"When the sea goes down we'll try to make land, won't we, Sam?" asked Tom.
"Yes, but before the surf is safe for us, we can sail several hours toward Mobile, and gain that much. Indeed, I think we can get that far west before it will be tolerably safe to run ashore. We're hungry and thirsty, of course, but we must endure it. There's no other way."
The boat was presently headed to the west, and the sail unfurled again, but as the night advanced the wind fell to a mere breeze, and then died altogether. It began to grow hazy. The haze deepened into a dense fog. The sea went down, and the boat rocked idly on a ground swell.
"Now, let's run ashore," said Billy Bowlegs.
"What will we run with? There isn't a cap full of wind on the Gulf of Mexico, and there won't be while this fog lasts."
"What shall we do, then?"
"Nothing, for there is literally nothing to be done," answered Sam.
"Mas' Sam," said Joe, "I'll tell you what."
"Well, Joe, what is it?"
"Ef we jist had a couple o' paddles."