The boys waited on deck for some time longer, and finally followed his advice, and sought refuge below. They were young and strong, and the fatigue which they felt brought on drowsiness, which, in spite of their anxiety, soon deepened into sleep. All slept, and at length Captain Corbet only was awake. It was true enough, as he had said, the fate of the lost boy rested upon him, and he felt it. His exhortations to the boys about keeping up their courage, and his stories about lost men who had drifted to a final rescue, were all spoken more with reference to himself than to them. He sought to keep up his own courage by these words. Yet, in spite of his efforts, a profound depression came over him, and well nigh subdued him. No one knew better than he the many perils which beset the drifting boat in these dangerous waters—the perils of storm, the perils of fog, the perils of thick darkness, the perils of furious tides, the perils of sunken rocks, of shoals, and of iron-bound coasts. The boys had gone to sleep, but there was no sleep for him. He wandered restlessly about, and heavy sighs escaped him. Thus the time passed with him until near midnight. Then he roused the mate, and they raised the anchor and hoisted the sails. It was now the turn of tide, and the waters were falling again, and the current once more ran down the bay. To this current he trusted the vessel again, beating, as before, against the head wind, which was still blowing; and thus the Antelope worked her way onward through all that dark and dismal night, until at last the faint streaks of light in the east proclaimed the dawn of another day.
Through all that night the boys slept soundly. The wind blew, the waves dashed, but they did not awake. The anchor was hoisted, and the sails were set, but the noise failed to rouse them. Weariness of body and anxiety of mind both conspired to make their sleep profound. Yet in that profound sleep the anxiety of their minds made itself manifest; and in their dreams their thoughts turned to their lost companion. They saw him drifting over the stormy waters, enveloped in midnight darkness, chilled through with the damp night air, pierced to the bone by the cold night wind; drifting on amid a thousand dangers, now swept on by furious tides towards rocky shores, and again drawn back by refluent currents over vast sunken sea-ledges, white with foam. Thus through all the night they slept, and as they slept the Antelope dashed on through the waters, whose foaming waves, as they tumbled against her sides and over her bows, sent forth sounds that mingled with their dreams, and became intermingled with poor Tom's mournful cries.
IX.
Awake once more.—Where are we?—The giant cliff.—Out to Sea.—Anchoring and Drifting.—The Harbor.—The Search.—No Answer.—Where's Solomon?
Scarce had the streaks of light greeted Captain Corbet's eyes, and given him the grateful prospect of another day, when the boys awaked and hurried up on deck. Their first act was to take a hurried look all around. The same gloomy and dismal prospect appeared—black water and thick, impenetrable fog.
"Where are we now, Captain?" asked Bruce.
"Wal, a con-siderable distance down the bay."
"What are you going to do?"
"Wal—I've about made up my mind whar to go."