At last all were on board; the baskets and boxes were in the hold, the lines were cast off, the sails were hoisted, and the Antelope dropped down the stream. Messrs. Simmons and Long retired, but most of the boys remained on deck for some time, singing, and laughing, and joking with each one about the peculiar mishaps which he might have incurred during the last eventful week. At length all retired, and silence reigned over the schooner and over the deep. Early in the morning all were up. The sea, far and wide, was as smooth as glass, except where long lines, and occasional ripples, showed the meeting of opposing currents. Above, the sky was cloudless, the sun was bright, and in the air not a breath of wind was stirring. Upon this Mr. Long looked with extreme impatience, frowning darkly upon land, sea, and sky. The schooner’s sails were flapping idly, her head was pointed toward the Five Islands, and Captain Corbet was standing listlessly at the helm. “Captain, what’s all this?” asked Mr. Long. “The schooner is heading toward the Five Islands. Are we going back?” “No, sir. The schooner’s not particular just now whar she heads.” “Why don’t you steer for Grand Pré?” “Jest what I’d like to do, if she’d let me.” “Let you?” “Yes. There ain’t a mite o’ wind, an’ she’s, goin’ every which way.” “Then we’re standing still, and doing nothing.” “Standin’ still?” cried Captain Corbet. “Lor’ bless you, a couple of hours ago we were ten miles up there;” and he pointed far away toward the other end of the bay. “Up there?” “Yes. We’re not standin’ still; not by no manner o’ means.” “What are we doing?” “Driftin’.” “Drifting?” “Yes; goin’ ahead like a race-horse--head fust, tail fust, sideways, end on, and every kind o’ way that a floatin’ craft kin move.” “Where are we drifting to?” “Down to Blomidon.” “Blomidon!” cried Mr. Long, aghast. “Yes; an’ farther too. It’ll be lucky if we don’t find ourselves out in the Bay of Fundy before long.” “But can’t you _do_ something? Can’t you sail for some harbor?” “Jest what I’m a pinin’ to do, on’y I can’t come it, nohow. Ef I had a steam tug-boat I’d clap a line on board her, an’ get into a place of refooge; but bein’ as there isn’t any, we’ve got to drift.” “Why don’t you anchor?” “Anchor?” cried Captain Corbet, in surprise. “Why, the anchor’s broke.” “Well, well,” said Mr. Long, in bitter vexation, “haven’t you got something--no sweeps?” “Not a sweep, as I’m a livin’ Corbet.” It was too true. There was no wind, and they were drifting at the mercy of the tide. The vessel went every way, heading in no direction. They had no anchor, and they could not sail into the shore. They were completely helpless. By this time they had all hoped to be near their destination; but it seemed, from appearances, that they were farther away than ever.