THE HAIL FROM THE SHORE
This last dire calamity struck the boys speechless.
The compass—their one sure guide on that sinister waste of waters, the one hand reached out to draw them to safety—the compass was gone!
At first they refused to believe it. The others besieged Bobby with questions, begging him to look—couldn’t it, perhaps, have fallen in the bottom of the boat? Oh, look! Look!
And Bobby looked, even though he knew the search was hopeless, looked just to satisfy his chums.
For, at that sudden sharp lurch of the boat, he had felt the instrument slip past his hands, had heard the splash of it as it reached the water.
That was a fine trick he and his carelessness had played upon his comrades, he thought miserably, as, recklessly lighting match after match from their slender store, he pretended to search the bottom of the boat. Through his carelessness they might all lose their lives.
It was his fault—his! He would be a murderer! But suddenly he drew himself up short and once more took command of the situation.
“It’s gone, fellows,” he said quietly. “There’s not a doubt in the world about that. Now, the question is, are we going to take our chance and go ahead without it, or are we going to lie down and say we’re beaten?”
“You know we aren’t going to do that, Bobby,” answered Fred sturdily. But the next moment he asked with an anxiety that showed the state of his mind: “You’re dead sure, are you, that you heard it go overboard, Bobby?”