It was then that Ruth could fancy herself standing upon the deck, with wind singing in the rigging and setting the sails snapping as they boomed away over a white-capped sea.
They had rowed to the dark bulk that they knew to be the Black Gull and had moved silently along the larboard side, about the stern and half way down the starboard side, when of a sudden a low exclamation escaped Ruth’s lips. Something had brushed against her in the dark.
The next instant a gurgling cry came from the bow of the boat. This was followed by a splash.
“She—she’s overboard!” thought Ruth, reversing her strokes and back paddling with all her might.
“Ruth!” came a call from the water. “I’m over here! Some-something pulled me in.”
So astonished was the stout fisher girl that for a moment she did not move. Something had taken her companion overboard. What could it have been?
By the time she had come to her senses, Betty had gripped the gunwales of the boat and was calling for help. The next moment, drenched with salt water, but otherwise unharmed, she sat shivering in her place.
“Some-something caught me under the chi-chin,” she chattered, “and ov-over I wen-went.”
“I felt it,” said Ruth. “Let’s see what it was.”
Slowly, deftly, she brought the punt about and alongside. Then, with both hands she groped in the dark.