It was about the only thing they could do, and it helped them keep up their spirits, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were "afloat." That high tide had easily lifted the Rip Van Winkle's nose out of the mud, and it was now steadily bearing her along, up the bay. The fog was too thick to guess in what direction they were going, and the old schooner swung around a good deal, but the water was pretty smooth, for the breeze was a light one, and they could not see any danger.
"Barbie," whimpered Ben, "if we hadn't wound her up, she wouldn't have gone. Do you s'pose she'd stop if we unwound her?"
"Don't be afraid, Ben. Old Kisedek'll come for us."
He was coming at that very moment, only he had not the slightest idea where to go, and he was the most puzzled old black man within a hundred miles of that bay. He had caught his flounders with uncommonly good success, and then he had pulled back across the fog-covered water, to the spot where he expected to find his young passengers.
"Right about yeah. It's de berry spot. Yes, dah's de float wot I tied to when I ketched dem big black-fish. But whar's de Wip Van Rinkle?"
It was an awful question for Kisedek Pound, and the perspiration came out upon his black face in great beads.
"No, sah. I jes' don't want to hab no conversation 'bout it wid Missis Kyle. Wot she'll say I doesn't keer to know."
He pulled around and over the vacant piece of water where the vanished wreck had been, and then a sudden thought struck him.
"Dem chil'en dey jes' couldn't hab took her off agin de tide. I'll find 'em."
He took to his oars desperately, and the tide helped him. At that rate he could have soon explored the whole bay.