in the evening, and Captain Corbet was all ready to start.  As the tide was now beginning to turn, and was on the ebb, the anchor was raised, and the schooner, yielding to the pressure of the current, moved away from her anchorage ground.  It was still thick, and darkness also was coming on.  Not a thing could be discerned, and by looking at the water, which moved with the schooner, it did not seem as though any motion was made.

“That’s all your blindness,” said the captain, as they mentioned it to him.  “You can’t see anything but the water, an as it is movin with us, it doesn’t seem as though we were movin.  But we air, notwithstandin, an pooty quick too.  I’ll take two hours’ drift before stoppin, so as to make sure.  I calc’late about that time to get to a place whar I can hit the current that’ll take me, with the risin tide, up to old Petticoat Jack.”

“By the way, captain,” said Phil, “what do you seafaring men believe about the origin of that name—­Petitcodiac?  Is it Indian or French?”

“’Tain’t neither,” said Captain Corbet, decidedly.  “It’s good English; it’s ‘Petticoat Jack;’ an I’ve hearn tell a hundred times about its original deryvation.  You see, in the old French war, there was an English spy among the French, that dressed hisself up as a woman, an was familiarly known, among the British generals an others that emply’d him, as ‘Petticoat Jack.’  He did much to contriboot to the defeat of the French; an arter they were licked, the first settlers that went up thar called the place, in honor of their benefacture, ‘Petticoat Jack;’ an it’s bore that name ever sence.  An people that think it’s French, or Injine, or Greek, or Hebrew, or any other outlandish tongue, don’t know what they’re talkin about.  Now, I know, an I assure you what I’ve ben a sayin’s the gospel terewth, for I had it of an old seafarin man that’s sailed this bay for more’n forty year, an if he ain’t good authority, then I’d like to know who is—­that’s all.”

At this explanation of the etymology of the disputed term, the boys were silent, and exchanged glances of admiration.

It was some minutes after eight when they left their anchorage, and began to drift once more.  There was no moon, and the night would have been dark in any case, but now the fog rendered all things still more obscure.  It had also grown much thicker than it had been.  At first it was composed of light vapors, which surrounded them on all sides, it is true, but yet did not have that dampness which might have been expected.  It was a light, dry fog, and for two or three hours the deck, and rigging, and the clothes of those on board remained quite dry.  But now, as the darkness increased, the fog became denser, and was more surcharged with heavy vapors.  Soon the deck looked as though it had received a shower of rain, and the clothes of those on board began to be penetrated with the chill damp.

“It’s very dark, captain,” said Bruce, at last, as the boys stood near the stern.