When we reached the schooner Garnett was being rated by Captain Brown for having suggested bringing the vessel into such a hole. The skipper had felt the shock, and swore that we would have the accompanying tidal wave in about half an hour, adding that if it caught us in there we were as good as dead men.
It was not quite dark, so without a moment’s delay we made sail and stood for the entrance. There was no wind to speak of, and the skipper, fearing that we might drift into the breakers, had Garnett and the three sailors man the whale-boat and tow us to keep up good headway.
I took the wheel and Captain Brown went forward to direct our movements. We went straight for the middle of the cut, while the sun dipped below the western horizon and the sudden tropic night fell upon the ocean. The moon was a few degrees high in the east, and we knew that there would be plenty of light, anyhow, to steer by, as we kept slowly on.
In a little while we neared the entrance, and it looked as if we would be on the open ocean within half an hour, when all of a sudden I heard a harsh, grinding sound, and the schooner, with a slight jar, became motionless. The skipper came rushing aft and peered over the taffrail, muttering a string of oaths through his set teeth.
“What is it?” I asked, as I left the wheel and rushed to the rail.
He said nothing, but dived below for a lead-line. In a moment he was forward again and flung the lead overboard, but I noticed that the line failed to run out.
“What is it?” I asked again.
He turned his face towards me, and I saw its ghastly expression in the moonlight.
“God knows,” he growled, “but we are hard and fast on the reef, and there isn’t half a fathom of water anywhere ahead of us.” He bawled for Garnett to come on board, and I heard the startled exclamations from the men in the boat as they hauled in the tow-line and came alongside.
In a moment the skipper jumped into the boat with the hand-lead and started off through the entrance.