I'm going to try and get under shelter of the cliff." Then, shouting to Bob to ease a little, he pulled hard at the boat's head to get her a little to the west instead of due south, and then shouted to our companion again to pull with all his might.
Bob did pull--I could see that he did; but we did not get under the shelter of the cliff, for the change in the position of the boat presented more surface to the wind, and we could feel that we were drifting faster still.
We tried not to lose heart; but it was impossible to keep away a certain amount of despondency as we realised that all our pulling was in vain, and as we grew wearied out Bigley said that it was of no use to row.
All we were to do was to keep the boat's head well to the wind.
I crept after a time to Bigley's place in answer to a sign from him, for we had grown very silent; and as he resigned his oar to me and I went on pulling, while he crept aft to sit in the stern, it seemed as if it had all at once grown dark above us.

The shore died away, all but one spot of light--a tiny spot that shone out like a star, one that we knew to be in the cottage where Mother Bonnet had no doubt a good hot cup of tea waiting for us, who were perishing with the cold and gradually drifting farther and farther away.
We could not talk for the wind.

Besides, too, it was very hard work to talk and row in such a sea; so I sat and thought of how hard it was to be situated as we were, and to have again got into trouble in what was meant for a pleasant recreation.
I thought all this, and I believe my companions had very similar thoughts as we danced up and down on the short cockling sea.
Then all at once, as the darkness overhead seemed to have grown more intense, and the sea with its foam to give the little light we enjoyed, we were aware of a fresh danger.
The wind and the hissing and beating of the sea made a great deal of noise, but that loud washing splash sounded louder to us, and so did the rattle of a tin pot which Bigley seized, and lifted the board from over the bit of a well and began to bale.
For one of the waves had struck the bows, risen up, and poured three or four gallons of water into the boat.
Bigley was ready for the emergency, though, directly, and we saw the rise and fall of the tin pan as he swept it up and down and sent the water flying on the wings of the wind.
Before he had baled the boat out the first time another wave swept in, and he had to work hard to clear that out; but he soon had that done after correcting our rowing, for I was pulling harder than Bob, and the consequence was that the boat was not quite head to wind and did not ride so easily as she should.
Darker and darker, with the faint star in the Gap quite gone now, and all around us the hissing waste of waters upon which our frail shell of a boat was tossed! It was so black now that we could hardly see each other's faces, and in a doleful silence we toiled on till all at once there was a sobbing cry from Bob Chowne, who fell forward over his oar.
Then the boat fell off and a wave came with a hissing rush over the bows.
"Back water, Sep!" yelled Bigley as he dragged Bob Chowne away, seized his oar, and began pulling, when the boat seemed to be eased again and rose and fell regularly; but a quantity of water kept rushing to and fro about poor Bob Chowne, who kept receiving it alternately in his back and face.
"Sit up and bale, Bob!" shouted Bigley.

"Do you hear?
Take the pannikin and bale." Bob did not move, and Bigley shouted to him again.
"Take the pannikin and bale.

Do you hear me?
Take the pannikin and bale." "I can't," moaned Bob.