Suddenly, peering hard, Henry called his orders and the chums relayed them.
“Swing her head to that swirl of water.”
Around came the bow till the wind was from directly aft.
“Full speed ahead!” And the engine picked up its heavy thud.
“Ease her off a point to port. Slow down to quarter speed.”
Toward land the great rollers, muddy and moiled, rose into swirling lines of dirty foam, then drew off to the shore.
Seaward, greater combers reared their heads and growled their fury that they had not succeeded in flinging these daring people onto their fang-like reefs.
There was a moment of silence—of quiet.
Then came a sort of sighing, from the waves, as the Porto Bello swung her nose among them. She rose up over a wave, then settled; there came a trembling and a dragging as the bottom grated on the sand. She wrenched and tore herself free, like a living thing striving to help her friends at wheel and engine.
A great wave came rolling, its speed seeming to threaten that it would roar down upon the boat, her own speed diminished by the friction of her keel.