The Denizens of Bailey’s Den—Morning.—A Sail upon the Surface of the Sea.—The Spyglass.—Exciting Discovery to the lost Ones.—The strange Schooner.—Exchange of Signals.—The Excitement increases.—The Schooner draws nearer.—New Signals.—They take to the Boat.—Out to Sea.—Rough Water.—Another Sail.—A strange Suspicion.—Old Friends.—Pleasant Greetings.—Mrs. Corbet.—Obloquy heaped upon the Antelope and its venerable Commander.—Away to the Rescue.
BAILEY’S den was a particularly well sheltered recess in the rock, open to no wind, except a sou’-wester. The wind that blew while Bailey and his guests slumbered inside, came from the north-west, and therefore the sleepers knew nothing of it. Out in the sea, indeed, the waters felt its power, and the foaming waves on the following morning told them the story of the night; but during that night they knew nothing at all about it. Far down the side of the cliff, under the rocky precipice, out of the way of the wind, the occupants of Bailey’s den slumbered on the soft spruce brush and softer moss. All night long the fire burned outside, for Bailey had piled up the fuel generously, yet carefully, and had so arranged it, by making alternate layers of green wood and dry, that it would burn all night long, and yet send forth sufficient flame to be visible at sea.
Morning came, and the wind and sea had gone down. Upon rising, the denizens of Bailey’s den looked forth upon the water, and saw that it was very much the same as it had been on the preceding day. At this Arthur and Tom shook their heads, but Bailey was sanguine, and spoke encouragingly.
“The wind has hauled round a pint or two,” said he, “and I shouldn’t wonder if it was to come round a little more; and if so, it’ll be all right for us. A moderate north or north-east wind’ll be jest the cheese.”
They now replenished the fire, after which they sat down to their breakfast.
“So you got all this out of the Petrel,” said Bailey. “Well, only think! Why, what gormandizers them captains an mates in the cabin must be—feedin on potted meats! an only think what we eats before the mast! Hard tack, salt junk, an dish-water, that’s what we eats before the mast; but aft, my gentlemen won’t be satisfied with nothin less than Yorkshire game pie, and Oxford sassage—and, what’s this?—Bolony sassage, an all them other condyments what you’ve got done up in them there tin pots. Wall, they’re precious good eatin on a desert island, whatever they be in a ship’s cabin, only they seem most too good for the likes of me.”
“You?” said Arthur. “Why, you have a better right to them than we have; for we haven’t any right at all. And, as to the Petrel, if you can manage to save her, I hereby agree to deliver up and surrender to you. all my right, title, and interest in and to any part or portion of the so-called salvage.”
“And I too,” said Tom, chiming in with the utmost gravity; “and hereby make known by these presents, to all whom it may concern, and anything to the contrary hereof in any wise notwithstanding.”
Bailey was evidently much impressed by these legal formulas. He bowed very gravely.
“Your servant, young gents, and my ’umble dooty to both of you; but, at the same time, I don’t want any more’n fair an honest wages, and, if so be as you ain’t in the position to give it, why, well and good, says I; but, if so be as you can, why, I’ll take what’s fair, and right, and lawful, and no more—”
But at this point this interesting conversation was abruptly terminated by a loud cry from Tom. His eyes were fixed upon the sea, and were fascinated by something there.
“A sail! a sail!” he cried. “A sail! O, a sail! Look, look, look!”
Arthur and Bailey sprang to their feet, and looked in the direction where Tom was pointing. Tom seized the spy-glass, wrhich they had brought into the den, and examined more closely, while Arthur and Bailey watched the distant sea.
And there, on the distant sea, several miles away, a sail appeared, unmistakably. It was a schooner, and she was not more than five miles away.
“She’s heading away from us,” said Tom; “she’s going away, out to sea.”
“Don’t be too hasty,” said Bailey; “she may p’raps be only beatin up agin this here wrind. It’s a head wind for her.”
“I wish it may turn out so,” said Tom.
They now watched in silence for some time longer. The schooner held on her way steadily. At length she tacked, and, wearing round, headed towards the shore.
