The light-heartedness of a former time had completely faded. To their sharpened minds it was easy to conjure pictures of all kinds of incompetency and blindness and, indeed, cowardice. There was the shore of the populous land, and it was bitter and bitter to them that from it came no sign.

‘Well,’ said the captain, ultimately, ‘I suppose we’ll have to make a try for ourselves. If we stay out here too long, we’ll none of us have strength left to swim after the boat swamps.’

And so the oiler, who was at the oars, turned the boat straight for the shore. There was a sudden tightening of muscles. There was some thinking.

‘If we don’t all get ashore—’ said the captain. ‘If we don’t all get ashore, I suppose you fellows know where to send news of my finish?’

They then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions. As for the reflections of the men, there was a great deal of rage in them. Perchance they might be formulated thus: ‘If I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life? It is preposterous. If this old ninny-woman, Fate, cannot do better than this, she should be deprived of the management of men’s fortunes. She is an old hen who knows not her intention. If she has decided to drown me, why did she not do it in the beginning and save me all this trouble? The whole affair is absurd.… But no, she cannot mean to drown me. She dare not drown me. She cannot drown me. Not after all this work.’ Afterwards the man might have had an impulse to shake his fist at the clouds: ‘Just you drown me, now, and then hear what I call you!’

The billows that came at this time were more formidable. They seemed always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a turmoil of foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them. No mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dinghy could ascend these sheer heights in time. The shore was still afar. The oiler was a wily surfman. ‘Boys,’ he said swiftly, ‘she won’t live three minutes more, and we’re too far out to swim. Shall I take her to sea again, captain?’

‘Yes! Go ahead!’ said the captain.

This oiler, by a series of quick miracles, and fast and steady oarsmanship, turned the boat in the middle of the surf and took her safely to sea again.

There was a considerable silence as the boat bumped over the furrowed sea to deeper water. Then somebody in gloom spoke. ‘Well, anyhow, they must have seen us from the shore by now.’

The gulls went in slanting flight up the wind toward the grey desolate east. A squall, marked by dingy clouds, and clouds brick-red, like smoke from a burning building, appeared from the south-east.

‘What do you think of those life-saving people? Ain’t they peaches?’

‘Funny they haven’t seen us.’

‘Maybe they think we’re out here for sport! Maybe they think we’re fishin’. Maybe they think we’re damned fools.’

It was a long afternoon. A changed tide tried to force them southward, but wind and wave said northward. Far ahead, where coast-line, sea, and sky formed their mighty angle, there were little dots which seemed to indicate a city on the shore.

‘St. Augustine?’

The captain shook his head. ‘Too near Mosquito Inlet.’