XXVI.

_A hard Pull.--Wind and Tide.--Bennie’s “Idee.”--Jolly under creditable

Circumstances.--The Triple Promontory.--The Advance of the Fog.--The

Line of Cliff.--The foaming Sea.--The slow Passage of the Hours.--The

Strait of Minas.--Land at Last.--Bennie triumphant._

THE tide was coming up; some time had elapsed since the Antelope had

sunk, and it had sufficed for the ebb of the tide and its return to its

flood. The wind also was light, and as they sought to get out of Scott’s

Bay, they had the tide against them, and very little wind to favor them.

At first they moved rather along the line of the shore than away from

it, and though they lost sight of the figures on the beach, they did not

therefore make any very great progress.

Scott’s Bay is enclosed in a circle of land formed by the Nova Scotia

coast, which here rises high above the Bay of Fundy, and throws out a

long, circling arm, terminating in a rugged, storm-beaten, and sea-worn

crag, known as Cape Split. It was necessary to double this cape, and

then go up the Strait of Minas to Parrsboro’, which place was at the

head of the strait, inside Minas Basin, and rig opposite Cape Blomidon.

In order to do this, either the wind or the tide ought to favor the

navigator; but, unfortunately, on the present occasion, they were not

thus favored.

“I had an idee,” said Bennie, after a long silence, “I had an idee that

the wind would come up a leetle stronger out here, but it don’t seem to;

an now I’ve a notion that it’s goin to turn. If so we’ll be delayed, but

still you’ll be landed in Parrsboro’ time enough to catch the steamer.

Only you may have to be longer gettin thar than you counted on.”

“O, we don’t care. Only get us there in time for the steamer, and we

won’t complain.”

“Wal, it’s best to make up one’s mind for the wust, you know. The wind

may change, an then we may be out half the night, or even all night.

But, at any rate, I’ll put you through.”

“You needn’t think about any inconvenience to us. We’re only too

grateful to you for putting yourself out so much, and none of us would

care whether we were out all night or not. We’ve learned to rough it

during the last two or three weeks.”

Bennie now diverted his gaze to the surrounding sea, and kept his

eyes fixed upon it for a long time in silence, while the boys chatted

together in the light-hearted manner peculiar to those who feel quite

comfortable, and have no particular aversion even to a moderate amount

of discomfort. Yet Bennie did not seem altogether at ease. There was

a slight frown on his noble brow, and he did not show that genial

disposition which generally distinguished him.

The wind was light and fitful. At first it had been favorable, but

before long it changed. It did not grow stronger, indeed; yet still,

though it continued light, the fact that it was acting against them made

their prospects worse, and justified Bennie’s fears that they might be

out all night. The distance was not great, being not more than

fifteen miles or so; but their course was in such a direction that the

opposition of wind and tide might delay them to a very uncomfortable

extent. The spur of the coast line, which terminated in Cape Split, as

has been said, and formed the bay, ran for about five miles, and this

distance it was necessary to traverse before they could go up the Strait

of Minas.

“I think, boys,” said Bennie, at last, “we’d best try the oars, for a

while at least. We may save a tide. I don’t know, but at any rate we’d

best try an see; for, you see, we’ve got the wind agin us now,--what

thar is of it,--an thar’s no knowin how much wuss it may grow. If we

could ony git around, that pint afore the tide turned, we might save

ourselves from spendin the night aboard. I did hope that the wind might

favor us; but it’s changed since we started, an now I see we’d best

prepar for the wust.”

“All right!” cried Bruce, cheerily: “we’re in for anything. We can pull

as long as you like.”

Upon this the boys took the oars which were in the boat, and began to

row. There were four oars. Bennie lowered the sail, and took the stroke

oar, Bruce and Arthur took the next oars, and Bart the bow oar. They

rowed in this way for about an hour, and then they changed, Arthur

taking the stroke oar, Tom and Phil the next oars, and Pat the bow oar.

Bruce soon relieved Arthur, and thus they rowed along.

The labor at the oars, far from being unpleasant, served to beguile the

time. Those who were not rowing sang songs to enliven the labor of the

rowers. Bennie was anxious to row all the time, but after the first

hour he was not allowed to row any more, the boys declaring that it was

enough for him to come with them, and that it was no more than fair that

they should work their own way.

