_Blomidon.--Tides and Fogs.--Songs and Seasickness.--The Five Islands, and a Race up a Précipice._ WINDING on through the tortuous channel of the creek, they reached its mouth without accident, and passed out into the bay. The morning was bright and beautiful, the wind blew fair, and all gave themselves up to the joy of the occasion. The Antelope, it is true, was of ancient build and model; she was short, and broad, and round, but the wind was of such a kind as to bring out whatever capacity for sailing she might have. The sun shone brightly, and all around them sparkled the blue waves of the bay. Behind them was the long level of Grand Pré, beyond which the hills arose, whose slopes were dotted with white houses. Before them was the wide bay bounded by the Parrsboro’ shore, while conspicuous, as usual, arose the grand form of Blomidon. “Is Blomidon a French name?” asked Bart of Mr. Simmons. “No. It is said to be a corruption of the words _Blow me down_, and it is spelled that way on old maps. A good many old coasting skippers pronounce it in that way. The winds that prevail out there off the cape are a sufficient cause for such a name.” “Are there more winds off Blomidon than in other parts of the bay?” “O, yes. It is seldom calm there. It seems as if all the winds of the Bay of Fundy and of the Basin of Minas struggled together there. It is a sort of funnel through which they all pour backward or forward. Then the sea out there is often quite heavy. The meeting of different currents and different winds causes this. Seldom will you find a place where such fierce currents rush to and fro.” “Shall we land at Blomidon first?” “I do not think we can with this wind. It will be better, I think, to wait till we come back. We will go across the Basin to the Five Islands first.” “Where are the highest tides of this Basin?” “Do you see away there,” said Mr. Simmons, pointing far away toward the right, “where the land seems to sink down?” “Yes.” “Well, there the water runs up till it ends in the Shubenacadie River. It is there that the tide runs highest, and I suppose there is no part of the world where the rise is so great.” “Do you believe it rises ninety feet?” “I have heard so,--at spring tides,--but I rather think it is an exaggeration. It is difficult to get a fair and accurate measurement. I do not think that it rises much over seventy feet.” “That is high enough to surpass all other tides, I should think. But see--hallo! what’s that?” “And Bart darted to the side of the vessel, attracted by a shout. A large schooner was approaching, on board of which all were staring with grinning faces at the Antelope. “Is that Captain Kidd’s craft?” shouted one of the sailors. “Yes,” screamed Bart. “We’re going to dig up a little buried treasure.” A yell of derision and laughter was the answer, to which the boys of the Antelope responded by wild, unearthly shouts; and so the vessels passed each other.