"I wish I could, then," said Charley, who had recovered his spirits; "if I could see I'd steer for Bluffton."
"Come, Charley," said Ned, "this is no joking matter, I can assure you. It's growing quite dark now, and unless the fog lifts very soon we may be stuck here in the mud, for the night at least; suppose you give her a few stokes with the oars, boys; the tide is falling rapidly, and we must get off this bank."
The boys rowed slowly, Ned steering and watching the water. It grew steadily shallower, so he turned the boat about, convinced that the direction he had taken was toward the centre of the bank, instead of toward the deep water. He had not gone far in the new direction however, before the keel scraped the mud, and another change had to be made in the course. Still the keel scraped, in whatever direction he turned.
"Pull away with all your might, boys!" he cried; "if we don't reach deep water in five minutes we're stuck!"
Jack and Charley bent to their oars, and for a few minutes the boat slipped forward through the tall marsh grass. But her keel was dragging in the soft mud, and as the tide was rapidly running out, the boat sank deeper every minute.
"Pull away, as hard as you can!" cried Ned, seeing that the speed was rapidly growing less. "Here, you're exhausted, Jack; let me take your oar. Now, Charley, give it to her!"
The oarsmen bent to their work with the strength of desperation, but the keel was now completely buried in the mud, and the whole bottom of the boat rested in the slimy ooze. Do what they would, the boys could drive her no further.
"Stuck!" cried Jack.
"Yes, stuck, fairly stuck, and in for a night of it, fog or no fog," said Ned.
"What's to be done?" asked Charley.