As they went, the wind increased somewhat, and, as the tide was strong,

the two powers combined to oppose their progress. They therefore did

not make the headway which was desirable, and after one hour of steady

pulling they did not find themselves more than half way to Cape Split.

Still, they did not become discouraged, but rowed bravely on, making the

change above mentioned, and anticipating a turn for the better when once

they had doubled the cape.

At length they reached the cape. More than two hours of hard rowing had

been required to bring them there, and on reaching this place they saw

Bennie’s face still covered with gloom and anxiety. What that might

mean, they did not at first know; but they soon found out. At first,

however, they were too much taken up with their own thoughts, and the

natural pride which they felt at having attained the aim of so long

and anxious an endeavor, to notice particularly any expression which

Bennie’s face might assume. Besides, there was something in the scene

before them which was sufficiently grand to engross all their thoughts.

Among the freaks of nature, so called, few are more extraordinary,

and at the same time more impressive and sublime, than that which is

afforded by this Cape Split. The whole northern shore of Nova Scotia,

which borders on the Bay of Fundy, consists of a high ridge, known

as the North Mountain. With one or two great chasms, like that at the

entrance into Annapolis Basin, it runs along until it arrives at

the Basin of Minas, where it terminates at the sublime promontory of

Blomidon. Yet it hardly terminates here. Rather it may be said to turn

about and seek once more to invade the water, which, for so many miles,

it has defied; and thus turning, it advances for some miles into the Bay

of Fundy, forming thus, by this encircling arm, Scott’s Bay, and finally

terminating in Cape Split. Here, where the tides are highest, and the

rush of the waters strongest, Cape Split arises,--wild, rough, worn by

the sea, and scarred by the storm,--a triple series of gigantic peaks

that advance into the profoundest depths of the Bav of Fundy, whose

waters, at every ebb and flow of their tremendous tides, roll, and foam,

and boil, and seethe about the base of the torn promontory. The cliffs

of Blomidon rise precipitously, and Blomidon itself is the centre of

attraction in the scenery of a vast circuit of country; but Blomidon

itself, to a near observer, shows less wildness of outline and less

of picturesque grandeur, than that which is revealed in the terrific

outline of Cape Split. Taken in connection with all the surrounding

landscape as its centre and heart, Blomidon is undoubtedly superior; but

taken by itself alone, without any adjuncts save sea and sky, it is Cape

Split that the artist would choose to portray upon the canvas, or the

lover of the picturesque and the sublime to feast his eyes upon.

This, then, was the point which they had reached, and they saw before

them a series of giant rocks towering aloft from the depths of the

sea hundreds of feet into the air,--black, rough, without a trace

of vegetation, thrusting their sharp pinnacles into the sky, while

thousands of sea-gulls screamed about their summits, and myriads of

sea-waves beat about their bases. There the tide rolled, and the

ocean currents streamed to and fro, and the billows of the sea kept up

perpetual war, assailing the flinty rock, and slowly wearing away,

as they had been doing through the ages, atom by atom and fragment by

fragment, the forms of these mighty bulwarks of the land.

This was the scene upon which they gazed as they reached Cape Split and

prepared to enter into the Strait of Minas. But Bennie’s brow was dark,

and Bennie’s brow was gloomy, and there were thoughts in Bennie’s

mind which had no connection with any grandeur of scenery or beauty

of landscape. For Bennie was thinking of the practical, and not of the

picturesque; and so it was that the question of reaching Parrsboro’ was

of far more importance to him than the glories and the grandeur and all

the sublime attractions of Cape Split.

“Tell you what it is, boys,” said he, after a long and thoughtful

silence, “we’ve missed it, an we’ve got to look sharp, or else we’ll

miss it agen.”

“Missed it? Missed what?”

“What? Why, everything.”

“Everything. What do you mean?”

“Wal, it’s this con-founded tide.”

“What about it?”

