CHAPTER XXV.
THE STORM.
As they gazed around them, our little party could not help but realize the peril of their situation. To the west, about a mile from the drifting launch, was the reef over which the mountainous waves were breaking in heaps of swirling foam. To the east of them some three miles distant was the shore. All they could see of it was its swaying palms for its beach was hidden by the foaming breakers. All around them rose mighty seas upon which the drifting launch reared and plunged.
So far, they were drifting straight down the lane between the reef and shore, but a slight shift of wind, either way, would send them ashore to be beaten to death in the pounding surf or out on the reef to be smothered in the mighty seas.
Even without a shift of wind, they were in a perilous position. The launch was doing nobly, but she had never been built for such work. A craft so small could not reasonably be expected to live in such a seaway. She rose gallantly to the sweeping combers, but even a novice could see her sea-riding limit had almost been reached. Should the waves continue to increase much in size, the little craft was doomed.
"Oh, well," said Charley, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "we are not as bad off as we might be. While there's life there's hope. The wind may begin to go down any minute, and if it does we will soon be picked up. There are boats traveling this passage all the time. There's a sail, now."
He pointed to where a tiny fleck of white showed in the distance as they rose on the summit of a wave.
All gazed eagerly at the distant fleck of white. They knew that no boat could rescue them in such a sea, but it gave them a spark of comfort to know that they were not alone on the watery deep.
The white speck grew with amazing rapidity. In a few minutes, they were able to see that it was a small schooner scudding before the gale under a close reefed foresail.
It swept by them not two hundred yards away, so close that they could see the pipe in the mouth of the man at the wheel.