The tide, indeed, had now turned, and with its turn the fog began to lift. Getting some idea of what now was happening, Rob undertook to make back toward the shore, where they could hear the surf roaring heavily. Perhaps it was lucky they did not succeed in this attempt, for the boat would no doubt have been crushed like an eggshell on the rocks. Instead, they began to float down parallel with the coast, carried on the crest of the big tide-bore which every day passes down the east coast of Kadiak between the long, parallel islands which make an inland channel many miles in extent. As the boys called now they could hear an echo on each side of them, and indeed could see the loom of the rock-bound shore; but all about them hissed and danced these fighting waves, tossing the dory a dozen ways at once, and all the time there came astern the long roll of the mighty Pacific in its power, the Japan current and the coast tide in unison forcing a boiling current down the rocky channel. Escape was hopeless. "Boys," said Rob, his face perhaps a trifle pale, "we can't get out of this. All we can do is to run." The others looked at him silently. "She's a splendid boat," went on Rob, trying to be cheerful. "She rides like a chip. I believe if we keep low down she'll be safe, for it doesn't seem to be getting any worse." A powerful steamboat, if it were caught under precisely these conditions, could have done little more than drift down the channel. The boys resigned themselves to their fate. Now and again the fog shut down. Wild cries of sea-birds were about them. Now and then the leap of a great dolphin feeding in the tide splashed alongside, to startle them yet more. Each moment, as they knew, carried them farther and farther from their friends, and deeper and deeper into dangers whose nature they could only guess. "I wish we'd never left Valdez," said Jesse, at last, his lip beginning to quiver. "That's no way to talk," said Rob, sternly. "The right thing to do when you're in a scrape is to try to get out of it. This tide can't run clear round the world, because your uncle Dick said this island wasn't over one hundred and fifty miles long, and there must be any number of bays and coves. Pull some crackers out of that box and let's eat a bite." "That's the talk," said John, more cheerfully. "We'll get ashore somewhere. It's no use to worry." John was always disposed to be philosophical; but the great peculiarity about him was that he was continually hungry. He found the crackers now rather dry and hard to eat, so worried open a can of tomatoes with his hunting-knife, complaining all the time that they had no water to drink. Their hasty meal seemed to do them good. Finding that their dory was still afloat, they began to lose their fears. Indeed, little by little, the height of the waves lessened. The tide was beginning to spread in the wider parts of the channel. "Let's try the oars again," said Rob, at last.