Jimmie drew Bagg back––but too hurriedly, 140 too strongly, too far. The side of the boat over which he had almost fallen leaped high in the air and the opposite gunwale was submerged. Jimmie released him, and Bagg collapsed into a sitting posture in the bottom. Instinctively he grasped the gunwales and frantically tried to right the boat. He felt the water slowly curling over.
“She’s goin’ down,” said Jimmie.
“Sinkin’!” Bagg sobbed.
The boat sank very slowly, gently swaying from side to side. Bagg and Jimmie could see nothing, and all they could hear was the gurgle and hissing of the water as it curled over the gunwales and eddied in the bottom of the boat. Bagg felt the water rise over his legs––creep to his waist––rise to his chest––and still ascend. Through those seconds he was incapable of action. He did not think; he just waited.
Jimmie wondered where the shore was. A yard or a mile away? In which direction would it be best to strike out? How could he help Bagg? He must not leave Bagg to drown. But how could he help him? What was the use of trying, anyhow? If he could not row ashore, how could he manage to swim ashore? And if 141 he could not get ashore himself, how could he help Bagg ashore?
Nothing was said. Neither boy breathed. Both waited. And it seemed to both that the water was slow in coming aboard. But the water came. It came slowly, perhaps––but surely. It rose to Bagg’s shoulders––to his chin––it seemed to be about to cover his mouth and nostrils. Bagg already had a stifled sensation––a frantic fear of smothering; a wish to breathe deep. But he did not stir; he could not rise.
The boys felt a slight shock. The water rose no more. There was a moment of deep silence.
“I––I––I ’low we’ve grounded!” Jimmie Grimm stuttered.
The silence continued.
“We sure is!” Jimmie cried.