“I knowed it!” said Bailey, triumphantly. “She’s a coastin along, and is beatin up agin the wind. Just hand us that there glass for a minute, if you please, and let us git a squint at her.”
Tom handed the glass to Bailey, who took it, and looked at the schooner long and carefully.
At length he returned it to Tom. “It’s a fisher,” said he; “a Yankee fisher. I knows the cut of her jib; there’s no mistakin her. You don’t find any of yer Province fishermen git up such a turnout as that there. Why, she’s a cross between the best class of Liverpool pilot-boat and a nobleman’s yacht; and I don’t believe there’s a pilot-boat or a yacht afloat that can lick that there fisherman in a fair race.”
Arthur now took the glass, and looked at her long and earnestly.
“I say, Tom,” said he.
“What?”
“Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I dare say it’s the very thought that I had.”
“What? The Fawn?”
“The very thing.”
“Of course it’s all nonsense. I suppose all the Yankee fishermen, or, at any rate, a great many, are just like the Fawn; but, at any rate, wouldn’t it be fun if it should turn out to be her?”
“Well, it’s too much to hope for,” said Tom; “it’ll be fun enough for me if she only takes us off—if she only sees us. Hadn’t we better pile on more fuel, Bailey?”
“No; ’tain’t no use. The fire’s makin as much smoke as it can, an that’s the best thing by daytime. If that there vessel’s beatin up the coast, she’s bound to see us on the next tack, if she don’t see us now; and it’ll only take three more tacks to bring her right opposite—Hallo!”
An abrupt exclamation terminated Bailey’s remarks. He seized the glass without a word of apology, and took a hasty glance.
“They’re a histin an a lowerin of the flag! They’re a signalizing, as sure as I’m a born sinner! and to us! Hooray!”
This Bailey shouted, quite beside himself, and then dropping the spy-glass, at the imminent risk of its destruction, he seized a pole that lay near, and scattered the fire about in all directions.
325
“I’m a tryin to answer their signals,” said he. “They see us! They know that were a signalizin to them, and they’re a tellin us that they’ll be along! Hooray!”
The schooner now tacked, and stood out to sea.
“All right,” said Bailey; “the next tack’ll bring her nearer.”
This reassured the boys, who did not like even the appearance of desertion. They watched her now in silence, and at length had the gratification of seeing her taking her next tack, and standing in towards the shore. This time she was very much nearer. Bailey rushed off, and gathered a quantity of dry spruce twigs and moss. As the schooner neared the shore, her flag rose and fell rapidly, and the report of a rifle sounded over the waters. At this Bailey flung his moss and spruce twigs upon the fire, and a vast cloud of smoke shot up, intermingled with sparks and flame.
“We’re gradooly a comin to a understandin,” said Bailey, as he rubbed his hands in immense glee, and watched the schooner. “And I do believe that the next tack’ll bring her here. Boys, let’s get ready with the boat.”
Saying this, Bailey hurried down, followed by the boys. They hurried as fast as possible to the boat, and began to launch her. As she was uncommonly high and dry, this was a work of time; but it was at length accomplished, and the boat was afloat.
The wind was still off the land, to a certain extent, and the water had become far smoother. Besides, for a quarter of a mile or so from the land, it had never been much affected by the wind. They were too eager to wait, and so in a short time the sail was up, and Bailey, at the stern, headed the boat so as to meet the schooner on her return tack. As the wind caught the sail, the boat moved through the water, at first slowly, but gradually more swiftly. While the boat moved out, the schooner seemed to be sailing away, and leaving them behind; but this gave them no trouble, for they knew that before long she would wear round, and come to meet them. And so, with eager eyes, they watched her, and waited impatiently for the moment when she would turn.
Suddenly Arthur gave a cry, and pointed down the coast. There, as they looked, to their great amazement, they saw another sail, far away, emerging from the land, and standing out to sea.
“Wall—this—doos—beat—my—grandmother!” cried Bailey. “Or, in other words, boys, it never rains but it pours. We’ll have the whole fishing fleet yet.”
Arthur and Tom said nothing. Tom seized the glass, and looked for a few minutes. Then he handed it to Arthur in silence.
