“Not a sweep, as I’m a livin’ Corbet.”
It was too true. There was no wind, and they were drifting at the mercy of the tide. The vessel went every way, heading in no direction. They had no anchor, and they could not sail into the shore. They were completely helpless. By this time they had all hoped to be near their destination; but it seemed, from appearances, that they were farther away than ever.
What brought their situation home most forcibly to all, was the solemn fact that their provision was now limited to Indian meal and molasses, with a little salt pork. If Solomon had only been on board, it would not have been so bad, for the genius of the venerable cook would have evolved even out of such unpromising materials as these a wonderful variety of palatable dishes. But Solomon was far away, and the cooking was intrusted to the clumsy hands of the mate. His attempts were so deplorable that the boys were permitted to make experiments of their own in the lofty art of cookery. The consequence was, that they spent the whole morning in the cabin, and used up most of the molasses in making candy, which, though very badly burned, was still more agreeable than the burned paste of Indian meal which the mate laid before them as a breakfast.
The hours of the morning passed, and neither anger, nor impatience, nor hunger could have any effect upon the relentless tides. The schooner calmly and placidly went drifting on, past Blomidon, past Cape Split; and they would assuredly have drifted out into the Bay of Fundy, had they not, very fortunately, encountered a side current, which bore them into a bay by Spencer’s Island. There they remained embayed till the turn of tide, and then they were borne out again, and up the channel, on the way back into the Basin of Minas.
They were so near the shore that Mr. Long deliberated seriously about landing, going on foot to Parrsboro’ village, and trying to get a row-boat to take them to Cornwallis, or taking the steamer to Windsor, or doing something else equally desperate. But Captain Corbet assured him that the steamer would not come for two days, and that he would be utterly unable to get any men to row him so far. So he was compelled to stay by the schooner.
Captain Corbet bore all this with admirable equanimity, looking with a mild concern at the impatience of Mr. Long, and regarding the boys with the indulgent smile of a superior being. Leaving the tiller to take care of itself, he mingled with them, and conversed freely with all. They drifted far up into the Basin of Minas, and looked forward to nothing better than a return to Blomidon and Cape Split, with, perhaps, an excursion in the Bay of Fundy.
So the day passed, and night came. On the following morning they found themselves still in the Basin of Minas, not far from the Five Islands, and drifting toward Blomidon.
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “I’ve been a-thinkin’ that this here is just like the Flyin’ Dutchman. You’ve heerd tell of him; course. They say he’s a-sailin’ an’ a-beatin’ round the Cape of Good Hope, but can’t never get round, nohow. That’s jest the pecooliarity of our position. Here we are, almost in sight of home, you may say, an’ still we have to go a-driftin’ an’ a-driftin’, an’ I shouldn’t wonder if we’ll get out into the Bay of Fundy to-day. If that happens, it wouldn’t be a wonder if we were blown off to Bosting.”
“Captain,” said Mr. Long, “I can’t stand this. I must get ashore. If we get near to Blomidon again, I’ll take Bruce Rawdon, and go ashore in the boat. I must go, for it’s a matter of the highest importance. Of course, it’s different with you. You wouldn’t care if you drifted here till doomsday.”
At this Captain Corbet thrust both hands deep into his trousers’ pockets, and regarded Mr. Long with a fixed gaze.