The way that anchor was walked up was a wonder. In an incredibly short space of time the schooner was dashing through the water, swept on by wind and tide.
“Which way does this current take us?” asked Mr. Long.
“Well, right round the island, and down to Biomidon, and then out into the Bay of Fundy.”
“I can’t see the island.”
“No; the fog’s too thick; but it’s right off there,” said Captain Corbet, waving his left hand.
“I suppose the poor lads couldn’t work ashore.”
“Not with, their bare hands. Their oar’s gone—that’s the mischief of it.”
Mr. Long looked gloomily around.
“The only thing, then, is for us to follow on where they may be drifting.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head, sir. There’s nothin’ else for us—not a hooter.”