midnight
The tide of his own life had turned , like that of the ocean ; slow and doubtful though the change had been , the current was at last setting the other way . Grasping the oar-handles tightly , he whirled the head of the pea-pod southward and started again for Tarpaulin Island . The next hour and a half was anything but fun for young Whittington . His mind was set on reaching Camp Spurling before the hands of the alarm-clock came together at midnight . At any cost he must be in his bunk before the others woke . It was a long , hard row , a battle every second with the tide running against him with untiring strength . It demanded every ounce of energy Percy possessed .