had got the crew below and closed all hatches. It would be some time before she filled full enough to drive them on deck, and all the time the stanch little craft was driving higher and higher up the bank into shallow water.
Smart took a look at the glass. It was rising. There would be three more hours of inky darkness, and he hoped the little ship would last it out. In the morning it would break clear, and there would be good weather, a splendid chance to save not only the people aboard the vessel, but much of her valuable fittings.
Dunn tried to calm the fears of his guests. The major, white and ghastly in the light of the cabin lamp, tried to put on an air of unconcern. His companion tried to joke with Miss Harsha, but even that young woman seemed to feel that the storm was entirely too real, the end not quite in sight.
"When in doubt, take a drink," suggested the owner, and proceeded to fill three glasses. A sudden rise and smash of the yacht flung the glasses to leeward, where they shivered into fragments upon the cabin deck. Dunn saved his whiskey only by hanging on to it with one hand, while he clung to the buffet with the other.