gave a sigh of relief.  “I guess we’re all right now,” he muttered to Joe, “but I’m going to keep her just moving.  We might anchor, I suppose, but it’s dollars to doughnuts we’d have to spend the night here; wherever here is,” he added, scowling resentfully at the chart.  “Look here, Joe.”  He reached forward and laid a finger on the map.  “Here’s where we were, or where we ought to have been, when we heard the surf first.  According to this we were a good mile from the shore and the only shoal is that one and it’s marked six feet at mean low water.  There’s a black-and-red spar buoy there, as you see, but we haven’t sighted it.  Now, what I want to know is how the dickens we could have got a mile off our course to starboard.  Also, if we are off our course, where are we?  Unless we’ve slipped over the beach and got into that pond down there—­”

“Steve!  Back up!  We’re running on the rocks!”

It was the frenzied voice of Phil in the bow.  Steve thrust Joe aside and seizing the clutch put it quickly into neutral.

“Bring the boat-hook here!” shouted Phil.  “Reverse, Steve!  Hard!”

But Steve had already slammed the clutch into reverse and pulled down the throttle.  A mighty thrashing and foaming sounded astern and the Adventurer trembled, hesitated and began to churn her way backward.  Perry, boat-hook in hand, was sliding and stumbling along the wet deck.  He reached the bow just in time to see the menacing face of a high stone jetty disappear again into the mist.  Phil, clinging to the flag-pole, was sprawled on the deck with his legs stretched out to fend the boat off.

“Just in time!” he muttered, pulling himself back to safety.  “Did you see it, Perry!”

“Did I see it?  I almost fell overboard!  That’s enough, Steve!”

The Adventurer stopped going astern and Steve called anxiously from the wheel.  “What was it, Phil?” he questioned.

“A breakwater about ten feet high!  We almost hit it!”

“A breakwater!” Steve turned swiftly to the chart.  “Then I know where we are at last!  Look here, Joe!” He pointed.  “We’re cornered in here, see?  Here’s the shore on that side and the jetty dead ahead of us.  How we got here I don’t know, but here we are.  If we can find the end of the jetty we’re all right.  Keep that horn going, Perry!”

“Why not drop an anchor where we are?” asked Joe.

“We could do that, of course, but here’s the harbour right around the end of the jetty.  Seems to me we might as well get in there, Joe.”

“All right,” agreed the other doubtfully, “but this feeling around in the dark is making me nervous.  First thing we know we’ll—­um—­we’ll be running into the First National Bank or the Congregational Church or something!  Still, if you think we can find our way, all right.  I’m game.”

Steve eyed the compass thoughtfully and in silence for a moment.  Then:  “You still there, Phil?” he called.