"Shut up!" ordered Peterson. "Safe as a church, here or there, you
lubbers. Stand by your tackle, and keep your chin. Mr. Harry, tell the
ladies just to wrap up a bit, because--well, maybe, because----"
"Call me when it is time, Peterson," said I; and moved aft, holding
Jean Lafitte by the arm.
"Gee!" said he, as he dropped, wet and out of breath, into the cabin;
and "Gee!" remarked a very pale L'Olonnois in return, gamely as he
could. And Mrs. Daniver's moans went rhythmic with the pound of the
keel on the shoal.
"What shall we do?" asked Helena at last calmly. "Auntie is very sick.
I am beginning to fear for her, it is such a bad attack. This is as
rough as I ever saw it on the Channel."
"There is no danger," said I, "but Peterson and I just thought that if
she kept on pounding in this way, it might be better to go ashore."
I spoke lightly, but well enough I knew the risk of trying to launch a
boat in such a sea; and what the surf might be, none could say. Ah,
how I wished that my empty assurance might be the truth. For I knew
that, anyway we looked, only danger stared back at us now, on every
hand.