"About fifty yards off was a big pan. I swung the jigger round and round and suddenly let the line shoot through my fingers. When I hauled it in the jigger came too, for it hadn't taken hold. That made me feel bad. I felt worse when it came back the second time. But I'm not one of the kind that gives up. I kept right on casting that jigger until it landed in the right spot.
"My pan crossed over as I hauled in the line. That was all right; but there was no pan between me and the shore.
"'All up!' thinks I.
"It was dark. I could see neither pan nor shore. Before long I couldn't see a thing in the pitchy blackness.
"All the time I could feel the pan humping along towards the open sea. I didn't know how far off the shore was. I was in doubt about just where it was.
"'Is this pan turning round?' thinks I. Well, I couldn't tell; but I thought I'd take a flier at hooking a rock or a tree with the jigger.
"The jigger didn't take hold. I tried a dozen times, and every time I heard it splash the water. But I kept on trying—and would have kept on till morning if I'd needed to. You can take me at my word, I'm not the kind of fool that gives up—I've been in too many tight places for that. So, at last, I gave the jigger a fling that landed it somewhere where it held fast; but whether ice or shore I couldn't tell. If shore, all right; if ice, all wrong; and that's all I could do about it.
"'Now,' thinks I, as I began to haul in, 'it all depends on the fishing line. Will it break, or won't it?'
"It didn't. So the next morning, with my pack on my back, I tramped round the point to Racquet Harbour."
"What was it?" was Billy Topsail's foolish question. "Shore or ice?"