To this, of course, the boys had nothing to say.  So, after a half hour’s further sail, the anchor was dropped, and the Antelope stopped her wanderings for a time.

Tedious as the day had been, it was now worse.  The fog was as thick as ever, the scene was monotonous, and there was nothing to do.  Even Solomon’s repasts had, in a great measure, lost their attractions.  He had spread a dinner for them, which at other times, and under happier circumstances, would have been greeted with uproarious enthusiasm; but at the present time it was viewed with comparative indifference.  It was the fog that threw this gloom over them.  Had the sky been clear, and the sun shining, they would have viewed the situation with comparative equanimity; but the fog threw terror all its own around Tom’s position; and by shutting them in on every side, it forced them to think of him who was imprisoned in the same way—­their lost companion, who now was drifting in the dark.  Besides, as long as they were in motion, they had the consciousness that they were doing something, and that of itself was a comfort; but now, even that consolation was taken away from them, and in their forced inaction they fell back again into the same despondency which they had felt at Petitcodiac.

“It’s all this fog, I do believe,” said Captain Corbet.  “If it want for this you’d all cheer up, an be as merry as crickets.”

“Is there any prospect of its going away?”

“Wal, not jest yet.  You can’t reckon on it.  When it chooses to go away, it does so.  It may hang on for weeks, an p’aps months.  Thar’s no tellin.  I don’t mind it, bein as I’ve passed my hull life in the middle of fog banks; but I dare say it’s a leetle tryin to youns.”

The repast that Solomon spread for them on that evening was scarce tasted, and to all his coaxings and remonstrances the boys made no reply.  After the tea was over, they went on deck, and stared silently into the surrounding gloom.  The sight gave them no relief, and gave no hope.  In that dense fog twilight came on soon, and with the twilight came the shadows of the night more rapidly.  At last it grew quite dark, and finally there arose all around them the very blackness of darkness.

“The best thing to do,” said Captain Corbet, “is to go to sleep.  In all kinds of darkness, whether intunnel or extunnel, I’ve allus found the best plan to be to sleep it off.  An I’ve knowed great men who war of my opinion.  Sleep, then, young sirs, while yet you may, while yer young blood is warm, an life is fresh an fair, an don’t put it off to old age, like me, for you mayn’t be able to do it.  Look at me!  How much d’ye think I’ve slep sence I left Mud Creek?  Precious little.  I don’t know how it is, but bein alone with you, an havin the respons’bility of you all, I kine o’ don’t feel altogether able to sleep as I used to do; an sence our late loss—­I—­wal, I feel as though I’d never sleep agin.