Five, ten minutes, we stood there watching, ready to put out the second anchor if it were needed. The darkness was so dense we could not see far away, but our ears helped where our eyes failed, and the sound of the dashing waves grew no louder. At length convinced that the brig was no longer drifting, we crept under the lee of the cabin, and waited with what patience we could for the flood tide.
We had only one way of telling when it was safe for us to venture across the reef—as the water grew in depth the sound of the breakers lessened. When, therefore, their noise had practically ceased, we crawled out of our retreat and went over to the stern rail.
“Will it do to cut loose now?” I inquired.
“I dunno,” Bill replied. “We want all the water under us we can get, but won’t want to wait till the tide slacks. How long d’ye ’spose we’ve been here!”
“Four hours,” I answered, making the best guess I could.
The old sailor did not question my estimate. “Then the tide won’t be clear for two hours yet,” he responded. “We’d better wait a while longer, I reck’n.”
We crept back to our shelter, and, in order to form some idea of the passing moments, I counted slowly to myself. My comrade evidently proposed to leave all the responsibility of deciding the lapse of time to me, for he said nothing until I announced:
“An hour has gone by, Bill.”
“Then we’ll start,” he said. “If ye’ll take the wheel, I’ll go forward, an’ cut the cable.”
I went aft, loosened the fastenings of the wheel, and stood ready to head the brig for the reef as soon as she was free. The next minute, like a race horse, she whirled to the larboard under a mighty gust of wind, and dashed away. Before I could get her bow around we were on the reef, and a grating sound told that her keel was grazing the rocks below. It was only momentary, however, for a huge billow caught her, and lifted her clear of the obstruction before she could pound a hole in her bottom, and on and over the great barrier we swept unharmed.