Lost in the Fog. ­The Shoal and its Rocks. ­Is it a Reef? ­The Truth. ­Hoisting Sail. ­A forlorn Hope. ­Wild Steering. ­Where am I? ­Land, ho!

Tom slept for many hours; and when he at length awoke, he was stiffened in every limb, and wet to the skin.  It was his constrained position and the heavy fog which had done this.  He sat up and looked around with a bewildered air; but it did not take a long time for him to collect his wandering faculties, and arrive at the full recollection of his situation.  Gradually it all came before him ­the night of horror, the long drift, the frantic struggles, the boom of the surf, the shrill, penetrating tone of the fog horn, his own wild screams for help, the thunder of the breakers, and the grasp of the giant wave; all these, and many more, came back to his mind; and he was all too soon enabled to connect his present situation with the desperate position of the preceding night.

In spite of all these gloomy thoughts, which thus rushed in one accumulated mass over his soul, his first impulse had nothing to do with these things, but was concerned with something very different from useless retrospect, and something far more essential.  He found himself ravenously hungry; and his one idea was to satisfy the cravings of his appetite.

He thought at once of the box of biscuit.

The sail which he had pulled forward had very fortunately covered it up, else the contents might have been somewhat damaged.  As it was, the upper edges of the biscuits, which had been exposed before being covered by the sail, were somewhat damp and soft, but otherwise they were not harmed; and Tom ate his frugal repast with extreme relish.  Satisfying his appetite had the natural effect of cheering his spirits, and led him to reflect with thankfulness on the very fortunate presence of that box of biscuit in the boat.  Had it not been for that, how terrible would his situation be!  But with that he could afford to entertain hope, and might reasonably expect to endure the hardships of his situation.  Strange to say, he was not at all thirsty; which probably arose from the fact that he was wet to the skin.

Immersing one’s self in water is often resorted to by shipwrecked mariners, when they cannot get a drink, and with successful results.  As for Tom, his whole night had been one long bath, in which he had been exposed to the penetrating effects of the sea air and the fog.

He had no idea whatever of the time.  The sun could not be seen, and so thick was the fog that he could not even make out in what part of the sky it might be.  He had a general impression, however, that it was midday; and this impression was not very much out of the way.  His breakfast refreshed him, and he learned now to attach so much value to his box of biscuit, that his chief desire was to save it from further injury.  So he hunted about for the cover, and finding it underneath the other end of the sail, he put it on the box, and then covered it all up.  In this position the precious contents of the box were safe.

The hour of the day was a subject of uncertainty, and so was the state of the tide.  Whether he was drifting up or down the bay he could not tell for certain.  His recollection of the state of the tide at Petitcodiac, was but vague.  He reckoned, however, from the ship launch of the preceding day, and then, allowing sufficient time for the difference in the tide, he approximated to a correct conclusion.  If it were midday, he thought that the tide would be about half way down on the ebb.

These thoughts, and acts, and calculations took up some time, and he now began to look around him.  Suddenly his eye caught sight of something not far away, dimly visible through the mist.  It looked like a rock.  A farther examination showed him that such was the case.  It was a rock, and he was drifting towards it.  No sooner had he ascertained this, than all his excitement once more awakened.  Trembling from head to foot at this sudden prospect of escape, he started to his feet, and watched most eagerly the progress of the boat.  It was drifting nearer to the rock.  Soon another appeared, and then another.  The rocks were black, and covered with masses of sea-weed, as though they were submerged at high tide.  A little nearer, and he saw a gravelly strand lying just beyond the rocks.  His excitement grew stronger and stronger, until at last it was quite uncontrollable.  He began to fear that he would drift past this place, into the deep water again.  He sprang into the bows, and grasping the rope in his hand, stood ready to leap ashore.  He saw that he was drawing nearer, and so delayed for a while.  Nearer he came and nearer.  At length the boat seemed to pass along by the gravelly beach, and move by it as though it would go no nearer.  This Tom could not endure.  He determined to wait no longer.  He sprang.

He sank into the water up to his armpits, but he did not lose his hold of the rope.  Clutching this in a convulsive grasp, he regained his foothold, which he had almost lost, and struggled forward.  For a few moments he made no headway, for the boat, at the pressure of the current, pulled so hard that he could not drag it nearer.  A terrible fear came to him that the rope might break.  Fortunately it did not, and, after a short but violent struggle, Tom conquered the resistance of the tide, and pulled the boat slowly towards the shore.  He then towed it near to the rocks, dragged its bows up as far as he could, and fastened it securely.

Then he looked around.

A few rocks were near him, about six feet high, jutting out of the gravel; and beyond these were others, which rose out of the water.  Most of them were covered with sea-weed.  A few sticks of timber were wedged in the interstices of the nearest rocks.  As to the rest, he saw only a rocky ledge of small extent, which was surrounded by water.  Beyond this nothing was visible but fog.

