“'Twas catched in a bluefish line,” he explained. “All snarled up, 'twas.”
Sam peered through the glass at the compass.
“Thunder!” he exclaimed. “I should say we had spun around. Instead of north being off here where I thought it was, it's 'way out to the right. Queer how fog'll mix a fellow up. Trumet's about northeast, isn't it?”
“No'theast by no'th's the course. Keep her just there.”
The Lady May, still at half speed, kept on through the mist. Time passed. The twilight, made darker still by the fog, deepened. They lit the lantern in order to see the compass card. Issy had the wheel now. Sam was forward, keeping a lookout and fretting at the delay.
“It's seven o'clock already,” he cried. “For Heaven's sake, how late will you be? I've got to be there by quarter of eight. D'you hear? I've GOT to.”
“Well, we're gittin' there. Can't expect to travel so fast with part of the power off. You'll be where you're goin' full as soon as you want to be, I cal'late.”
And he chuckled.
Another half hour and, through the wet dimness, a light flashed, vanished, and flashed again. Issy saw it and smiled grimly. Bartlett saw it and shouted.
“'What's that light?” he cried. “Did you see it? There it is, off there.”