Down the Bay. ­Drifting and Anchoring. ­In the Dark, morally and physically. ­Eastport, the jumping-off Place. ­Grand Manan. ­Wonderful Skill. ­Navigating in the Fog. ­A Plunge from Darkness into Light, and from Light into Darkness.

It was Saturday when Bart reached home.  As much was done on that day as possible.  Bart was in the extreme of wretchedness, and so eager was he to resume the search for his friend, that his father gave his permission for him to start off again in the Antelope.  The other boys also were to go with him.  They determined to scour the seas till they found Tom, or had learned his fate.

Mr. Damer also assured Bart that he would take the matter in hand himself, and would send out two schooners to go about the bay.  In addition to this, he would telegraph to different places, so that the most extensive search possible might be instituted.  Every part of the coast should be explored, and even the islands should be visited.

All this gave as much consolation to Bart and his friends as it was possible for them to feel under the circumstances.

As much as possible was done on Saturday, but the next day was an idle one, as far as the search was concerned.  Bart and the boys waited with great impatience, and finally on Monday morning they left once more in the Antelope.  It was about five o’clock in the morning, the tide was in their favor, and, though there was a head wind, yet be fore the turn of tide they were anchored a good distance down the bay.

“My idée is this,” said Captain Corbet.  “I’ll explore the hull bay in search of that driftin boy.  I’ll go down this side, cross over, and come up on t’other.  We’ll go down here first, an not cross over till we get as fur as Quoddy Head.  I think, while we air down thar, I’ll call at Eastport an ask a few questions.  But I must say it seems a leetle too bad to have the fog go on this way.  If this here had ony happened a fortnight ago, we’d have had clear weather an fair winds.  It’s too bad, I declar.”

They took advantage of the next tide to go down still farther, and by twelve o’clock on Monday night they were far down.  Since leaving St. John they had seen nothing whatever, but they had heard occasionally the fog horns of wandering schooners, and once they had listened to the yell of a steamer’s whistle.

“I’ve allus said,” remarked Captain Corbet, “that in navigatin this here bay, tides is more important than winds, and anchors is more important than sails.  That’s odd to seafarin men that ain’t acquainted with these waters, but it air a oncontrovartible fact.  Most of the distressin casooalties that happen hereabouts occur from a ignorance of this on the part of navigators.  They will pile on sail.  Now, in clar weather an open sea, pile it on, I say; but in waters like these, whar’s the use?  Why, it’s flyin clar in the face of Providence.  Now look at me ­do I pile on sail?  Not me.  Catch me at it!  When I can git along without, why, I git.  At the same time, I don’t think you’ll find it altogether for the good of your precious health, boys, to be a movin about here in the fog at midnight.  Better go below.  You can’t do no good a settin or a standin up here, squintin through a darkness that might be felt, an that’s as thick as any felt I ever saw.  So take my advice, an go below, and sleep it off.”

It was impossible to gainsay the truth of Captain Corbet’s remarks, and as it was really midnight, and the darkness almost as thick as he said, the boys did go below, and managed to get to sleep in about a minute and a half after their heads touched the pillows.

Before they were awake on the following day the anchor was hoisted, and the Antelope was on her way again.

“Here we air, boys,” said the captain, as they came on deck, “under way ­the Antelope on her windin way over the mounting wave, a bereasting of the foamin biller like all possessed.  I prophesy for this day a good time as long as the tide lasts.”

“Do you think we’ll get to Eastport harbor with this tide?”

“Do I think so? ­I know it.  I feel it down to my butes.  Eastport harbure?  Yea!  An arter that we hev all plain-sailin.”

“Why, won’t the fog last?”

“I don’t car for the fog.  Arter we get to Eastport harbure we cease goin down the bay.  We then cross over an steal up the other side.  Then it’s all our own.  If the fog lasts, why, the wind’ll last too, an we can go up flyin, all sails set; an I’ll remuve from my mind, for the time bein, any prejudyce that I have agin wind at sails.”

“Do you intend to go ashore at Eastport?”

“Yes, for a short time ­jest to make inquiries.  It will be a consolation, you know.”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll up sail, an away we’ll go, irrewspective of tides, across the bay.”

By midday the captain informed them that they were in Eastport harbor.

“See thar,” said he, as he pointed to a headland with a light-house.  “That thar is the entrance.  They do call this a pootyish place; but as it’s this thick, you won’t hev much chance to see it.  Don’t you want to go ashore an walk about?”

“Not if we can help it.  Of course we’ll have to ask after poor Tom, but we haven’t any curiosity.”

“Wal, p’aps not ­ony thar is people that find this a dreadful cur’ous place.  It’s got, as I said, a pootyish harbure; but that ain’t the grand attraction.  The grand attraction centres in a rock that’s said to be the eastest place in the neighborin republic, ­in short, as they call it, the ‘jumpin-off place.’  You’d better go an see it; ony you needn’t jump off, unless you like.”

