“Is the island inhabited?” asked Bruce.

“Inhabited?  O, dear, yas.  Thar’s a heap o’ people thar.  It’s jest possible that a driftin boat might git ashore thar, an ef so we’ll know pooty soon.”

“How far is it?”

“O, ony about seven or eight mile.”

“We’ll be there in an hour or so, then?”

“Wal, not so soon.  You see, we’ve got to go round it.”

“Around it?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“Cos thar ain’t any poppylation on this side, an we’ve got to land on t’other.”

“Why are there no people on this side?”

“Cos thar ain’t no harbures.  The cliffs air six hundred feet high, and the hull shore runs straight on for ever so fur without a break, except two triflin coves.”

“How is it on the other side?”

“Wal, the east side ain’t a bad place.  The shore is easier, an thar’s harbures an anchorages.  Thar’s a place they call Whale Cove, whar I’m goin to land, an see if I can hear anythin.  The people air ony fishers, an they ain’t got much cultivation; but it’s mor’en likely that a driftin boat might touch thar somewhar.”

The Antelope pursued her course, but it was as much as three hours before she reached her destination.  They dropped anchor then, and landed.  The boys had already learned not to indulge too readily in hope; but when they made their inquiries, and found the same answer meeting them here which they had received in other places, they could not avoid feeling a fresh pang of disappointment and discouragement.

“Wal, we didn’t git much good out of this place,” said Captain Corbet.  “I’m sorry that we have sech a arrand as ourn.  Ef it warn’t for that we could spend to-night here, an to-morry I’d take you all to see the fog mill; but, as it is, I rayther think I won’t linger here, but perceed on our way.”

“Where do we go next—­to Nova Scotia?”

“Wal, not jest straight across, but kine o’ slantin.  We head now for Digby; that’s about straight opposite to St. John, an it’s as likely a place as any to make inquiries at.”

“How long will it be before we get there?”

“Wal, some time to-morry mornin.  To-night we’ve got nothin at all to do but to sweep through the deep while the stormy tempests blow in the shape of a mild sou-wester; so don’t you begin your usual game of settin up.  You ain’t a mite of good to me, nor to yourselves, a stayin here.  You’d ought all to be abed, and, ef you’ll take my advice, you’ll go to sleep as soon as you can, an stay asleep as long as you can.  It’ll be a foggy night, an we won’t see a mite o’ sunshine till we git into Digby harbure.  See now, it’s already dark; so take my advice, an go to bed, like civilized humane beings.”

It did not need much persuasion to send them off to their beds.  Night was coming on, another night of fog and thick darkness.  This time, however, they had the consolation of making some progress, if it were any consolation when they had no definite course before them; for, in such a cruise as this, when they were roaming about from one place to another, without any fixed course, or fixed time, the progress that they made was, after all, a secondary consideration.  The matter of first importance was to hear news of Tom, and, until they did hear something, all other things were of little moment.