Arthur looked for some time most earnestly and most curiously.
“It’s queer!” said he.
“What?” said Tom.
“I don’t believe there’s another vessel in the world like that.”
“Do you think that?” said Tom. “It’s the very idea that I had.”
“What! Not the Antelope?”
“Yes; the Antelope—her own very old self.”
“The Antelope!” cried Bailey. “You don’t mean it. If it is her, then it’s all explained. So he’s come arter you—has he? So that’s it. Wal, it’s the least he could do, arter gittin you into such a precious scrape.”
“O, it’s only a fancy. It mayn’t be her, after all.”
“O, but to my mind, it’s more likely to be her than any one else. No one but a friend, in search of a friend, would ever think of beatin up this here way along the coast of Anticosti. That’s my idee.” This assurance of Bailey’s tended to strengthen the idea which the boys had formed. After all, it was not impossible; nay, they thought it was not even improbable; for had they not been on the lookout for this very Antelope? and what vessel was more likely to come after them than this one? and why should she not come even to Anticosti?
“There she comes!” cried Bailey.
It was the fishing schooner. She was tacking. She wore round easily and gracefully, and headed straight towards them. They saw her draw nearer and nearer every moment, her bows rising, and tossing the water aside in showers of spray. They also stood boldly out now, for Bailey was at the helm, and was a far different sailor from Arthur or Tom. The little boat plunged soon into the rough water, and occasionally a torrent of foam dashed on board; but this was nothing, for all their eyes and all their thoughts were centred upon the approaching schooner.
At length they met—the schooner driving through the sea under a cloud of canvas. There was a man at the bow—a well-known form—the form of Captain Tobias Ferguson. The graceful Fawn wore round; the boat came up; a line was thrown, and Bailey seized it. The boys clambered up her sides, and the instant they reached her deck, they found themselves seized by Ferguson, who said, in a voice broken by agitation,—“Hooray! We’ve got—we’ve got you—at—at last! Where are the others? Why didn’t they come off too?”
“All right,” said Arthur. “They are all safe in a cove about twenty miles west of this.”
Then followed a torrent of questions from Ferguson, which the boys answered. Their answers brought peace to his soul, for it appeared that he had been full of terror at the coming of these two, and two only, and had feared that they were bringing some disastrous tidings about the others.
The boat was towed astern. Bailey was welcomed right royally, as was befitting one whom the boys introduced as their friend. At length the mind of Captain Tobias Ferguson was at rest; and the Fawn, rounding on another tack, stood out to sea, on her way towards the cove, where the rest of the party were encamped.
“But you haven’t told us how you heard about us,” said Arthur, as soon as he had a chance to ask a question.
Ferguson seized his arm, and pointed over the water to the sail that Arthur and Tom had already noticed.
“Do you see that?”
“Yes; that schooner?”
“No; that tub, that wash-basin, that horse-trough, anything but a schooner. Well, do you know what that is?”
“The Antelope?” suggested Tom.
“Yes; that’s what she is called by her commander—that old woman, Mrs. Corbet, Mrs. Captain Corbet—old woman! Why, I can find fifty old women down our way that would take better care of a vessel than him—her, I mean. Well, boys, I was at Magdalen Islands when Mrs. Corbet came there in her wash-tub. I felt uneasy about you; knew something had happened; asked him—her, I mean—all about it; but Mrs. Corbet wouldn’t answer. Well, I followed her. I was bound to see what had become of you. And where do you think that old woman went? Where? Why, to Miramichi! Well, I followed her there and back, and come up to her, to find her in the middle of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, at her wit’s end; for she had come there thinking that you would be anchored there, and waiting for her. Now, what do you think of that for an Old Woman?”
The boys were very much surprised at this, and questioned him more closely. At first they thought that he was too hard on the venerable captain; but when they learned how the venerable captain had actually gone all the way to Miramichi, leaving them in their perilous position, they thought that the V. C., aforesaid, had gone too far, and that he merited all the contumely which Ferguson heaped so lavishly upon him.
