His resolution was carried out.  His intense eagerness to reach some shore, no matter where, and his fear of again losing what he had gained, kept sleep from his eyes.  All that night he watched his boat.  The wind blew fitfully, sometimes carrying the boat on rapidly, again dying down.

So the next morning came.

It was Thursday.

It was Monday night when he had drifted out, and all that time he had been on the deep, lost in the fog.

And now, wearied, dejected, and utterly worn out, he looked around in despair, and wondered where this would end.  Fog was everywhere, as before, and, as before, not a thing could be seen.

Hours passed on; the wind had sprang up fresh, and the boat went on rapidly.

Suddenly Tom sprang upright, and uttered a loud cry.

There full before him he saw a giant cliff, towering far overhead, towards which the boat was sailing.  At its base the waves were dashing.  Over its brow trees were bending.  In the air far above he heard the hoarse cries of sea-gulls.

In his madness he let the boat drive straight on, and was close to it before he thought of his danger.  He could not avoid it now, however, for he did not know how to turn the boat.  On it went, and in a few moments struck the beach at the base of the cliff.

The tide was high; the breeze was moderate, and there was but little sun.  The boat was not injured by running ashore there.  Tom jumped out, and, taking the rope in his hands, walked along the rough and stony beach for about a hundred yards, pulling the boat after him.  There the cliff was succeeded by a steep slope, beyond which was a gentle, grass-grown declivity.  Towards this he bent his now feeble steps, still tugging at the boat, and drawing it after him.

At length he reached the grassy slope, and found here a rough beach.  He fastened the boat securely to the trunk of a tree that grew near.

Then he lifted out the box of biscuit, and over this he threw the sail.

He stood for a few moments on the bank, and looked all around for signs of some human habitation; but no signs appeared.  Tom was too exhausted to go in search of one.  He had not slept for more than thirty hours.  The country that he saw was cleared.  Hills were at a little distance, but the fog which hung all around concealed everything from view.  One look was enough.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, he fell upon his knees, and offered up a fervent prayer of thankfulness for his astonishing escape.

Then fatigue overpowered him, and, rolling himself up in the sail, he went to sleep.

VIII.

Off in Search.—­Eager Outlook.—­Nothing but Fog.—­Speaking a Schooner.—­Pleasant Anecdotes.—­Cheer up.—­The Heart of Corbet.