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 idee 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 Ile 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.