“Anybody else,” he continued,—“anybody else but me, Tobias Ferguson, would simply have gone mad at trying to keep that old woman and her tub in sight. It’s taken two days to do what might have been done in one. I’ve sailed back a dozen times to keep her in sight; and look at her now! There she is, losing as much as she gains at every tack; standing still, as I’m a living sinner. I sailed off, that very day I was telling you about, for Anticosti, and got to East Point. There I waited for Mrs. Corbet, inspecting the coast at odd times, and it was nearly the end of the next day before she came up; and even then I had to sail back ever so far to find her. Then we began to beat up along the coast, against the wind, watching all the time, not only the shore, but Mrs. Corbet. And there she is! At any rate, I won’t bother about her any longer. I’ll hurry up to the cove to get the rest of the boys, and let Mrs. Corbet come along as well as her venerable limbs’ll carry her.”
“But how did you know so well that we had drifted to Anticosti?”
“Well, for various reasons. Partly because I found out from Mrs. Corbet all about her crazy experiment at anchoring the ship; partly because I understood the general set of the tide; partly because I knew how the wind had been; but chiefly, I may say, because I had a presentiment all along that you were bound to get ashore on the worst place in all the gulf; which was Anticosti, and no other place. I knowed it. I was sure of it.”
Meanwhile the Fawn was careering through the waters. The boys had no regret at leaving Bailey’s den, even though a number of cans of meat had been left behind. Bailey was on the broad grin, and felt no homesickness whatever. Arthur and Tom could not help contrasting the Fawn with the Antelope, greatly to the disadvantage of the latter, and began to think that in choosing Captain Corbet for their guide, they had made a mistake. But all these thoughts were swallowed up in the one great thought of the deliverance which they were bringing to their friends in the cove—a deliverance so much better than anything which they had hoped for, since it was in the form of old familiar friends, and not through the medium of strangers. Even the Antelope, and the much-maligned Corbet, as they followed far behind, seemed like additional elements in their joy.
Out on the Headland.—The doomed Ship.—The Struggle with the Waters.—The ravening Waves.—All over.—The last of the Petrel.—An Interruption at Dinner.—Startling Sight.—The strange, yet familiar Sail.—A grand and joyous Reunion.—Away from the Isle of Desolation.—The Antelope once more.—Over the Sea to Miramichi.—Farewell.—Captain Corbet moralizes, and Sermonizes.
BUT on the headland the boys stood watching. Bruce was sad and preoccupied. The others gazed uneasily upon the rough water. Could Arthur and Tom ever sail the boat through such a sea? That was the question which occurred to every one, and every one felt in his own heart that it was impossible. The prospect was not pleasant. They could only hope that the boys had gained the shore, and were waiting there till the wind might blow over. With this hope they tried to encourage Bruce, who showed more depression than the rest, and blamed himself several times for not insisting on going in Arthur’s place.
At length they went back to the place where the Petrel lay. On reaching it they found that a marked change had taken place. Thus far, though low in the water, she had always preserved a certain symmetry of outline; and to those who might stand on her deck in fine weather and smooth water she seemed quite uninjured. But now her decks appeared to be burst open; she seemed broken in two. Bow and stern were low under water, while amidships she was above it. The mainmast inclined forward, and the foremast sloped back so far that they almost touched. Where she had parted asunder the planks of the decks had also started, and as the waves rolled over her, every new assault increased the ruin.
“She’s hogged,” said Bart.
“She’s worse than hogged,” said Bruce; “she’s completely broken in two.”
“She’s fallen upon some ridge of rock,” said Phil, “and the weight of her cargo has done it.”
“Deed thin, an the waves have had somethin to do with that same,” said Pat; “and glad am I that we’re all out of her, so I am; and lucky it was for us that she didn’t go ashore on that same reef, the night of the starrum.”
The boys looked on in silence. The work of destruction went on slowly, but surely, before their very eyes. Each wave did something towards hastening the catastrophe. That the Petrel was doomed was now beyond the possibility of doubt.
Rocks were beneath her, and never-ending billows rolled over her, making her their prey.
