Rusty was not the only one disturbed by this storm. At the very moment when Johnny was at grips with the Oriental on the ship’s deck, Lawrence, Blackie and George were battling for their very lives.
What had happened? The distance from the trapper’s cabin to shore was, they had discovered, far greater than they had supposed. When at last the fog cleared they found themselves far from any shore on a black and threatening sea.
“Might as well keep headed for the mainland,” was Blackie’s decision.
Head for the mainland they did. After that, for hours, with the storm ever increasing in intensity, they rowed as never before.
The clumsy oars were rough and hard to manage. Lawrence’s hands were soon blistered. Tearing strips from his shirt, he bound them up and rowed on.
Fortune favored them in one thing. They were going with the wind. Had they been forced to face into the storm, their boat would have been swamped at once. As it was, just as darkness began to fall the skiff began to fill.
“Lawrence, you start bailing,” Blackie commanded. “George and I will row.”
“Ya-as, sir, we’ll row. Don’t nebber doubt dat,” George agreed. Then he began to sing,
“Roll, Jordan, roll.
Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere