he had
counted upon meeting a tempestuous sea; but, as the hours passed, he
saw that thus far there had been nothing of the kind, and, if he were
destined to be exposed to such a danger, it lay as yet in the future.
As long as the wind continued moderate, so long would he toss over the
little waves without being endangered in any way. And thus, with all
these thoughts, sometimes depressing, at other times rather
encouraging, he drifted on.

Hours passed away.

At length his fatigue overpowered him more and more, and as he sat
there in the stern, his eyes closed, and his head fell heavily forward.
He laid it upon the sail which was in front of him, so as to get an
easier position, and was just closing his eyes again, when a sound came
to his ears which in an instant drove every thought of sleep and of
fatigue away, and made him start up and listen with intense eagerness.

It was the sound of a fog horn, such as is used by coasting vessels,
and blown during a fog, at intervals, to give warning of their
presence. The sound was a familiar one to a boy who had been brought
up on the fog-encircled and fish-haunted shores of Newfoundland; and
Tom's hearing, which had been almost hushed in slumber, caught it at
once. It was like the voice of a friend calling to him. But for a
moment he thought it was only a fancy, or a dream, and he sat listening
and quivering with excitement. He waited and listened for some time,
and was just about to conclude that it was a dream, when suddenly it
came again. There was no mistake this time. It was a fog horn. Some
schooner was sailing these waters. O for day-light, and O for clear
weather, so that he might see it, and make himself seen! The sound,
though clear, was faint, and the schooner was evidently at a
considerable distance; but Tom, in his eagerness, did not think of
that. He shouted with all his strength. He waited for an answer, and
then shouted again. Once more he waited, and listened, and then again
and again his screams went forth over the water. But still no response
came. At last, after some interval, the fog horn again sounded. Again
Tom screamed, and yelled, and uttered every sound that could possibly
convey to human ears an idea of his presence, and of his distress.

The sounds of the fog horn, however, did not correspond with his cries.
It was blown at regular intervals, which seemed painfully long to Tom,
and did not seem to sound as if in answer to him. A