The Wind
Was Chopping About, The Current Upon The Ugly Point Of Reef Setting
Strong.
Just as we were on the verge of clearing it and gaining
open sea, the wind broke off four points.
The Minota attempted to
go about, but missed stays. Two of her anchors had been lost at
Tulagi. Her one remaining anchor was let go. Chain was let out to
give it a hold on the coral. Her fin keel struck bottom, and her
main topmast lurched and shivered as if about to come down upon our
heads. She fetched up on the slack of the anchors at the moment a
big comber smashed her shoreward. The chain parted. It was our
only anchor. The Minota swung around on her heel and drove headlong
into the breakers.
Bedlam reigned. All the recruits below, bushmen and afraid of the
sea, dashed panic-stricken on deck and got in everybody's way. At
the same time the boat's crew made a rush for the rifles. They knew
what going ashore on Malaita meant - one hand for the ship and the
other hand to fight off the natives. What they held on with I don't
know, and they needed to hold on as the Minota lifted, rolled, and
pounded on the coral. The bushmen clung in the rigging, too witless
to watch out for the topmast. The whale-boat was run out with a
tow-line endeavouring in a puny way to prevent the Minota from being
flung farther in toward the reef, while Captain Jansen and the mate,
the latter pallid and weak with fever, were resurrecting a scrap-
anchor from out the ballast and rigging up a stock for it.
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