There were islands and reefs
ahead and the gloom made it impossible to see for any distance.
"The only thing we can do, fellows," he said presently, shouting to make
himself heard above the wind, "is to run for it straight down the shore.
If we can get in past Wass Island we can anchor, I guess, but if we try
to make Englishman's Bay we'll pile up somewhere as sure as shooting! I
wish I was certain the _Follow Me_ was all right."
"If we are, she's sure to be," said Joe. "She's a nifty little chip in
tough weather. Here comes some rain, Steve!"
Joe's description was weak, however. It was more than "some" rain; it
was a deluge! It swept past the edges of the curtains and splashed on
the deck in dipperfulls. And it hid everything beyond the torn and
tattered Union Jack at the bow. Looking through the dripping windows was
like looking through the glass side of an aquarium, for beyond it was a
solid sheet of water. Steve gazed anxiously from chart to compass under
the electric lights and eased off to port.
"There's too much land around here," he shouted to Joe, "to leave me
happy. And, what's more, I'm none too certain just where we are at this
blessed minute. So it's the wide ocean for yours truly.
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