In the meantime Jim was heading, as well as he could, toward a big rock called “The Turtle,” which he had pointed out and remarked upon to Nan on that last memorable ride. It was a big flat slab, with an end which reared up much higher than the rest of it, and formed the head of the turtle. The long tail, which joined the formation with the jutting point of the shore, was well under water long ere this. It was difficult to be sure of direction in the fog, and he paused frequently to get his bearings. He dared not go too far along the coast, either way, because he might get beyond his goal. If he rowed out any great distance, the current might catch him; and if he remained too close to the shore, he would ground on the rocks.
If old Dave had only been at home, he would have come with him; or at least would have furnished a lantern. Lucky that the old dory, with the oars in it, was outside where all Jim had to do was help himself.
“Nan!” he finally shouted at the top of his voice, when he figured he might be somewhere near the cut-off portion of the “Turtle.” He listened intently, holding his breath so as to hear better.
No reply.
He rowed a little farther to the right, and tried again with the same result. Then he turned back to the left, where he had called the first time.
“N—A—N!”
Was that an echo, or a faint answer?
He tried again.
“N—A—N!”
“—e—r—e.”