The returning tide, and the fresh breeze that blew now, bore them onward rapidly, and they soon approached Cape d’Or.  They saw that it terminated in a rocky cliff, with rocky edges jutting forth, and that all the country adjoining was wild and rugged.  But the wind, having done this much for them, now began to seem tired of favoring them, and once more fell off.

“I don’t like this,” said Captain Corbet, looking around.

“What?”

“All this here,” said he, pointing to the shore.

It was about a mile away, and the schooner, borne along now by the tide, was slowly drifting on to an unpleasant proximity to the rocky shore.

“I guess we’ve got to anchor,” said Captain Corbet; “there’s no help for it.”

“To anchor?” said Bruce, in a tone of disappointment.

“Yes, anchor; we’ve got to do it,” repeated the captain, in a decided tone.  The boys saw that there was no help for it, for the vessel was every moment drawing in closer to the rocks; and though it would not have been very dangerous for her to run ashore in that calm water, yet it would not have been pleasant.  So they suppressed their disappointment, and in a few minutes the anchor was down, and the schooner’s progress was stopped.

“Thar’s one secret,” said the captain, “of navigatin in these here waters, an that is, to use your anchor.  My last anchor I used for nigh on thirty year, till it got cracked.  I mayn’t be much on land, but put me anywhars on old Fundy, an I’m to hum.  I know every current on these here waters, an can foller my nose through the thickest fog that they ever ground out at old Manan.”

“What’s that?” asked Bart.  “What did you say about grinding out fog?”

“O, nothin, ony thar’s an island down the bay, you know, called Grand Manan, an seafarin men say that they’ve got a fog mill down thar, whar they grind out all the fog for the Bay of Fundy.  I can’t say as ever I’ve seen that thar mill, but I’ve allus found the fog so mighty thick down thar that I think thar’s a good deal in the story.”

“I suppose we’ll lose this tide,” said Phil.

“Yes, I’m afeard so,” said the captain, looking around over the water.  “This here wind ain’t much, any way; you never can reckon on winds in this bay.  I don’t care much about them.  I’d a most just as soon go about the bay without sails as with them.  What I brag on is the tides, an a jodgmatical use of the anchor.”

“You’re not in earnest?”

“Course I am.”

“Could you get to St. John from Grand Pre without sails?”

“Course I could.”

“I don’t see how you could manage to do it.”

“Do it?  Easy enough,” said the captain.  “You see I’d leave with the ebb tide, and get out into the bay.  Then I’d anchor an wait till the next ebb, an so on.  Bless your hearts, I’ve often done it.”

“But you couldn’t get across the bay by drifting.”