At first he had thought that this was a beach, but now he began to doubt this.  He walked all around, and went into the water on every side, but found no signs of any neighboring shore.  The place seemed rather like some isolated ledge.  But where was it, and how far away was the shore?  If he could only tell that!  He stopped, and listened intently; he walked all around, and listened more intently still, in hopes of hearing the sound of some neighboring surf.  In vain.  Nothing of the kind came to his ears.  All was still.  The water was not rough, nor was there very much wind.  There was only a brisk breeze, which threw up light waves on the surface.

After a time he noticed that the tide was going down, and the area of the ledge was evidently enlarging.  This inspired hope, for he thought that perhaps some long shoal might be disclosed by the retreating tide, which might communicate with the main land.  For this he now watched intently, and occupied himself with measuring the distance from the rock where his boat was tied.  Doing this from time to time, he found that every little while the number of paces between the rock and the water’s edge increased.  This occupation made the time pass rapidly; and at last Tom found his stopping-place extending over an area of about a hundred yards in length, and half as many in breadth.  The rocks at one end had increased in apparent size, and in number; but the ledge itself remained unchanged in its general character.

This, he saw, was its extreme limit, beyond which it did not extend.  There was no communication with any shore.  There was no more indication now of land than when he had first arrived.  This discovery was a gradual one.  It had been heralded by many fears and suspicions, so that at last, when it forced itself on his convictions, he was not altogether unprepared.  Still, the shock was terrible, and once more poor Tom had to struggle with his despair ­a despair, too, that was all the more profound from the hopes that he had been entertaining.  He found, at length, in addition to this, that the tide was rising, that it was advancing towards his resting-place, and that it would, no doubt, overflow it all before long.  It had been half tide when he landed, and but a little was uncovered; at full tide he saw that it would all be covered up by the water, ­sea weed, rocks, and all, ­and concealed from human eye.

In the midst of these painful discoveries there suddenly occurred to him the true name and nature of this place.

Quaco Ledge!

That was the place which Captain Corbet had described.  He recalled now the full description.  Here it lay before him; upon it he stood; and he found that it corresponded in every respect with the description that the captain had given.  If this were indeed so, and the description were true, ­and he could not doubt this, ­how desperate his situation was, and how he had been deceived in his false hopes!  Far, far away was he from any shore! ­in the middle of the bay; on a place avoided by all ­a place which he should shun above all other places if he hoped for final escape!

And now he was as eager to quit this ill-omened place as he had once been to reach it.  The tide was yet low.  He tried to push the boat down, but could not.  He saw that he would have to wait.  So he got inside the boat, and, sitting down, he waited patiently.  The time passed slowly, and Tom looked despairingly out over the water.  Something attracted his attention.  It was a long pole, which had struck against the edge of the shoal.  He got out of the boat, and, securing it, he walked back again.  It was some waif that had been drifting about till it was thus cast at his feet.  He thought of taking it for a mast, and making use of the sail.  The idea was an attractive one.  He pulled the sail out, unfolded it, and found it to be the jib of some schooner.  He cut off one end of this, and then with his knife began to make a hole in the seat for his mast.  It was very slow work, but he succeeded at last in doing it, and inserted the pole.  Then he fastened the sail to it.  He was rather ignorant of navigation, but he had a general idea of the science, and thought he would learn by experience.  By cutting off the rope from the edge of the sail he obtained a sheet, and taking off the cover of the biscuit box a second time, he put this aside to use as a rudder.

But now, in what direction ought he to steer?

This was an insoluble problem.  He could tell now by the flow of the current the points of the compass, but could not tell in which direction he ought to go.  The New Brunswick coast he thought was nearest, but he dreaded it.  It seemed perilous and unapproachable.  He did not think much better of the Nova Scotia coast.  He thought rather of Cape d’Or, as a promising place of refuge, or the Petitcodiac.  So, after long deliberation, he decided on steering back again, especially as the wind was blowing directly up the bay.

By the time that he had finished these preparations and deliberations the boat was afloat.  Eagerly Tom pushed it away from the shoal; eagerly, and with trembling hands, he let the sail unfold, and thrust the board into the water astern.  The boat followed the impulse of the wind, and the young sailor saw with delight that his experiment was successful, and before long the dark rocks of Quaco Ledge were lost to view.

Now, where there is a definite object to steer by, or a compass to guide one, and a decent rudder, even an inexperienced hand can manage to come somewhere near the point that he aims at.  But take a boat like Tom’s, and a rude and suddenly extemporized sail, with no other rudder than a bit of board, with no compass, and a surrounding of thick fog, and it would puzzle even an experienced sailor to guide himself aright.  Tom soon suspected that his course was rather a wild one; his board in particular became quite unmanageable, and he was fatigued with trying to hold it in the water.  So he threw it aside, and boldly trusted to his sail alone.

The boat seemed to him to be making very respectable progress.  The wind was fresh, and the sea only moderate.  The little waves beat over the bows, and there was quite a commotion astern.  Tom thought he was doing very well, and heading as near as possible towards the Petitcodiac.  Besides, in his excitement at being thus saved from mere blind drifting, he did not much care where he went, for he felt assured that he was now on the way out of his difficulties.

