Jerry decided this was good advice, and steered the Ripper straight in, intending to run up along the coast to San Felicity. It was well that he did so, for the lifting of the fog was only temporary. When they were about a quarter of a mile from the shore the white mist closed in again, worse than before. But Jerry had his sense of direction now, and decided it would be safe to continue on at half speed, as there did not appear to be any other craft in sight, when he took a rapid survey of the bay just as the fog settled down.
Peering through the almost impenetrable white mass of vapor ahead of him, Jerry sent the Ripper slowly on her way.
“You’ll have to be careful,” cautioned Rose. “The tide is running out, and there’s not much water along here at the ebb. I hope we don’t go aground.”
“So do I,” answered Jerry.
Just then there was a shock, and the boat quivered, hesitated for an instant, and then resumed her course.
“We struck bottom that time,” said Ned. “Luckily it seemed to be mud.”
“There are rocks along here,” declared Nellie. “Go slow, Jerry.”
The steersman, who could manage the boat from the engine cockpit, as well as from the bow, further slowed down the motor, until the Ripper was barely moving through the water.
Suddenly there was a grinding sound, the boat heeled over to one side, and came to a stop.
“The rocks!” cried Rose. “We’re on the rocks!”