“Huh! I wish we’d never made fast to that fish.”
“I told you to cut loose sooner,” rejoined Jack; “just for that you’ll do some extra pulling.”
Under what sailors term an “ash breeze”—namely, the power of a pair of oars—the boat moved but slowly.
“It seems to me that we are going twice as slow as when we came out,” muttered Tom, the perspiration pouring down his face from his exertions.
“It does seem so,” agreed Jack; “maybe there is some sort of ocean current hereabouts.”
After that there was silence for a time. Tom pulled steadily while Jack looked about him at the weather. The odd mist or haze he had noticed had grown thicker. Presently the whole sea began to steam. It was as if the water was boiling and giving off great clouds of vapor.
“Crickets!” cried Jack anxiously. “We’re in for it now, Tom!”
“Why, what’s up? They’ll wait for us.”
“Yes, if we can find them. Look about you.”
Tom gave over rowing for a time and looked up.