Sailing up the harbor, the fog grew light enough for them to see the shore.  The town lay in rather an imposing situation, on the side of a hill, which was crowned by a fort.  A large number of vessels lay about at the wharves and at anchor.  Here they went ashore in a boat, but on making inquiries could gain no information about Tom; nor could they learn anything which gave them the slightest encouragement.

“We’ve got to wait here a while so as to devarsefy the time.  Suppose we go an jump off?” said the captain.

The boys assented to this in a melancholy manner, and the captain led the way through the town, till at last he halted at the extreme east end.

“Here,” said he, “you behold the last extremity of a great an mighty nation, that spreads from the Atlantic to the Pacific, an from the Gulf of Mexiky to the very identical spot that you air now a occypyin of.  It air a celebrated spot, an this here air a memorable momient in your youthful lives, if you did but know it!”

There was nothing very striking about this place, except the fact which Captain Corbet had stated.  Its appearance was not very imposing, yet, on the other hand, it was not without a certain wild beauty.  Before them spread the waters of the bay, with islands half concealed in mist; while immediately in front, a steep, rocky bank went sheer down for some thirty or forty feet to the beach below.

“I suppose,” said the captain, “that bein Pilgrims, it air our dooty to jump; but as it looks a leetle rocky down thar, I think we’d best defer that to another opportoonity.”

Returning to the schooner, they weighed anchor, set sail, and left the harbor.  On leaving it, they did not go back the way they had come, but passed through a narrow and very picturesque channel, which led them by a much shorter route into the bay.  On their left were wooded hills, and on their right a little village on the slope of a hill, upon whose crest stood a church.

Outside the fog lay as thick as ever, and into this they plunged.  Soon the monotonous gray veil of mist closed all around them.  But now their progress was more satisfactory, for they were crossing the bay, and the wind was abeam.

“Are you going straight across to Nova Scotia now?” asked Bart.

“Wal, yes; kine o’ straight across,” was the reply; “ony on our way we’ve got to call at a certain place, an contenoo our investergations.”

“What place is that?”

“It’s the Island of Grand Manan ­a place that I allers feel the greatest respect for.  On that thar island is that celebrated fog mill that I told you of, whar they keep grindin night an day, in southerly weather, so as to keep up the supply of fog for old Fundy.  Whatever we’d do without Grand Manan is more’n I can say.”

“Is the island inhabited?” asked Bruce.

“Inhabited?  O, dear, yas.  Thar’s a heap o’ people thar.  It’s jest possible that a driftin boat might git ashore thar, an ef so we’ll know pooty soon.”

“How far is it?”

“O, ony about seven or eight mile.”

“We’ll be there in an hour or so, then?”

“Wal, not so soon.  You see, we’ve got to go round it.”

“Around it?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“Cos thar ain’t any poppylation on this side, an we’ve got to land on t’other.”

“Why are there no people on this side?”

“Cos thar ain’t no harbures.  The cliffs air six hundred feet high, and the hull shore runs straight on for ever so fur without a break, except two triflin coves.”

“How is it on the other side?”

“Wal, the east side ain’t a bad place.  The shore is easier, an thar’s harbures an anchorages.  Thar’s a place they call Whale Cove, whar I’m goin to land, an see if I can hear anythin.  The people air ony fishers, an they ain’t got much cultivation; but it’s mor’en likely that a driftin boat might touch thar somewhar.”

The Antelope pursued her course, but it was as much as three hours before she reached her destination.  They dropped anchor then, and landed.  The boys had already learned not to indulge too readily in hope; but when they made their inquiries, and found the same answer meeting them here which they had received in other places, they could not avoid feeling a fresh pang of disappointment and discouragement.

“Wal, we didn’t git much good out of this place,” said Captain Corbet.  “I’m sorry that we have sech a arrand as ourn.  Ef it warn’t for that we could spend to-night here, an to-morry I’d take you all to see the fog mill; but, as it is, I rayther think I won’t linger here, but perceed on our way.”

“Where do we go next ­to Nova Scotia?”

“Wal, not jest straight across, but kine o’ slantin.  We head now for Digby; that’s about straight opposite to St. John, an it’s as likely a place as any to make inquiries at.”

“How long will it be before we get there?”

“Wal, some time to-morry mornin.  To-night we’ve got nothin at all to do but to sweep through the deep while the stormy tempests blow in the shape of a mild sou-wester; so don’t you begin your usual game of settin up.  You ain’t a mite of good to me, nor to yourselves, a stayin here.  You’d ought all to be abed, and, ef you’ll take my advice, you’ll go to sleep as soon as you can, an stay asleep as long as you can.  It’ll be a foggy night, an we won’t see a mite o’ sunshine till we git into Digby harbure.  See now, it’s already dark; so take my advice, an go to bed, like civilized humane beings.”

It did not need much persuasion to send them off to their beds.  Night was coming on, another night of fog and thick darkness.  This time, however, they had the consolation of making some progress, if it were any consolation when they had no definite course before them; for, in such a cruise as this, when they were roaming about from one place to another, without any fixed course, or fixed time, the progress that they made was, after all, a secondary consideration.  The matter of first importance was to hear news of Tom, and, until they did hear something, all other things were of little moment.

