It was a murky dawn and no sun followed in its wake. The air was heavy and oppressive, and low rumblings of thunder echoed in from sea. Skippy shook his head worriedly as they chugged out of sight of the bay to let the Davy Jones pass by.

“I don’t feel right this morning, Big Joe,” the boy insisted. “Say what you like, but we shouldn’t wait—we oughta tail the Davy Jones, right away—this minute, before the storm comes on.”

“Now ye be worryin’ agin, hey?” Tully asked impatiently. “That storm’s out at sea and it won’t hit the Channel. Sure ’tis just a murky mornin’.”

“All right,” said Skippy, “but I know.”

Tully was beginning to be annoyed with Skippy’s gloomy predictions and he showed it. Yet somehow it gave him a little uneasiness and from time to time he glanced thoughtfully from the boy to the distant black horizon.
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The storm clouds were coming nearer and thunder rolled ominously over their heads. Finally Tully turned over his motor and set her nose about. After she had warmed up, he opened wide the throttle and headed for the bay.

“I’ll be keepin’ her open and beat it for the Channel soon’s we get across,” he explained. “We’ll be gettin’ there sure ’fore the storm breaks bad.”

“I hope so,” said Skippy, “because it’s travelin’ in from sea, fast.”

“We’ll be goin’ round by The Rocks and save fifteen minutes or so,” Tully said hopefully searching the boy’s face. “’Tis high enough tide for to take a chance.”

The Rocks, that bane of all mariners who were unfamiliar with the lurking waters beyond the bay, could be safely passed in small boats at high tide. There were few, however, who took advantage of this............