No way for an hour! Had we then been all that time plunging through the waves for nothing? With what grim earnestness we set to work to row through this unyielding current!
But to no effect—or scarcely any. The little white cottage on Shargle, which we looked round at so anxiously from time to time, to ascertain what progress had been made, remained always in the same position, and after twenty minutes’ desperate pulling it seemed as if the total distance gained had been scarcely half a dozen yards.
It was disheartening work, still more so as the sea was rising every minute, and the rain had already begun to fall.
“We’re in for a gale,” said Hall, as a wave broke over the side, drenching Hutton and me, and half-filling the bottom of the boat with water. “Look sharp, Charlie, and bale out that before the next comes.”
Charlie set to work with a will, and for a time we rowed steadily on, without saying a word.
“What’s the time?” I asked presently of Hall, as I saw him take out his watch.
“Five,” said he.
It was an hour after the time we had expected to be back at Parkhurst, and we were not yet clear of Shargle. The same thought evidently crossed the minds of the other three, for they all glanced in the direction of Raven Cliff, now scarcely visible through the heavy rain.
“I wish we were safe home,” muttered Hutton, the most dispirited of our crew. “What fools we were to come!”
We said nothing, but pulled away doggedly at the oars.