“Let’s have breakfast right off, Breeze, and then start for Nova Scotia. I’ve been thinking the situation over, and though I believe we are somewhat farther away from Nova Scotia than we are from Newfoundland, we’ll stand a better chance of falling in with some sort of a vessel by steering west than if we headed to the north. So what do you say to laying a course due west, and sticking to it, taking turns at the oars all day?”
“I don’t care much which way we go,” answered Breeze; “but I think it will be much better for us to row than to lie still, because it will at any rate occupy our time and keep us warm.”
“All right, then, west it is; and I wish the cook would hurry up breakfast so that we could make a start. I’m not only awfully hungry, but I’m in a great hurry to get to Nova Scotia.”
The cheerfulness and flow of spirits by which this Irish lad managed to sustain both his own and his dorymate’s courage were wonderful. They never flagged, and from the first to the last of that memorable voyage his constant effort was to make the best of everything, and turn every trifling circumstance to account for the purpose of provoking a smile or inspiring fresh hope.
The two biscuit which, washed down with a swallow of water from the little keg, formed their breakfast, were quickly eaten. Then the drag to which they had been lying was taken aboard, and seizing a pair of oars, Wolfe, who had insisted upon keeping first watch, as he called it, began pulling vigorously in the direction indicated by Breeze. The latter made himself as comfortable as possible in the stern of the dory, with his gaze fixed upon the small compass that he held in his hand.
In addition to his own inclination to look upon the bright side of things, Breeze was happily influenced by his companion’s cheerful view of their situation, and now he said, “So long as we have lost the Vixen and found a compass, what a comfort the fog is!”
“Is it!” asked Wolfe, in surprise. “Well, I must confess I had not quite taken that view of it. How do you make it out?”
“Because it keeps us all the time hoping for something to turn up. It would be awfully discouraging to be able to see for miles, with nothing but water to look at. Now we may come upon some vessel at any minute.”
“That’s so. The skipper was telling the other night of some fellows who were out four days in a fog without food or water, and who had just given up in despair, when their dory was nearly capsized by drifting afoul of the cable of an anchored schooner.”
“I remember a story my father used to tell,” said Breeze, “about two men who were lost in a fog on this very Bank. They had been out only about an hour when the fog lifted, and they saw the flare their mates were burning for them. They rowed for it as hard as they could pull, but the schooner was under way, and kept just about the same distance ahead of them all night. The next day they could still see her, with her flag at half-mast for them; but they couldn’t get near enough for those on board to see them. After they lost sight of her they were out two days longer, both of them bright and clear. During that time they sighted and chased five more vessels. Then the fog shut down again, and an hour afterwards they were nearly run down by the schooner that picked them up. Now, if they’d been in the fog all the time they would have taken things a great deal more easy, and probably got picked up just as quick.”