There was not the slightest sign of a leak. Every hour, as it pa.s.sed, served to give Tom a greater a.s.surance that the boat was sea-worthy.

He found no difficulty in keeping her afloat, even while retaining her near the sh.o.r.e, so that she might be out of the way of the currents.

At length, when the tide was about half way down, he found the fire burning too low, and determined to go ash.o.r.e and replenish it. A rock jutted above the water not far off. To this he secured the boat, and then landing, he walked up the beach. Reaching the fire, he threw upon it all the remaining wood. Returning then to the boat, he boarded her without difficulty.

The tide fell lower and lower.

And now Tom found it more and more difficult to keep the boat afloat, without allowing her to be caught by the current. He did not dare to keep her bows near the sh.o.r.e, but turned her about, so that her stem should rest from time to time on the gravel. At last the tide was so low that rocks appeared above the surface, and the boat occasionally struck them in a very unpleasant manner. To stay so near the sh.o.r.e any longer was not possible. A slight blow against a rock might rub off all the brittle gum, and then his chances would be destroyed. He determined to put out farther, and trust himself to Providence.

Slowly and cautiously he let his boat move out into deeper water.

But slowness and caution were of little avail. In the deeper water there was a strong current, which at once caught the boat and bore her along. Tom struggled bravely against it, but without avail. He thought for a moment of seeking the sh.o.r.e again, but the fear that the boat would be ruined deterred him.

There was a little wind blowing from the southwest, and he determined to trust to the sail. He loosened this, and, sitting down, waited for further developments.

The wind filled the sail, and the boat's progress was checked somewhat, yet still she drifted down the bay.

She was drifting down past the north sh.o.r.e of the island. Tom could see, amid the gloom, the frowning cliffs as he drifted past. The firelight was lost to view; then he looked for some time upon the dark form of the island.

At last even that was lost to view.

He was drifting down the bay, and was already below Ile Haute.

XXI.

Scott's Bay and Old Bennie.--His two Theories.--Off to the desert Island.--Landing.--A Picnic Ground.--Gloom and Despair of the Explorers.--All over.--Sudden Summons.

It was on Wednesday evening that the Antelope pa.s.sed from the sunshine and beauty of Digby Basin out into the fog and darkness of the Bay of Fundy. The tide was falling, and, though the wind was in their favor, yet their progress was somewhat slow. But the fact that they were moving was of itself a consolation. In spite of Captain Corbet's declared preference for tides and anchors, and professed contempt for wind and sails, the boys looked upon these last as of chief importance, and preferred a slow progress with the wind to even a more rapid one by means of so unsatisfactory a method of travel as drifting.

At about nine on the following morning, the Antelope reached a little place called Wilmot Landing, where they went on sh.o.r.e and made the usual inquiries with the usual result. Embarking again, they sailed on for the remainder of that day, and stopped at one or two places along the coast.

On the next morning (Friday) they dropped anchor in front of Hall's Harbor--a little place whose name had become familiar to them during their memorable excursion to Blomidon. Here they met with the same discouraging answer to their question.

"Wal," said Captain Corbet, "we don't seem to meet with much success to speak of--do we?"

"No," said Bart, gloomily.

"I suppose your pa'll be sendin schooners over this here same ground.

'Tain't no use, though."

"Where shall we go next?"

"Wal, we've ben over the hull bay mostly; but thar's one place, yet, an that we'll go to next."

"What place is that?"

"Scott's Bay.

"My idee is this," continued Captain Corbet: "We'll finish our tower of inspection round the Bay of Fundy at Scott's Bay. Thar won't be nothin more to do; thar won't remain one single settlement but what we've called at, 'cept one or two triflin places of no 'count. So, after Scott's Bay, my idee is to go right straight off to old Minas.

Who knows but what he's got on thar somewhar?"

"I don't see much chance of that."

"Why not?"

"Because, if he had drifted into the Straits of Minas, he'd manage to get ash.o.r.e."

"I don't see that."

"Why, it's so narrow."

"Narrer? O, it's wider'n you think for; besides, ef he got stuck into the middle of that thar curn't, how's he to get to the sh.o.r.e? an him without any oars? Answer me that. No, sir; the boat that'll drift down Petticoat Jack into the bay, without gettin ash.o.r.e, 'll drift up them straits into Minas jest the same."

"Well, there does seem something in that. I didn't think of his drifting down the Pet.i.tcodiac."

"Somethin? Bless your heart! ain't that everythin?"

"But do you think there's really a chance yet?"

"A chance? Course thar is. While thar's life thar's hope."

"But how could he live so long?"

"Why shouldn't he?"

"He might starve."

"Not he. Didn't he carry off my box o' biscuit?"

"Think of this fog."

"O, fog ain't much. It's snow an cold that tries a man. He's tough, too."

"But he's been so exposed."

"Exposed? What to? Not he. Didn't he go an carry off that ole sail?"

"I cannot help thinking that it's all over with him?"

"Don't give him up; keep up; cheer up. Think how we got hold of ole Solomon after givin him up. I tell you that thar was a good sign."

"He's been gone too long. Why, it's going on a fortnight?"

"Wal, what o' that ef he's goin to turn up all right in the end? I tell you he's somewhar. Ef he ain't in the Bay of Fundy, he may be driftin off the coast o' Maine, an picked up long ago, an on his way home now per steamer."