The Antelope continued on her way all that night, and on the next morning the boys found the weather unchanged.  Breakfast passed, and two or three hours went on.  The boys were scattered about the decks, in a languid way, looking out over the water, when suddenly a cry from Pat, who was in the bows, aroused all of them.  Immediately before them rose a lofty shore, covered in the distance with dark trees, but terminating at the water’s edge in frowning rocks.  A light-house stood here, upon which they had come so suddenly that, before they were over their first surprise, they were almost near enough to toss a biscuit ashore.

“Wal, now, I call that thar pooty slick sailin,” exclaimed Captain Corbet, glancing at the lighthouse with sparkling eyes.  “I tell you what it is, boys, you don’t find many men in this here day an age that can leave Manan at dusk, when the old fog mill is hard at work, and travel all night in the thickest fog ever seen, with tide agin him half the time, an steer through that thar fog, an agin that thar tide, so as to hit the light-house as slick as that.  Talk about your scientific navigation ­wouldn’t I like to see what one of them thar scientific captings would do with his vessel last night on sech a track as I run over!  Wouldn’t I like to run a race with him? an ef I did, wouldn’t I make a pile to leave and bequeath to the infant when his aged parient air buried beneath the cold ground?”

While Captain Corbet was speaking, the schooner sailed past the light-house, and the thick fog closed around her once more.  On one side, however, they could see the dim outline of the shore on their right.  On they sailed for about a quarter of a mile, when suddenly the fog vanished, and, with scarce a moment’s notice, there burst upon them a blaze of sunlight, while overhead appeared the glory of the blue sky.  The suddenness of that transition forced a cry of astonishment from all.  They had shot forth so quickly from the fog into the sunlight that it seemed like magic.

They found themselves sailing along a strait about a mile in width, with shores on each side that were as high as Blomidon.  On the right the heights sloped up steep, and were covered with trees of rich dark verdure, while on the other side the slope was bolder and wilder.  Houses appeared upon the shore, and roads, and cultivated trees.  This strait was several miles in length, and led into a broad and magnificent basin.

Here, in this basin, appeared an enchanting view.  A sheet of water extended before their eyes about sixteen miles in length and five in breadth.  All around were lofty shores, fertile, well tilled, covered with verdurous trees and luxuriant vegetation.  The green of the shores was dotted with white houses, while the blue of the water was flecked with snowy sails.  Immediately on the right there appeared a circular sweep of shore, on which arose a village whose houses were intermingled with green trees.

Into this beautiful basin came the old French navigators more than two centuries ago, and at its head they found a place which seemed to them the best spot in Acadie to become the capital of the new colony which they were going to found here.  So they established their little town, and these placid waters became the scene of commercial activity and of warlike enterprise, till generations passed away, and the little French town of Port Royal, after many strange vicissitudes, with its wonderful basin, remained in the possession of the English conqueror.

“Now,” said Captain Corbet, “boys, look round on that thar, an tell me of you ever see a beautifuller place than this.  Thar’s ony one place that can be compared with this here, an that’s Grand Pre.  But for the life o’ me, I never can tell which o’ the two is the pootiest.  It’s strange, too, how them French fellers managed to pick out the best places in the hull province.  But it shows their taste an judgment ­it doos, railly.”

It was not long before the Antelope had dropped anchor in front of the town of Digby, and Captain Corbet landed with the boys as soon as possible.  There was as good a chance of Tom being heard of here as anywhere; since this place lay down the bay, in one sense, and if by any chance Tom had drifted over to the Nova Scotia shore, as now seemed probable, he would be not unlikely to go to Digby, so as to resume his journey, so rudely interrupted, and make his way thence to his friends.

Digby is a quiet little place, that was finished long ago.  It was first settled by the Tory refugees, who came here after the revolutionary war, and received land grants from the British government.  At first it had some activity, but its business soon languished.  The first settlers had such bright hopes of its future that they regularly laid out a town, with streets and squares.  But these have never been used to any extent, and now appear grown over with grass.  Digby, however, has so much beauty of scenery around it, that it may yet attract a large population.  On landing here, Captain Corbet pursued the same course as at other places.  He went first to one of the principal shops, or the post office, and told his story, and afterwards went to the schooners at the wharves.  But at Digby there was precisely the same result to their inquiries as there had been at other places.  No news had come to the place of any one adrift, nor had any skipper of any schooner noticed anything of the kind during his last trip.

“What had we better do next?”

“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “we can ony finish our cruise.”

“Shall we go on?”

“Yes.”

“Up the bay?”

“Yes.  I’ll keep on past Île Haute, an I’ll cruise around Minas.  You see these drifts may take him in a’most any direction.  I don’t see why he shouldn’t hev drifted up thar as well as down here.”

It was Wednesday when they reached Digby.

On the evening of that day the Antelope weighed anchor, and sailed out into the Bay of Fundy.

It was bright sunshine, with a perfectly cloudless sky inside, but outside the Antelope plunged into the midst of a dense and heavy fog.