Time passed on, and they still drifted, and at length ten o’clock came; but before that time the boys had gone below, and retired for the night.  Shortly after, the rattle of the chains waked them all, and informed them that the Antelope had anchored once more.

After this they all fell asleep.

IV.

In Clouds and Darkness.—­A terrible Warning.—­Nearly run down.—­A lively Place.—­Bart encounters an old Acquaintance.—­Launched into the Deep.—­Through the Country.—­The Swift Tide.—­The lost Boy.

The boys had not been asleep for more than two hours, when they were awakened by an uproar on deck, and rousing themselves from sleep, they heard the rattle of the chains and the crank of the windlass.  As their night attire was singularly simple, and consisted largely of the dress which they wore by day, being the same, in fact, with the exception of the hat, it was not long before they were up on deck, and making inquiries as to the unusual noise.  That the anchor was being hoisted they already knew, but why it was they did not.

“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “thar’s a good sou-wester started up, an as I had a few winks o’ sleep, I jest thought I’d try to push on up the bay, an get as far as I could.  If I’d ben in any other place than this, I wouldn’t hev minded, but I’d hev taken my snooze out; but I’m too near Quaco Ledge by a good sight, an would rayther get further off.  The sou-wester’ll take us up a considerable distance, an if it holds on till arter the tide turns, I ask no more.”

Soon the anchor was up, and the Antelope spread her sails, and catching the sou-wester, dashed through the water like a thing of life.

“We’re going along at a great rate, captain,” said Bart.

“Beggin your pardon, young sir, we’re not doin much.  The tide here runs four knots agin us—­dead, an the wind can’t take us more’n six, which leaves a balance to our favor of two knots an hour, an that is our present rate of progression.  You see, at that rate we won’t gain more’n four or five miles before the turn o’ tide.  After that, we’ll go faster without any wind than we do now with a wind.  O, there’s nothin like navigatin the Bay o’ Fundy to make a man feel contempt for the wind.  Give me tides an anchors, I say, an I’ll push along.”

The wind was blowing fresh, and the sea was rising, yet the fog seemed thicker than ever.  The boys thought that the wind might blow the fog away, and hinted this to the captain.

His only response was a long and emphatic whistle.

“Whe-e-e-ew! what!  Blow the fog away?  This wind?  Why, this wind brings the fog.  The sou-wester is the one wind that seafarin men dread in the Bay of Fundy.  About the wust kine of a storm is that thar very identical wind blowin in these here very identical waters.”