Again they listened, and again there was no response. To their waiting ears, as they listened in an anguish of expectation, there came no answering cry, no shout, no pistol shot--nothing but the plash of waves near by, the singing of the wind through the rigging, and the boom of the surf on some distant beach which the fog hid from view. On went the schooner, and Mr. Long blew unweariedly, clinging to this horn as something by which he still might gain access to the lost boys, and finding in this occupation something of that antidote to pain which action of any kind yields to the energetic nature. But time passed on, and only the winds heard these shrill blasts, and only the winds responded to the signal. So darkness came upon them, and night; and the darkness of this night was intensified, by the thick fog, so that it became a darkness which might be felt. “Ef we want to save the boys,” said Captain Corbet at last to Mr. Long, who stood dejectedly near him, “my opinion is, that we’d better keep afloat ourselves; but at the rate we’re goin’, it’s my opinion that before long we’ll be high and dry. And we may thank our blessed stars if we light on a mud flat, and don’t get dashed to small bits on Blomidon. Them’s my sentiments.” “Why, don’t you know where you are?” “No more idee where I am than the man in the moon.” “I thought you knew the coast.” “So I do--like a book.” “What do you mean, then?” “Why, if it was only the fog, I wouldn’t mind; but, mind you, there’s the tides. The flood tide ’ll be coming along soon, and then where’ll we go to? We may get twisted up into an eddy, and find ourselves on Cape Split; or we may glide up to Windsor, or get thrown on the rocks, goodness ony knows where. There’s no knowin’ where these tides may take it into their blessed hearts to drift us to. So the long and the short of it is, I move we anchor.” “But isn’t it a common thing for schooners to drift about here?” “Not in the Basin of Minas, thank you. No, sir. Not if they can help it. Out in Fundy it’s different. Fundy hain’t got no bottom to anchor on, except near the shores. Fundy ain’t one universal mud bank, nuther. Out in Fundy every skipper cal’lates on driftin’, jest as a sea captain cal’lates on navigatin’ by scientific observation. Driftin’ in Fundy is a science by itself, and vessels make v’y’ges back’ard and for’ard by a new patent driftin’ process. But in here nobody drifts. It’s no go.” Mr. Long gave a heavy sigh. “At any rate, let’s drift a little longer. I cling to hope of coming up with the boys.” “Comin’ _up_ with them! Law bless my heart alive, we’ve comed up with ’em and passed ’em long ago. We’ve got on different tracks somehow. Ef they’d been afloat, they’d never missed hearin’ that everlastin’ trumpet you’ve been a-blowin’ on so like all possessed.”