That was just an hour or so ago, and we have been sitting reading while the _Nautilus_ slipped through the water smoothly, as though she were commanded by a skipper who was the soul of sobriety. There is land to starboard, a mile or two away, one would judge, and over there a little distance ahead we see smoke coming from the jungle. It is the first sign of native life we have seen since leaving Merauke. After a hurried discussion we ask Ula what the place is, but he is foolishly drunk and we cannot make out what he says, so we decide for ourselves and tell him to head for the shore as we wish to visit the place. Ula swings over the tiller obligingly, and we move at a lively clip across the wind toward the place.
We shall go ashore and investigate the kampong and, if it interests us, move our camping-outfit there and settle down for a few days. Moh brings up our cameras and guns while the crew unfasten the dinghy from its place beside the rail. We go below, to load some fresh rolls into the kodaks, where the light is not so strong. Five minutes pass while we are engaged in this undertaking and speculation as to what kind of kampong we shall find, when suddenly there is a terrific shock, a rending, crunching sound, and we pick ourselves up from the saloon floor and gaze blankly at each other, for the fraction of a moment speechless with consternation. The cause of the crash is self-evident. We are on a reef.
From beneath the floor comes the gurgle of a torrent of water which is pouring into the _Nautilus_ through a gaping hole in her bottom. We are high upon a submerged reef of rocky coral, shipwrecked among cannibals! What the tribe is that lives on shore and how friendly it is remain to be seen. The moment is one of those deadly potential eternities that either make one lose all self-control or become cold sober. Luckily, we are not of the hysterical type and our first thought is to get our guns, food, and cameras to a place of safety on shore. The schooner may slide off the reef into deep water at any moment, and then we shall be in a pickle.
Working like mad, we begin heaving our possessions up on deck, and I go up to see that it is properly stowed in the dinghy. The crew are working like demons, and Ula, sobered by the catastrophe, has ordered the men to get the anchor hooked into the reef and the chain drawn taut to hold us there.