At length the fore part of the ship rolled over, with the deck towards them, severing itself completely from the other half. The decks gaped wide, and opened; the sides started: the foremast came down with a crash, and the pitiless waves, rolling on incessantly, flung themselves one after the other upon the wreck. The two parts were soon completely severed, the fore part breaking up first, the other half resisting more obstinately; while the sea was covered with sticks of timber that were torn out from her and flung away upon the face of the waters.
At length the ruin of the fore part was completed, and that part of the ship, all torn asunder, with all that part of the cargo, was dissipated and scattered over the water and along the beach. The other half still clung together, and though sorely bruised and shaken, seemed to put forth an obstinate resistance. At every touch of the waves it rolled over only to struggle back; it rose up, but was flung down again upon the rocks; it seemed to be writhing in agony. At length the mainmast went down with a crash, followed not long after by the mizzenmast. Then the fragment of the ship suddenly split, and the entire quarterdeck was raised up. Here the waves flung themselves, tearing it away from the hull. But before the quarter-deck was altogether severed, the rest of the ship gave way, and parted in all directions. One by one the huge timber logs were detached from her cargo; the separation of the parts of the ship, and the dissolution of her compact cargo, gave a greater surface to the action of the waves, which now roared, and foamed, and boiled, and seethed, and flung themselves in fury over every portion of the disordered, swaying, yielding mass. Fragment after fragment was wrenched away; bit by bit the strong hull crumbled at the stroke of the mighty billows. The fragments were strewn afar over the sea, and along the beach; and the boys saw the mizzen-top, where they had found refuge on that eventful night, drifting away towards the headland. At length all was over; and in place of the Petrel there remained nothing but a vast mass of fragments, strewing the rocky shore, and floating over the sea for many a mile.
All this, however, was the work of hours. The boys watched it all as though they were held to the spot by a species of fascination. There seemed to be a spell upon them. They could not tear themselves away. But at last there was nothing left; nothing but floating fragments; or timbers flung by the waves on the shore, with which the waves seemed to play, as they hurled them forward and drew them back; while of the Petrel herself there was no sign—no coherent mass, however battered and beaten, which might serve to be pointed out as the representative of the ship that once bore them all. Of that ship there was nothing left; she was dissolved; she was scattered afar; she was no more. Such was the end of the Petrel.
Hours had passed while the boys were watching there. At length they started back to their camp. They walked on in silence. There was a certain sadness over all. This sadness arose in part from the scene which they had just witnessed, and in part out of their anxiety about Arthur and Tom, which now had grown to be serious, since they had seen with their own eyes the power of the waves. When the strong ship had yielded, what chance had that frail boat? And Arthur and Tom knew very little about navigation. Where were they now?
With these sad and anxious thoughts, they made their way back, and found Solomon in a state of great excitement because they had kept dinner waiting. They found that it was past three o’clock, and were amazed that it was so late.
Dinner was now served, accompanied by lamentations long and loud from Solomon, who protested against such neglect and indifference as they had shown, whereby everything had become spoiled from waiting.
“Now dis yer dinna, chilen, am no common dinna,” said he. “I ben makin rangements to hab a rail fust-chop, stylish dinna, and hab cocted a new dish ob succotash. I took some potted corn an biled it wid the beans, an if dat don’t make succotash, I don’ know what do—dat’s all; an dat ar succotash, wid de ham, and oysta chowda, an coffee, an game pie, an tomato, had ought to make a men-jous good dinna; ought so.”
The boys said nothing. They were hungry, and they were also sad. For both reasons they felt disinclined to speak. They were anxious about Arthur and Tom; they also felt mournful about the sad fate of the Petrel; they also had dismal forebodings about their own future; but at the same time they were most undeniably hungry, ravenously hungry, in fact; and Bruce, who was most sad and most anxious, was the hungriest of the crowd.
So they all sat down to dinner, and, first of all, they devoted themselves to Solomon’s succotash. This was a compound of potted corn and dried beans; and though the real original succotash is a dish compounded from green corn and green beans, yet this was no bad substitute; and they all felt, in spite of their sadness, that it was an idea whose originality did infinite credit to the culinary genius of Solomon.
