A strange Sleeping-place.—The Tent.—The View astern.—Rolling Waters in Pursuit.—Morning.—Astonishing Discovery.—The solid Land moving towards the anchored Ship.—How to account for it.—What Land is this?—Various Theories.—Every one has a different Opinion.—Solomon driven from the Cabin.—Drawing nearer.—An iron-bound Coast.

THEIR sleep that night was somewhat disturbed, for the novelty of their position prevented them from having that placidity of mind which is the best promoter of slumber. At times through the night they awaked, and were sensible of the rush of waters about the ship’s quarter, and also of a greater motion of the vessel, accompanied by all manner of creakings and groan-ings. The tarpaulins hung over them, having been secured in such a fashion as to form an excellent tent, opening towards the stern, and closed at the other end by the mizzen-mast and the barrels of biscuit and other things around it. Through the opening astern they could see at times, as the ship sunk, the phosphorescent gleam of foaming billows rolling around them as if about to break over them. Most of these did dash themselves against the ship, but none fell upon the quarterdeck; all that the boys felt was the fine spray which floated under their resting-place, and saturated everything.

None of them, however, attempted to rise and go forth until daybreak. There was no cause for doing so; their sleeping-place was the most comfortable now left in the ship, and the scene without had no attraction strong enough to draw them away. Day dawned, and still there was some hesitation about getting up.

This day was the fifth since the departure of the Antelope. Their situation was now quite serious; but they had not yet seen any signs of Captain Corbet. They looked forward towards seeing him on this day, but the disappointment of the two previous days made them despondent, and each one dreaded to look out, for fear that his forebodings might be confirmed. This was the waking thought of each, and each one also perceived that this day was worse than any they had known yet. If the Antelope still kept away, they scarcely knew what to hope for.

At length they went forth, and looked around. All over the sea the waves were larger, and rougher, and fiercer. The motion of the ship was greater than ever. It seemed as though the billows, that raced and chased about in all directions, were hurrying to overwhelm her. The deck below was all covered with white foam, and at times the bows plunged so far under water, and remained there so long, and were overwhelmed by such floods of rolling billows, that it seemed as though the ship would never again emerge. The quarterdeck was now more than ever like an island; but every moment lessened its security, and brought it more and more within reach of the ravenous waves that surged around on all sides. Such was the sight that met their view, as they took their first look around.

But for all this they had been prepared during the long night, by all that they had felt, and heard, and seen; and therefore this did not affect them so much. It was the long, eager look which they turned towards the distant sea, the sharp, scrutinizing gaze with which they swept the horizon, that brought the deepest trouble; for there, over the wide surface of the waters, not a single sail was visible; and the fifth day, while it brought fresh calamities, brought no Antelope, and no hope of relief.

Suddenly Pat gave a loud shout.

“What’s that?” he cried; “what in the wide wurruld is it that I see over there? Sure it’s draimin I must be.”

All the boys looked in the direction where Pat was pointing.

“It’s land!” cried Bruce, in tones of amazement. .

“Land!”

“Land!”

“Land!” burst from the other boys, who, with inexpressible wonder, looked at the unaccountable sight, and scarcely were able to believe what they saw.

Yet it was land—most unmistakably. There it rose, a long, blue line, apparently about fifteen miles away. It was a rugged shore, and extended along the horizon for some distance. For such a sight as this they had not been in the slightest degree prepared; in fact, they would have expected anything sooner; for how could the land move itself up to their fast-anchored ship? Yet there was the fact, and before that fact they were simply confounded.

“I don’t understand it at all,” said Bruce. “If it had been foggy during the last few days, or even hazy, I could then understand it; but it’s been particularly bright and clear all the time.”

“I wonder if it can be something like mirage,” said Arthur.

“No,” said Bart. “The mirage never appears, except when the sea is perfectly still.”

“My opinion is,” said Arthur, “that the ship’s been dragging her anchor, and has been drifting all these five days; or, at any rate, ever since the wind rose.”

“Perhaps she has broken loose,” said Tom. “The chain may have had a weak link. I remember the anchor went down with a tremendous jerk.”

“For my part,” said Phil, “I’m half inclined to believe that the anchor never got to the bottom. I don’t know how deep the water is in the middle of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, but I remember thinking at the time that it was a very short chain to reach to the bottom of the sea. I remember wondering that the gulf was so shallow, but I thought that Captain Corbet knew what he was about; but now, the more I think of it, the more sure I feel that Captain Corbet did not know what he was about, but dropped anchor, and let things slide, after his usual careless fashion. He confessed, over and over, that he knew nothing at all about these waters; and he never once took the trouble to sound, or to try and hunt up a chart. No; he has dropped anchor, and the anchor has never begun to get near the bottom. The consequence is, we’ve been drifting along ever since he left us, and are now ever so many miles away from the place where the anchor was dropped. And, what’s worse, I dare say the Antelope was back there two days ago; but we were gone, and so, of course, Captain Corbet’s lost us, and has no more idea where to look for us than a child.”

Phil’s theory was so plausible, that it was at once accepted by all the boys. It seemed the most natural way of accounting for everything,—for the absence of the Antelope, and the appearance of this strange shore. For a time a deep gloom fell over all, and they stood in silence, staring at the land.

Out of this gloom Tom was the first to rouse himself.

“I tell you what it is, boys,” said he, at length, “I don’t know that it’s so bad a thing after all. The more I think of it, the better it seems. I’d ten times sooner be near some land, as we are now, than be far away out in the midst of the sea, with nothing to be seen, day after day, but sky and water. It seems to me that we must be drawing nearer to the land, and before evening we may be close enough to see what sort of a country it is. If the worst comes to the worst, we can launch the boat, and go ashore. It’s a little rough, but, after all, not too rough for the boat. I’ve been out in an open boat when the water was quite as rough as this. It seems rough to us, because the ship is water-logged, and is drifting every way—end on, side on, and so forth.”

“I wonder what land it is,” said Phil.

“If we only knew how the wind has been, we might guess how we have been drifting,” said Bruce; “but the wind has changed once or twice, and I’ve never kept any account of it.”

“Sometimes,” said Bart, “it has been blowing from the bows, and sometimes from the quarter.”

“O, of course, and every other way,” said Arthur; “for the simple reason that the ship must have been turning about, first one way and then the other, as she drifted.”

“I’ve got a strong idea,” said Phil, “that this land is Newfoundland.”

“O, no,” said Tom; “my impression is, that it’s Prince Edward’s Island. For this to be Newfoundland, the wind should have been from the south or the south-west; but it seems to me that it has been generally from a northerly direction.”

“I don’t think anything of the kind,” said Bart; “I think it’s been from a westerly direction, and that this is some part of Nova Scotia or Cape Breton.”

“Sure, an I agree with Tom,” said Pat, “about the wind, only I don’t think that this is Prince Edward’s Island; it’s too high—so it is—and it’s meself that wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it should turrun out to be the Magdalen Islands after all.”

“O, no,” said Bruce, “it’s too long in extent for the Magdalen Islands. I think it may be some part of the New Brunswick coast, perhaps Miramichi,—for it seems to me that the wind has generally come from the east.”

“So it seems to me,” said Arthur; “but, Bruce, an east wind couldn’t take us to Miramich............