A clap of thunder––sounding near at hand––urged the boy on.
“Wisht you would,” Bagg whimpered.
Jimmie turned the boat’s head. He wondered if he had turned far enough. Then he fancied he had turned too far. Why, of course, thought he, he had turned too far! He swerved again towards the original direction. This, however, did not feel just right. Again he changed the course of the boat. He wondered if the harbour lay ahead. Or was it the open sea? Was he pulling straight out from shore? Would the big wind catch the little punt out of harbour?
“How’s she headin’ now?” he asked Bagg.
“You turned too far,” said Bagg.
“Not far enough,” said Jimmie.
Jimmie rowed doggedly on the course of his choosing for half an hour or more without developing anything to give him a clue to their whereabouts. Night added to the obscurity. They might have been on a shoreless waste of water for all that they were able to see. The mist made the night impenetrable. Jimmie could but dimly distinguish Bagg’s form, although he 135 sat not more than five feet from him; soon he could not see him at all. At last he lifted his oars and looked over the bow.
“I don’t know where we is,” he said.
“No more do I,” Bagg sobbed.
“I ’low we’re lost,” Jimmie admitted.