In the meantime, Adam clung to the rails, swaying when the bridge slanted, but looking unmoved, and Kit knew that so long as the Rio Negro’s engines turned he would go on.  It was not for nothing men called him the Buccaneer, and now that he was staking his life and fortune on a hazardous chance there was something daunting about his grim resolve.

A sea rolled up astern and buried the poop.  Kit felt the steamer lift and turn, as if on a pivot at the middle of her length.  The after-deck was full of water, but the bows were high and going round, and he was conscious of a curious shiver that ran through the straining hull as she shook herself free from the sand.  She crawled forward, stopped, and moved again with a staggering lurch.  The next sea swept her on, but she did not strike, and after a few moments Kit knew she had crossed the top of the shoal.

Her whistle shrieked above the turmoil of the sea, a light blinked in the spray, and she lurched on before the tumbling combers.  By and by the water got smooth and an indistinct dark mass grew out of the mist.  Mayne, who was pacing up and down his bridge, stopped near Kit with a reckless laugh.

“This is the kind of navigation they break skippers for!  If those are the mangroves on False Point, I may take her in; if they’re not, we’ll make a hole in the forest.”

Kit looked about, but could not see the launch.  The dark mass was a thick belt of trees, but he did not know, and did not think Mayne knew, where they were, and the easy motion indicated that the tide was carrying the steamer on.  Much to his relief, the indistinct wall of forest seemed to bend back, away from the sea.  It looked as if they were entering the lagoon; and then he heard the telegraph and the rattle of rudder chains.

The screw shook the vessel as it spun hard-astern, and the bows began to swing.  It was, however, too late; the forecastle would not clear the mangroves, and Kit knew the water was deep among their roots.  Shouting to Adam, he seized the rails and waited for the shock.  It came, for there was a crash, and a noise of branches breaking.  The steamer rolled, recoiled, and forged on into the forest.

Some minutes later, Mayne stopped his engines and there was a curious quietness as he came up to Adam.

“We are fast in the mud, sir.  Although she’ll take a list when the tide falls, we may be able to work cargo.  I’ll lay out an anchor in the morning and try to heave her off, but I calculate it will be full moon before she floats.”

CHAPTER VII

THE MANGROVE SWAMP

Early next morning, Kit went on deck.  Although it was hot, everything dripped with damp, and sour-smelling mist drifted past the ship.  Her masts and funnels slanted and Kit could hardly keep his footing on the inclined deck.  When he looked over the rail, the rows of wet plates ran up like a wall above broken mangrove roots and pools of slime.  Smashed trunks and branches were piled against the bows and dingy foliage overhung the vessel’s lower side.