“Why, you see,” said Bennie, scratching his grizzled head, “I thought we

might git round the cape in time to catch the flood tide, and if so,

it would carry us straight up to Parrsboro’; but, un-fort’nately, we’ve

jest missed it. We’ve took so much time in gittin here that we’ve lost

the flood. The tide’s now on the ebb, an it’s clear agin us. What’s

wuss, it runs down tremenjus, an it’ll be a leetle hard for us to git up

anyhow; an, what’s wusser, thar’s goin to be a fog.”

“A fog!”

“Yes, a fog, an no mistake. See thar,”--and Bennie pointed down the

bay,--“see thar. The wind’s ben a shiftin an’s finally settled into

a son-wester, an thar’s the fog a drawin in all round us, an before

another half hour we’ll be all shut in, an won’t be able to see the

other end of the boat. What’s wuss still, the fog is goin to be a reglar

settled fog, an may last a fortnight, an the ony thing that I can see in

our favor jest now is, that the wind is fair for us; but, unfortinately,

the wind don’t seem to promise to be strong enough to carry us up agin

the tide.”

“What! Can’t we get to Parrsboro’ in time for the steamer at all?”

“The steamer? O, yes, no doubt about that. But what I’m afeard on is,

that we’ll be all night about it.”

“O, well, that can’t be helped. We can stand it. We’ve had worse things

than this to stand of late, and this is mere child’s play.”

“Child’s play? Wal, I don’t know about that altogether,” said Bennie.

“For my part, I don’t seem to see how goin’ without sleep’s child’s

play, as you call it; but still I’m glad all the same that you look on

it in this way; I am railly.”

“O, you needn’t give any thought to us. We’re old stagers. We’ve been

shipwrecked and we’ve lived on desert islands. We’ve risked our lives

a dozen times in a dozen days. Fellows that have been cast ashore on

Anticosti and on Sable Island, can’t be frightened at anything that you

can mention.”

“After my life on Ile Haute out there,” said Tom, looking at the dim

form of Ile Haute, which was even then being enveloped in the gathering

fog, “I think this is mere child’s play.”

“And after my adventures in the woods,” said Phil, “I’m ready for

anything.”

“Pat and I,” said Bart, “have known all the bitterness of death, and

have felt what it is to be buried alive.”

“An meself,” said Pat, “by the same token, have known what it is to

bathe in the leper wather, so I have; an what’s fog to that?”

“Well,” said Arthur, “I’ve had my turn off Anticosti in the boat, Tom

and I.”

“And I,” said Bruce, “have had my turn at the Five Islands; so you see

you’ve got to do with a lot of fellows that don’t care a rush for fogs

and tides, and all that sort of thing.”

“Wal, young fellers,” said Bennie, “I knock under, I cave in. I won’t

say anything more. You’re all the right sort, an are ready for anything.

So come along; an here goes for Parrsboro’. You’ve got to be up all

night; but arter all, you’ve got wraps and rugs, an bread an butter,

an pie, an can keep yourselves warm, an can have enough to eat,--so

what’s the odds, as long as you’re happy? I ain’t a croaker, I ain’t,

but go in for bein cheerful, an if you ain’t goin to knock under, why I

ain’t, an so let’s be jolly an move on.”

Saying this, Bennie hoisted his sail once more. The wind was light, but

fair, and the only question now was, whether that wind would be strong

enough to carry the boat against the tide. As to the tide, that was

certainly sufficiently strong, but unfortunately it was unfavorable. The

tide had turned, and was running down the Strait of Minas, up which they

wished to go. The tide was thus adverse, and in addition to this was the

fog.

The fog!

Yes, the fog, the dreaded, the baleful fog, was coming on. Already Ile

Haute was concealed from view. Soon the opposite shore would be veiled.

Worse than all, the night was coming on. With fog and darkness united,

their way would be uncertain indeed.

Fortunately for them, the way was a straight one, and the wind, though

not very strong, and though opposed by the tide, was yet fair. This much

was in their favor.

And so they spread their sails. And the wind filled the sails, and the

boat went on. The tide was against them, but still the boat advanced.

Some progress, at last, was made. Hour after hour passed, and still they

went on. Bennie seemed to be quite encouraged. At last they came to a

wide beach.

“Hurrah!” said Bennie, “we’re here at last. This is the place, lads.

We’re at Parrsboro’! Hurrah!”