“Not at sea exactly. We are in Cape Cod Bay.”
“But—why, we are still drifting, aren't we? I thought you had anchored.”
“I tried to, but I was too late. The water is too deep here for the anchor to reach bottom.”
“But—but what are you going to do?”
“Nothing at present. There is nothing I can do. Sit down, please.”
“Nothing! Nothing! Do you mean that you propose to sit there and let us be carried out to sea?”
“We shall not be carried far. There is no wind. When the tide turns we shall probably be carried in again.”
“But,” sharply, “why don't you do something? Can't you row?”
“I have only one oar.”
“But you must do something. You MUST. I—I—It is late! it is growing dark! My people! What will they think?”