scanning the interior highlands for the hundredth time, glanced again at the second officer. The grimness of the clean-cut, stern face had somewhat relaxed. Quite unconsciously the sailor’s expression showed that hope had replaced calm-visaged despair. Given an unhindered run of another mile, the ship could at least drop anchor with some prospect of success. The strength of the tide would diminish in less than an hour, and it might be possible to maneuver in the slack water for a comparatively safe berth. Next day, if the weather moderated as promised by the barometer, the steam pinnace could spy out the land in front. Smyth’s Channel was not so far away—perhaps [Pg 121]fifty miles. Once there, the Southern Cross could repair damage and proceed under her own steam to Punta Arenas. [Pg 121] A gleam of yellow light irradiated the surface mist, which had grown markedly denser. The clouds were parting, and the sun was vouchsafing some thin rays from the northwest. The mere sight was cheering. The blood ran warmer in the veins. It was as though the ship’s company, after days and nights of cold and starvation, had been miraculously supplied with food and hot liquids. Then the golden radiance died away, and simultaneously came the cry: “Reef ahead!” There was no need for further warning by the men in the bows. The Southern Cross had hardly traveled her own length before every person in the fore part of the ship, together with the occupants of bridge and promenade deck, became aware that a seemingly impassable barrier lay right across the channel. At the same time the line of cliffs fell away to the southward. Beyond the reef, then, lay a wide stretch of land-locked water; its unexpected existence explained the frantic haste of the tidal current. It was cruel luck that nature should have thrown one of her defensive works across that bottle-neck entrance. A few cables’ lengths [Pg 122]away was safety; here, unavoidable—sullen and rigid as death himself—were the rock fangs. [Pg 122] At the supreme moment the second officer never turned his head. His eyes were riveted on the motionless figure standing on the starboard side of the bridge. The captain raised his hand; the sails flapped loudly in the wind; both anchors splashed overboard with hoarse rattling of
Prev.
Back
Top