Now they had about come to the end of the succotash, and were looking about, like Alexander, for more worlds to conquer, or, in other words, for more dishes to devour, and were languidly awaiting the next course which Solomon might bring, when suddenly a wild cry from Pat roused them all from languor to the greatest excitement.
“Whoroo! Thunder and turf!” cried Pat; and he sprang to his feet as he spoke. “Be the powers! but it’s fairly dead I am with joy this day. O, look! O, look! look, boys! jools! see’ out there! They’re a comin for us’ so they are! We’re saved! We’re saved! Hooray! Hooray! O, look! It’s a schooner; she’s comin for us; she’s goin to take us out o’ this; and O! but it’s the bright clever boys that Arthur and Tom are to come back so soon, and with a schooner like that same.”
Long before Pat had finished his Irish howl, and while he was yet howling, the others had sprung to their feet, and were looking out to sea.
And there, rounding the headland, and bearing down towards them, they saw a beautiful schooner, graceful as a pleasure yacht, with all her snow-white sails spread wide in spite of the fresh breeze that was blowing, as though hurrying towards them to seek and to save. Never had they seen a more beautiful craft; but its own proper beauty was now increased a hundred fold by the thought that their safety, their rescue, their deliverance, was the purpose that guided her here, and that she was coming to restore them to home, to friends, and to all the joys of life.
Three cheers!
Yes, and three more!
Yes, and three times three, and nine times nine, and cheers without end! They cheered. They shouted. They danced. They hugged one another for very joy.
Solomon joined in the general jubilation. He did this by standing apart and bursting into tears.
“Don’t mind me,” he muttered. “’Clar, I can’t help it, nohow. De tears will come, but dey’s all tears ob j’y. It’s ben a drefful tryin time to me all along, chilen, dis yer time, for I allus ben a feelin an a thinkin as how dat I had some han in a bringin ob you to dese yer stremities; but I held out, I bore up, all for your sakes; but now all am ober; an O, de precious sakes! dar’s a ole man hereabouts, chil’en, dat’s like to bust wid j’y! Don’t mind me. All right! Hooray! All safe at last!—an de chilen snatched from the jaws ob roonatium! O, do go way now, or else dis yer nigga’ll bust!”
And at this Solomon really did burst—into tears.
The glorious schooner! the beautiful schooner! the schooner with the swan-like form and the snow-white sails! She plunged through the waters, the waves foamed about her bows, as she hurried on towards them. Arthur and Tom were there; they knew it, or else how should that schooner come so straight towards them? No more fears now, no more anxieties. Arthur and Tom were both safe, and the deep joy of that little company arose more from the assurance of this than even from the prospect of their own rescue.
The schooner came near. She rounded to; she dropped her anchor. A boat was lowered. Three figures appeared in the boat—one rowing with vigorous strokes, two smaller ones in the stern. The boat came nearer. In the stern they saw the two, and recognized them as they came nearer. They had felt sure at the first, but now they saw with their own eyes Arthur and Tom; and O, with what joy, with what jubilation, with what shouts, what cries, what leaps of joy! Arthur and Tom waved their hands, they stretched out their arms, they called out incoherent words, and it was with incoherent words that those on the shore responded.
The boat grounded. The boys ashore rushed into the water to seize Arthur and Tom in their arms. Then the man who had rowed the boat stood up and looked at them. They saw him. They knew him. Captain Ferguson! Tears were in his eyes, and he tried to hide them, but couldn’t. Captain Tobias Ferguson, bold sailor, strong, brave man, broke down on this occasion, and cried like a child.
Then he went about shaking hands and talking wildly. He grabbed old Solomon’s hand, and shook it most warmly. He asked anxiously about his health. Solomon was still sobbing and crying with utter joy. Neither of them knew what he was doing. Both felt the same emotions, yet the emotions of each arose from the same cause, and that was, anxiety about these boys, whom they loved, for whom they had feared so much, and suffered so much, and over whose safety they now rejoiced with such deep joy.
