“A foot less than we reckoned, and there won’t be much rise.  I don’t like it, Mr. Askew, and if my employer was not your uncle, I’d heave the old boat round.”

Kit nodded sympathetically.  He felt he hated the smothering haze that rolled in front and hid the dangers, but they must go on and trust to luck.  He knew Adam’s plans and no arguments would shake his resolve.  Half an hour later a twinkle broke out some distance ahead and Mayne rang his telegraph.

“I’m thankful for that, anyhow,” he remarked.  “We’ll let her go, but I have my doubts about what will happen next.”

The throb of engines quickened, the gurgle of water got louder at the bows, and the Rio Negro, lurching sharply, went shorewards with tide and swell.  The twinkle vanished and reappeared, to starboard now, and chains rattled as the quartermaster pulled round the wheel.  Then the light faded and they were left without a guide in the puzzling haze.  Ten minutes afterwards there was a heavy shock, and a rush of foam swept the rail as the steamer listed down.  She lifted and struck again with a jar that tried Kit’s nerve.  A hoarse shout came from the forecastle and men ran about the slanted deck as a frothing sea rolled on board.  Mayne, clutching his telegraph, beckoned Kit.

“Bring Mr. Askew up.  He’s got to tell me what I am to do.”

Kit met Adam clumsily climbing the ladder and when he helped him to the bridge Mayne remarked:  “She’s on the tongue shoal.  Don’t know if I can back her off and steam out to deep water, but, if you consent, I want to try.”

“I won’t consent,” said Adam.  “We’re going in!  What’s that light to starboard?”

“The launch; she’s in the channel.  I doubt if there’s water enough for us, if we can get there.”

“Then, shove her across the sand or let her go to bits.”

Mayne rang the telegraph and touched his cap.  “Very well!  She’s your ship, and we have some sound boats left.”

For the next ten minutes Kit clung to the bridge.  He wanted to help Adam into the pilot-house, but the old man waved him off.  Clouds of spray swept the vessel and made it hard to see her rail where the white combers leaped.  Now and then one broke on board and poured in a foaming torrent across the slanted deck; she trembled horribly as she struck the sand.  It looked as if she were driving sideways across the shoal, but the flare on the launch had gone out and Kit doubted if Mayne knew where he was.

Sometimes the tall, black forecastle swung in a quarter-circle; sometimes the stern went round.  For the most part, however, she lay with her side to the rollers and it was plain that the struggle could not last long.  If they did not get off in a few minutes, rivets would smash and butts open, and one must take one’s chances in the boats.  Two were damaged, but others might be launched, and Kit was relieved to note that two or three deck-hands moved about as if engaged in clearing the davit-tackles.  He sympathized with the men, although he did not think Mayne had given them orders.