Billy Topsail & Company: A Story for Boys

“What you stoppin’ for?” Bagg demanded.

“Seems t’ me,” said Jimmie, scratching his head in a puzzled way, “that we ought t’ be in the tickle by this time.”

It was evident, however, that they were not in the tickle.[4 - A “tickle” is a narrow passage of water between two islands. It is also (as here used) a narrow passage leading into harbour.] There was no sign of the rocks on either hand. Jimmie gazed about him in every direction for a moment. He saw nothing except a circle of black water about the boat. Beyond was the black wall of fog.

“Wonderful queer,” thought he, as he dipped his oars in the water again; “but I ’low we ought t’ be in the harbour.”

There was a louder clap of thunder.

“We’ll have that wind afore long,” mused Jimmie.

“You ’aven’t gone an’ lost your way, ’ave you?” Bagg inquired in a frightened voice.

“Wonderful queer,” Jimmie replied. “We ought t’ be in the harbour by this time. I ’low maybe I been pullin’ too far t’ the nor’east.”

“No, you ’aven’t,” said Bagg; “you been pullin’ too far t’ the sou’east.”

“I ’low not,” mused Jimmie.

“’Ave, too,” Bagg sniffed.

Jimmie was not quite sure, after all. He wavered. Something seemed to be wrong. It didn’t feel right. Some homing instinct told him that the tickle rocks did not lie in the direction in which the bow of the punt pointed. In fact, the whole thing was queer–very queer! But he had not pulled too far to the southeast; he was sure of that. Perhaps, too far to the northeast. He determined to change his course.

“Now, Bagg,” said he, confidently, “I’ll take you into harbour.”

A clap of thunder–sounding near at hand–urged the boy on.

“Wisht you would,” Bagg whimpered.

Jimmie turned the boat’s head. He wondered if he had turned far enough. Then he fancied he had turned too far. Why, of course, thought he, he had turned too far! He swerved again towards the original direction. This, however, did not feel just right. Again he changed the course of the boat. He wondered if the harbour lay ahead. Or was it the open sea? Was he pulling straight out from shore? Would the big wind catch the little punt out of harbour?

“How’s she headin’ now?” he asked Bagg.

“You turned too far,” said Bagg.

“Not far enough,” said Jimmie.

Jimmie rowed doggedly on the course of his choosing for half an hour or more without developing anything to give him a clue to their whereabouts. Night added to the obscurity. They might have been on a shoreless waste of water for all that they were able to see. The mist made the night impenetrable. Jimmie could but dimly distinguish Bagg’s form, although he sat not more than five feet from him; soon he could not see him at all. At last he lifted his oars and looked over the bow.

“I don’t know where we is,” he said.

“No more do I,” Bagg sobbed.

“I ’low we’re lost,” Jimmie admitted.

Just then the first gust of wind rippled the water around the boat and went whistling into the mist.

CHAPTER XV

In Which it Appears to Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg That Sixty Seconds Sometimes Make More Than a Minute

Ruddy Cove is deep–vastly deep–except in one part. That is in Burnt Cove within the harbour. There at low tide it is shallow. Rocks protrude from the water–dripping and covered with a slimy seaweed. And Burnt Cove lies near the tickle to the sea. You pass between the tickle rocks, bear sharply to the right and are presently in the cove. It is a big expanse, snugly sheltered; and it shallows so slowly that there are many acres of quiet water in which the little fellows of Ruddy Cove learn to swim.

Ezekiel Rideout’s cottage was by Burnt Cove; and Bagg wished most heartily that he were there.

But Bagg was at sea. And the punt was a small one. It was not Jimmie Grimm’s fishing punt; it was a shallow little rodney, which Jimmie’s father used for going about in when the ice and seals were off the coast. It was so small and light that it could be carried over the pans of ice from one lane of open water to another. And being small and light it was cranky. It was no rough weather boat; nor was it a boat to move very much about in, as both boys were quite well aware.

Bagg heard Jimmie’s oars rattle in the row-locks and the blades strike the water. The boat moved forward. Jimmie began to row with all his strength–almost angrily. It was plain that he was losing his temper. And not only did he lose his temper; he had grown tired before he regained it.

“Here, Bagg,” said he; “you have a go at it.”

“I’ll ’ave a try,” Bagg agreed.

Jimmie let the oars swing to the side and Bagg made ready to steady the little boat. Bagg heard him rise. The boat rocked a little.

“Steady!” Bagg gasped.

“Steady, yourself!” Jimmie retorted. “Think I don’t know how t’ get around in a rodney?”

It was now so dark, what with night and fog, that Bagg could not see Jimmie. But presently he understood that Jimmie was on his feet waiting for him to rise in his turn. They were to exchange places. Bagg got to his feet, and, with all the caution he could command, advanced a step, stretching out his hands as he did so. But Bagg had not been born on the coast and was not yet master of himself in a boat. He swayed to the left–fairly lurched.

“Have a care!” Jimmie scolded.

Have you never, in deep darkness, suddenly felt a loss of power to keep your equilibrium? You open your eyes to their widest. Nothing is to be seen. You have no longer a sense of perpendicularity. You sway this way and that, groping for something to keep you from falling. And that is just what happened to Bagg. He was at best shaky on his legs in a boat; and now, in darkness and fear, his whole mind was fixed on finding something to grasp with his hands.

“Is you ready?” asked Jimmie.

“Uh-huh!” Bagg gasped.

“Come on,” said Jimmie; “but mind what you’re about.”

Bagg made a step forward. Again the boat rocked; again the darkness confused him, and he had to stop to regain his balance. In the pause it struck him with unpleasant force that he could not swim. He was sure, moreover, that the boat would sink if she filled. He wished he had not thought of that. A third half-crawling advance brought him within reach of Jimmie. He caught Jimmie’s outstretched hand and drew himself forward until they were very close.

“Look out!” he cried.

He had crept too far to the right. The boat listed alarmingly. They caught each other about the middle, and crouched down, waiting, rigid, until she had come to an even keel.

Presently they were ready to pass each other.

“Now,” said Jimmie.

Bagg made the attempt to pass him. The foothold was uncertain; the darkness was confusing. He moved to the side, but so great was his agitation that he miscalculated, and the boat tipped suddenly under his weight. The water swept over the gunwale. Bagg would have fallen bodily from the punt had it not been for Jimmie’s clutch on his arm. In the light they might have steadied themselves; in the dark they could not.

Jimmie drew Bagg back–but too hurriedly, too strongly, too far. The side of the boat over which he had almost fallen leaped high in the air and the opposite gunwale was submerged. Jimmie released him, and Bagg collapsed into a sitting posture in the bottom. Instinctively he grasped the gunwales and frantically tried to right the boat. He felt the water slowly curling over.

“She’s goin’ down,” said Jimmie.

“Sinkin’!” Bagg sobbed.