But what did it mean?
What was the meaning of the surf breaking thus upon the inner side of the North Mountain, far inland, on the plains of Cornwallis?
Were the dikes broken down? Was this some flood pouring in over the country to overwhelm them? Was the raging sea now rolling, in undisturbed possession of its ancient bed, over all the green valleys of this lately smiling plain? Was there the terrific visitation of a deluge here in this peaceful country? and were all the people now flying from the horrors of an inundation?
What did it mean?
Up to this moment there had not been a doubt in the minds of any of them that they were near Atkins’s, somewhere in Cornwallis, on the Hall’s Harbor road. The doctor’s quiet positiveness, the perfect certainty with which he had spoken, and the minute acquaintance which he seemed to have with every part of their past and present journey, all conspired to impress upon the minds of the boys the very idea of their possible locality which was in his own mind; and thus it happened that it was while they fully believed themselves entering upon a wide plain that they suddenly heard the thunder of the surf upon the shore.
The doctor heard this as plainly as any of them, of course, and all the thoughts which came to them came to him also none the less vividly. But he said not a single word.. He stood mute, and waited for a few moments longer, as though doubting the evidence of his senses.
Once more the sound arose. The waters gathered themselves together, they rolled forward, they heaped themselves upward, they foamed, and then they broke upon the shore. Thus, wave after wave, the surf came on, and spoke of the presence of the sea!
It was enough.
“I don’t know where in the world we have got to,” ejaculated the doctor, at last.
“It can’t be Cornwallis,” said Bruce.