when there was a shout from the fog of Ahoy. We saw a man in yellow oil
skins rowing towards us. Jumping on board, he asked 'What is keeping
you here?' 'You tell us,' replied the captain, who was overjoyed to see
him. The fisherman said we had been drifted by the current towards
Newfoundland, and had the ship not grounded she would in a few hours,
have been dashed against the cliffs that line the shore and every soul
been lost. It was the most wonderful escape he had ever known.

'How are we to get off?' asked the captain. 'You will float off when the
tide makes.' 'And then what will we do if there is no wind?' 'You will
go on the cliffs, but there will be a capful of wind at ebb tide.' The
captain had sent for his chart, and the fisherman pointed out where the
brig stood. He said if a breeze did not come in time for her to make a
slant southwards we were to take to the boats and row to the cove which
he covered with his thumb. 'If you can get your anchor over the side, it
may help you,' he added.

He and his comrades were out catching bait. He heard our horn and then
saw our lump of a brig loom through the fog. We were sorry to see him
leave and row off to his schooner, of which he had the bearings. To
hoist the anchor from where it had been stowed when we lost sight of
Tory island and bitt it to the chain was tedious work but it was begun.
We waited hopefully for the tide and, sure enough, it lifted us gently.
On feeling we were afloat once more we gave a cheer. Soon after a faint
breath of air was felt, the ship got steerage way, and we slowly hauled
off the dreaded coast. The breeze cleared the fog and in the rays of
the setting sun we saw the cliffs against which we might have been
shivered and the fishing-boats to which our friend belonged.

On gathering in the hold our talk was of our escape. The master said it