“Just as soon as the fog lifts, I will go myself,” said Mr. Hallock, assuring his wife that until such time it would be unsafe for anyone to attempt it. To find one’s way across the wide stretch of sands, crossed a number of times by streams running from the salt meadows to the sea, would be wellnigh impossible.
It was low water on that night at midnight. An hour before that time, Harry Cornwall went to Mrs. Dobson’s door and told her that he was going to try to reach the island.
In vain were all of Mrs. Dobson’s efforts to intimidate him: the darkness had no power to do it; the fog was something the experience of which he could not imagine; and, as for the possible quicksands into which he might wander, he was willing to take the chances, only too happy in the thought that by striding through danger he might be able to relieve the anxiety at the Point.
With a lantern in his hand and matches to light it, if necessary; with a board under his arm, as defense against a possible descent into the mud, he set forth, followed by Mrs. Dobson’s fears, and—in the distance—by Mrs. Dobson herself and Josh.
The Lane was narrow, or the way would soon have been a damp mystery to everybody concerned.
Harry went hurriedly, wishing to get to the bar before it should be low water; and he had reached the shore and plunged along fearlessly over quite a stretch of the tide-left sands before Mrs. Dobson was a hundred yards down the Lane. He was quite certain that he had followed the bank in about a straight line for the bar, and was going on famously when he found himself in a few inches of water.
“The creek!” he said to himself, delightedly. “I’m a third of the distance already to the bar; and when I get upon that, it will be as easy as the Lane, for I shall be fenced in with the sea.” With this assurance he went boldly into the creek, finding the water somewhat higher than the stage of the tide would lead one to expect. Harry had dug clams along the border of this creek many times and felt quite familiar with it, even in a fog—only it did seem wider than usual, as well as deeper; in fact, he soon felt persuaded that he was going either up the creek or down it, instead of across; but this creek seemed as wide as it was long, and on which side lay the land it was impossible to tell.
“I’ll try every direction,” he thought, “by turns,” and he went all around the compass; but whichever way he seemed to turn, he always found himself in deeper water. He tried to light the lantern, but the matches in his pocket were already wet.
Harry was compelled to admit that he had lost his way. The situation was anything but pleasant and very far from being a safe one, unless release should come before the turn of tide. He stood still awhile and listened. Reader, were you ever lost in a fog? If not, you cannot have the slightest conception of Harry’s feeling as he stood there. If he could wait until the next train passed, up or down, its signal whistles might guide him, but then the tide would have been two hours rising.
All this time the board had been tightly clasped under Harry’s arm. “How glad I am,” he suddenly exclaimed. “At least this board will float down with the tide and I shall know which way the land lies.” He laid it on the water, intending only to let it slip for an instant from his hand, when lo! it vanished into the mist and the darkness. Harry tried his utmost to vanish in the opposite direction, but it was all of no use. He wandered about with care, only to find that the water was gaining on him with every renewed effort. Truly, Harry Cornwall was in worse plight than Frank Hallock when midnight came to the two lads.