Captain Ferguson did not say much, but made them all get into the boat and go aboard the Fawn. He did not look at their camp, nor did they feel any regret at leaving the work which had caused them so much toil. Solomon only stipulated that he should take away the provisions—the barrels of biscuit, the potted meats, the hams, and whatever else had been accumulated there on that desolate shore. Nor was there any reason for longer delay, for the associations of the place were by no means of a kind which they chose to dwell upon; so the Fawn turned her back upon Anticosti, and stood out to sea.
As they passed the headland Bruce pointed out to Arthur and Tom the broken fragments of the Petrel, which still lined the rocky shore. But the eye of Captain Ferguson was turned elsewhere. He was on the lookout for the Antelope.
“We’ve got to go back after her,” said he. “If we wait for her, she won’t be here till to-morrow morning, and we can run down to where she is in less than an hour.”
As he said these words the Fawn passed outside the headland, and there, far away to the east, heading out to sea in one of her tacks, was the Antelope. There she was, her very venerable self at last, the schooner for which they had so often searched the water, for whose appearance they had so longed and hoped, and which never came through all those weary and despairing days. Now, when she was not needed, and, in fact, was not particularly wanted, she made herself visible.
The wind, which was against the Antelope, was fair for the Fawn, and in a short time the two schooners were within hail. Captain Corbet then made the best of his way on board the Fawn.
He had already seen the boys, and guessed all. When he stood before them the boys were all shocked at his appearance. Venerable he had always been, but now he looked ten years older than when they last had seen him. He was also very much agitated, trembled violently, and, going around, he shook hands with every one in silence. Then he turned away his head and wept. The boys all felt deeply touched at seeing this exhibition of feeling on his part, and even Captain Ferguson looked at him with less severity.
“Well,” said he, “I do believe he’s shed a good many tears about you, and if he did bring you into a scrape, he’s suffered enough for it, I say.”
After this his treatment of the venerable navigator was far more generous than it had hitherto been.
“I ain’t got much time to spare,” said he, “captain, but I’m bound to see these boys in a place of safety. So I propose to sail to Miramichi, and you hurry along as fast as your old tub can get through the water. I understand you’re all going straight back to the Bay of Fundy, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to do that much safe enough; so I’ll deliver up the boys to your care in Mirami-chi. I think I can make them comfortable enough till then aboard the Fawn.”
Captain Corbet had nothing to say against this decision, but meekly returned to the Antelope, and prepared to follow the Fawn to the destination mentioned. As for the boys, they were delighted, and felt only too glad at being able to have a short cruise on board such a vessel as the Fawn.
On the following day the Fawn reached her destination, but the Antelope did not turn up until a day later. The boys now went back to their old quarters, and Captain Ferguson bade them all good by. Bailey accompanied him, having been engaged by him as one of his crew.
“Wal, boys,” said Captain Corbet, after Ferguson had taken his departure, “we’ve lived, an we hev suffered, an hev mootooly ben called on to undergo triboolations that ain’t often met with in this mortual spere. This uthly life is one of strange vycissitoods, an the seafarin life has fre-kent ups an downs. I don’t think I ever, in all my born days, was called upon to endoor more pewer mentual tortoor than in this week that’s past an gone. The wust of it all was the thought that it was my fault, and mine only. So now, boys, look at me, and take a warnin. Bewar, above all, of avarice. Think of me, with my plans for sudden wealth. Terrew, I might say that it was keer for the babby that animated this excited boosom; I might plead the affection of a absint feyther a yearnin over his offsprin; but I forbar. I pint to my unworthy self, and say, Bewar! Don’t ever allow yer young minds to grow delooded about the vain and glitterin toys of wealth and fortin! See what it’s cost us. We derreamed of a great ship, and cargo, and thousands upon thousands of pounds to divide among us; and what did we railly git? Salvage! farewell, good by to you forever. Out of all our derreams we hev gained nothin but the Petrel’s boat, which ain’t so dreadful bad a boat nuther, but contrariwise, and’ll be useful enough yet, maybe; an if we’d quietly taken that thar boat, and ben content, we’d a ben spard all this trouble, which shows that a small possibility’s bet-ter’n a big impossibility. Them’s my sentiments; and among the lessons which I hope to live to inculcate in the mind of my babby, the most important shall be the story of the ship that we PICKED UP ADRIFT.”
The End