In an hour or two after leaving the ledge it grew quite dark, and Tom saw that it would be necessary to prepare for the night.  His preparations were simple, consisting in eating a half dozen biscuit.  He now began to feel a little thirsty, but manfully struggled against this feeling.  Gradually the darkness grew deeper, until at last it assumed the intense character of the preceding night.  But still Tom sat up, and the boat went on.  The wind did not slacken, nor did the boat’s progress cease.  Hours passed by in this way.  As to the tides, Tom could not tell now very well whether they were rising or falling, and, in fact, he was quite indifferent, being satisfied fully with his progress.  As long as the wind distended his sail, and bore the boat onward, he cared not whether the tide favored or opposed.

Hours passed, but such was Tom’s excitement that he still bore up, and thought nothing of rest or of sleep.  His attention was needed, too, and so he kept wide awake, and his ears were ever on the stretch to hear the slightest sound.  But at last the intense excitement and the long fatigue began to overpower him.  Still he struggled against his weakness, and still he watched and listened.

Hours passed on, and the wind never ceased to fill the sail, and the boat never ceased to go onward in a course of which Tom could have no idea.  It was a course totally different from the one which be intended ­a course which depended on the chance of the wind; and one, too, which was varied by the sweep of the tide as it rose or fell; but the course, such as it was, continued on, and Tom watched and waited until, at last, from sheer exhaustion, he fell sound asleep.

His dreams were much disturbed, but he slept on soundly, and when he awaked it was broad day.  He looked around in deep disappointment.  Fog was everywhere, as before, and nothing could be seen.  Whether he was near any shore or not he could not tell.  Suddenly he noticed that the wind was blowing from an opposite direction.  How to account for this was at first a mystery, for the fog still prevailed, and the opposite wind could not bring fog.  Was it possible that the boat had turned during his sleep?  He knew that it was quite possible.  Indeed, he believed that this was the case.  With this impression he determined to act on the theory that the boat had turned, and not that the wind had changed.  The latter idea seemed impossible.  The wind was the chill, damp fog wind ­the sou-wester.  Convinced of this, Tom turned the boat, and felt satisfied that he had resumed his true course.

After a time the wind went down, and the sail flapped idly against the mast.  Tom was in a fever of impatience, but could do nothing.  He felt himself to be once more at the mercy of the tides.  The wind had failed him, and nothing was left but to drift.  All that day he drifted, and night came on.  Still it continued calm.  Tom was weary and worn out, but so intense was his excitement that he could not think of sleep.  At midnight the wind sprung up a little; and now Tom determined to keep awake, so that the boat might not again double on her track.  He blamed himself for sleeping on the previous night, and losing so much progress.  Now he was determined to keep awake.

His resolution was carried out.  His intense eagerness to reach some shore, no matter where, and his fear of again losing what he had gained, kept sleep from his eyes.  All that night he watched his boat.  The wind blew fitfully, sometimes carrying the boat on rapidly, again dying down.

So the next morning came.

It was Thursday.

It was Monday night when he had drifted out, and all that time he had been on the deep, lost in the fog.

And now, wearied, dejected, and utterly worn out, he looked around in despair, and wondered where this would end.  Fog was everywhere, as before, and, as before, not a thing could be seen.

Hours passed on; the wind had sprang up fresh, and the boat went on rapidly.

Suddenly Tom sprang upright, and uttered a loud cry.

There full before him he saw a giant cliff, towering far overhead, towards which the boat was sailing.  At its base the waves were dashing.  Over its brow trees were bending.  In the air far above he heard the hoarse cries of sea-gulls.

In his madness he let the boat drive straight on, and was close to it before he thought of his danger.  He could not avoid it now, however, for he did not know how to turn the boat.  On it went, and in a few moments struck the beach at the base of the cliff.

The tide was high; the breeze was moderate, and there was but little sun.  The boat was not injured by running ashore there.  Tom jumped out, and, taking the rope in his hands, walked along the rough and stony beach for about a hundred yards, pulling the boat after him.  There the cliff was succeeded by a steep slope, beyond which was a gentle, grass-grown declivity.  Towards this he bent his now feeble steps, still tugging at the boat, and drawing it after him.

At length he reached the grassy slope, and found here a rough beach.  He fastened the boat securely to the trunk of a tree that grew near.

Then he lifted out the box of biscuit, and over this he threw the sail.

He stood for a few moments on the bank, and looked all around for signs of some human habitation; but no signs appeared.  Tom was too exhausted to go in search of one.  He had not slept for more than thirty hours.  The country that he saw was cleared.  Hills were at a little distance, but the fog which hung all around concealed everything from view.  One look was enough.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, he fell upon his knees, and offered up a fervent prayer of thankfulness for his astonishing escape.

Then fatigue overpowered him, and, rolling himself up in the sail, he went to sleep.