The shore was a little over a league distant, and with a breeze the good ship could readily work off, but in the teeth of a storm, and with the mainmast sprung, there were too many odds against her.
The afternoon passed, all eagerly watching for a cap full of air, to bear the vessel into a haven of safety, the Kennebec River.
But no ripple stirred the glass-like waters, and to landward a wild and forbidding coast only was seen.
The charts were examined closely, but no harbor was noted just there, and all wondered what was to be done, for the sprung mast would never stand to beat out to sea against such a tempest as was rising.
At last Captain De Long turned to Cadet Midshipman Clemmons, and asked:
“Do you not live somewhere in this vicinity, Mr. Clemmons?”
“Some leagues from here, sir.”
“And you know of no haven into which we could tow with our boats!”
“I have heard of several harbors for fishing boats, sir, but I do not know of them,” replied Scott Clemmons, who would not say:
“But Merrill might know.”