_In Which Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg Are Overtaken by
the Black Fog in the Open Sea and Lose the Way Home While
a Gale is Brewing_
Jimmie Grimm and Bagg, returning from Birds' Nest Islands, were caught
by the black fog in the open sea. It had been lowering all day. Dull
clouds had hung in the sky since early morning and had kept the waters
of the sea sombre. There was no wind--not the faintest breath or sigh.
The harbour water was still; and the open--beyond the tickle
rocks--was without a ripple or hint of ground swell. A thick, gray
mist crept out from the hills, late in the afternoon, and presently
obscured the shore. Jimmie and Bagg were then off Mad Mull. Two miles
of flat sea and windless space lay between the punt and the harbour.
"Goin' t' be thick as mud," Jimmie grumbled.
"Wisht we was more inshore," said Bagg, anxiously.
At dusk the fog was so thick that every landmark had been blotted from
sight.
"Is _you_ able t' see Mad Mull?" Jimmie demanded.
"I is _not_," said Bagg.
Mad Mull was lost in the fog. It was the last landmark. The tickle
rocks, through which a passage leads to the harbour, had long ago
vanished.
"Wisht we was home," said Bagg.
"Don't you go an' get scared, Bagg," Jimmie laughed. "Never you fear.
_I'll_ take _you_ home."
It was hot, dark and damp--a breathless evening. There was a menace in
the still air and heat. A roll of thunder sounded from the northeast.
"I 'low 'twill blow afore long," said Jimmie.
"'Urry up," said Bagg.
Jimmie put a little more strength into the rowing. The punt moved
faster, but not fast enough to please Bagg, who was terrified by the
fog, the thunder and the still, black water.
"Never you fear," Jimmie grumbled; "you'll get home afore the wind
comes."
Bagg wasn't so sure of that.
"An' it _will_ come," Jimmie reflected. "I can fair feel it on the
way."
Jimmie pulled doggedly. Occasionally a rumble of thunder came out
of the northeast to enliven his strokes. There was no wind, however,
as yet, except, perhaps, an adverse stirring of the air--the first
hint of a gale. On and on crept the punt. There was no lessening of
the heat. Jimmie and Bagg fairly gasped. They fancied it had never
been so hot before. But Jimmie did not weaken at the oars; he was
stout-hearted and used to labour, and the punt did not lag. On they
went through the mist without a mark to guide them. Roundabout was a
wall of darkening fog. It hid the whole world.
"Must be gettin' close inshore," said Jimmie, at last, while he rested
on his oars, quite bewildered.
"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] 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.
-----
[4] A "tickle" is a narrow passage of water between two
islands. It is also (as here used) a narrow passage leading into
harbour.