CHAPTER XVIII
THE RACING PIGS OF FUNDY
The next land the Ocean Flyer would pass over was the fifteen mile wide peninsula of Nova Scotia lying between the north arm of the Bay of Fundy and the Straits of Northumberland. The town of Amherst at the head of the Bay of Fundy was the next objective point. By the Route Chart it should be reached a little after six o’clock. The course between Ipswich and Amherst lay across the Gulf of Maine.
Islands and light houses, with glimpses now and then of the mainland, made the work of the pilot easy. Yet, Roy persisted in his work, and the routine of the time record and the checking and confirming of known landmarks was not relaxed. In this manner the Isle of Shoals, Montigan, Matinicus, Mt. Desert, Great Duck, Petite Manan, Moosabec, Libby, Machias Seal Islands and Cutter’s Harbor were passed, the latter sighted at twenty-eight minutes after five o’clock—the weather so far clear and fair and the barometer steady.
Not one of these islands was directly in the airship’s course, all of them showing either abeam to port or starboard and frequently only to be located in the distance by their lighthouse towers or their high, rocky bluffs. Cutter’s Harbor was an important point, for from it the sharp-eyed Alan got his first glimpse of the Grand Manan, the big rock pile thirteen miles long that guards the entrance to the Bay of Fundy. A few miles east of Cutter’s Harbor the pilot picked up the southwest light of Big Manan. Then the West McQuoddy Light appeared four and a half miles abeam to the south. When Long Eddy Foghorn was made out on the white cliffs at the north end of Manan, the Bay of Fundy lay dead ahead.
“I was afraid of this,” shouted Alan after he and Roy had made their reports and checked them. “We’re runnin’ into the ‘fog factory’ and it looks like a change.”
“It’s been gettin’ cooler for the last half hour,” answered Roy. Both now noticed that the glare had gone out of the sun and that the clouds had lost their fleeciness.
“I hope, if it’s fog,” went on Alan, “that it’ll hold off till we pass Amherst. If we could have clear weather to Fogo Island it would be better. Towns, islands, lights and rivers are beautiful checks on our compass course. We get to Fogo at seven thirty-two and it’ll be daylight yet.”
For some time Roy was silent. He was consulting the estimated time of reaching various points and figuring. Finally he arose and braced himself at Alan’s side, an alarmed look on his face.
“The engineer’s table estimates we’ll reach Fogo Island at seven thirty-two o’clock traveling at three miles a minute,” he said, consulting his notes again.