Several hours passed away, and the united action of wind and tide had carried onward pursuers and pursued many miles into the bay. There rose before them the frowning cliffs of Blomidon, and past this the current was setting in a swift stream, by which they were borne along. Now, too, the wind died away, and the tide alone remained. This caused a change for the worse. Thus far the lightness of their boat had favored them, so that their pursuers had fallen behind as much as four or five miles; but now, when it came to drifting, this difference was no longer in their favor, and the enemy, either from having caught a stronger current, or from some other reason, seemed to be slowly gaining upon them. The question now arose, what was to be done? They could easily have landed here, scaled the cliff, and escaped in the woods. But that was not to be thought of except as a last resort. At all hazards they wished to keep the boat. If they fled to the woods their boat would be captured, and their fate might be a miserable death. With the boat, however, they might hope not only to save their lives, but perhaps to follow their friends, perhaps to rescue them; or at least, if such a thing as that should be beyond their powers, they could choose some new home, and have the means of living from the water, till the land should be ready to yield them sustenance. For these reasons they resolved to cling to the boat, and fly as long, and as far, as possible. But however eager they were in their determination to escape, the enemy showed a resolve to pursue which was as obstinate as theirs. As they floated along they saw the other boat still following. The tide bore them on, in its course, down through the Straits of Minas, beneath the frowning cliffs that rise gloomily on one side, where Blomidon overhangs the water, past the rocks all covered with sea-weed, past long, bare sand flats, past the giant cliffs, which, torn and riven by earthquake or by tempest, rise at the extremity of the straits, and onward into the wide Bay of Fundy. They had hoped that in this place a breeze might arise, but their hopes were disappointed. The water was smooth, and they were borne onward over an unruffled surface, by the strong tide, far down. Yet though there was no wind, they at length encountered something which to them, in that extremity, was no less welcome. Before them rose a wall of mist, shutting out all the scene beyond, hiding even the Haute, which lay so near. Into the entrance of this dense fog bank they were borne by the tide; and soon all surrounding scenes, all prospect of rock, and cliff, and distant shore, and overhanging sky, and all sight of their pursuers, were snatched from their eyes, and nothing remained but an all-surrounding blank, an opaque wall of unpenetrable fog.