So no one spoke, and in the fog the words
died away and were drowned. But I was glad he had spoken. At least I was
forewarned. I now knew that I had not escaped, that Kinney and I were
still in danger. I determined that so far as it lay with me, our yawl
would be beached at that point on the coast of Connecticut farthest
removed, not only from police stations, but from all human habitation.
As soon as we were out of hearing of the _Patience_ and her whistle, we
completely lost our bearings. It may be that Lady Moya was not a skilled
coxswain, or it may be that Aldrich understands a racing scull better
than a yawl, and pulled too heavily on his right, but whatever the cause
we soon were hopelessly lost. In this predicament we were not alone. The
night was filled with fog-horns, whistles, bells, and the throb of
engines, but we never were near enough to hail the vessels from which
the sounds came, and when we rowed toward them they invariably sank into
silence. After two hours Stumps and Kinney insisted on taking a turn at
the oars, and Lady Moya moved to the bow. We gave her our coats, and,
making cushions of these, she announced that she was going to sleep.
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