“How far will they be likely to drift?” “Let me see. It’s seven o’clock now. It’s nearly dead low tide’. It’ll be on the flood soon, and by the time them there lads get to Blomidon, there’ll be a flood tide.” “And how will that be for them?” “It’ll drift ’em back.” “In which direction?” “Wal, sir, it would take a man with a head as long as a hoss, tail and all, to answer that there pint. Lor’ bless you, in this here bay there’s no knowin’ where the tide ‘ll drift a man.” “If it weren’t for the fog, there’d be no danger,” said Mr. Long, musingly. “That there’s an ondeniable fact, at any rate.” “Do you think the fog will continue?” Captain Corbet screwed his head round in the direction of the wind, and drew up his face into a most extraordinary grimace. “Well, I rayther think,” said he, slowly, “that you’ve got me there.” “You don’t know, then, anything about it,” said Mr. Long, impatiently. “Not a hooter.” Mr. Long walked away, and looked mournfully out over the dim sea. Deep sadness and sore anxiety now reigned over the little vessel. Mr. Simmons said not a word, but sat staring fixedly at the fog. The boys stood in silent groups. Not a word was spoken. Mr. Long walked forward to the bows, and looked out. The wind was increasing, and the sea was growing rougher. Evening was passing away, night would come--and then, what! To think of those poor lads in the boat was anguish. He walked back again to Captain Corbet. “Where are we now?” “Wal, we’re just roundin’ the island.” “I can’t see it.” “No, I have to give her a wide berth. It’s low tide, and the ledges are dangerous.” “Do you think the boat may be drifting out here, or nearer in shore?” “Wal, accordin’ to my cal’lation, they’d oughter be out here somewhere. Jedgin’ by the direction the boat took, I should say I was followin’ pooty close in their track, though there’s no knowin’ for sartin.” “Oughtn’t we to be up to them by this time?” “Wal, I don’t know. You saw the pace they went off at. Geeracious! Talk of race-hosses! Why, that boat went off at a rate to beat all creation holler!” “But we’re going faster. We have the same current, and we’ve got sails up.” “Never a truer word; but then it took some time for us to get a start, and in that time, gracious ony knows where they’ve got to. The ony thing that we’ve got to do, as I can see, is to keep follerin’ our noses right straight on, and keep in the current.” Suddenly a thought struck Mr. Long. Rushing down into the cabin, he returned with a fog-horn, and raising it to his lips, blew a long, piercing blast. “That’ll fetch ’em, if anything does,” said Captain Corbet. “Silence!” cried Mr. Long, listening intently, while all others on board stood listening for the return cry. But no sound came back. “They’ve got a pistol, and if they hear us, they would fire. Have you a gun, captain?” “Nary gun.” “This horn, then, is the best thing. Shouting is of no use,” said Mr. Long; and he blew another blast.