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. 131

“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.” 132

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 133 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. 134

“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 135 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.