Now all this time since they had left the anchorage the wind had been blowing strongly. As the darkness increased, Captain Corbet had taken in his foresail. The water grew rougher, the little schooner labored heavily, and pitched, and tossed, and rolled about, while the waves dashed over her bow. Mr. Simmons had retired to his berth with the bodily pangs of seasickness superadded to his mental anxiety. One by one the boys had disappeared below, and for an hour or more none were left on deck but Mr. Long, Captain Corbet, and the mate. A light had been hoisted, and Mr. Long still blew the fog-trumpet. But he no longer blew it with any hope. Captain Corbet had presented full before him a palpable fact, and that was, that they must be far away from any place where the boat could possibly be. They had sailed on and passed beyond them. They could not have been near the beat at any time. Some other current must have carried it away in another direction. Had it not been so, they must assuredly have heard those shrill yells, and in that ease they would have responded. Either they had been caught in another current, or else that had happened to them on which he dared not think. But then, even so, if they had got into another current, could it avail them? For that boat to drift out into this sea would be sure destruction. “Captain,” said he, “are there more currents than one about those islands?” “As many currents as there is hairs on a hoss’s tail.” “Then it’s quite likely they got into another one.” “It’s sartin.” “Can you conjecture how they may have gone?” “Wal, you see the current we came by was a kind of inside one that took us round the nighest island. Now, outside of that there was another current that kind V goes round the next island, which is a bigger one than the one we were at. I’ve been turnin’ it over in my head, and I cal’late that that there boat, jedgin’ by the course she took as she shot by us, got swept into the outer current, and was driven away around the outer island.” “We couldn’t have been near her at all, then.” “It seems not.” “Where could they have been when we began to blow?” “As near as I can cal’late, jedgin’ by the natur’ of the currents, and the course they took, they might have been off the farthest end of the other island.” “How far away from the place where we were?” “Over two miles--yes, more’n three miles.” “How far can you hear one of these fog-horns?” “About a mile.” “So they couldn’t have heard us?” “Couldn’t have heard a note. No, sir. And that accounts for their silence.” “Where does the current go to, after going round that island you speak of?” “Wal, there’s a good many, but there’s two main currents: one goes round the island, and returns and jines the one that we come down by.” “And if the boat came by that, it would be behind us.” “Jes so.” “About how far?” “O, ten miles or more by this time.” “If so, every moment now takes us farther from them.”