III.

Another extraordinary Procession.—An eccentric Crew.—A flighty Shipper.—Wonderful Attachment of Captain, Corbet to his Offspring.—Stealing a Stone Fence, and raising the Black Flag.

SOON the woods were deserted. Twelve or fifteen boys were selected as worthy of the adventurous voyage, and these all made their preparations, while the smaller boys looked on with longing eyes. As for the “B. O. W. C.,” they had no preparations to make. They needed only to transfer their provisions and other things from the camp to the schooner. The teachers were to see about the bedding, &c. These boys therefore enlisted Old Solomon in their service, and packed their things once more in the same cart which had taken them to the camp; after which they waited to accompany the others to the schooner. All possible haste was made; and soon there started for the schooner a procession even more extraordinary than the one which had gone into the woods.

First of all went a huge hay-cart crammed with bedding; then followed a wagon filled with provisions; and after this the cart of the “B. O. W. C.,” driven by Solomon. Then followed the voyageurs in procession; and after these came the small boys, green with envy. Messrs. Simmons and Long walked modestly on the sidewalk, not caring to identify themselves with so odd a crowd.

In fact it was an odd crowd. First there was Solomon in full canonicals, then the “B. O. W. C.” in their red shirts and plumed caps, with axes and knives in their belts; and then followed their companions in the voyage, dressed more grotesquely still. All the old clothes that could be found were pressed into service for this occasion. Old pea-jackets, old “sou’-wester” hats, old coats denuded of skirts, jackets in a state of dilapidation, battered caps, shocking bad hats, which had not been on a human head for ever so long,—all were now brought into requisition, and formed an assemblage which was sufficient to drive an “Old Clo’” man wild with covetousness.

Now, as Homer, at the outset of his poem, enumerates the ships and chieftains, so will I complete the enumeration of the voyageurs in this adventurous expedition.

First, then, there came a little Irishman, who had accidentally dropped into the Academy, and had remained. His name was Michael Murphy, and consequently he was always called Pat, except when the boys called him Patsie,—for short, as they said. He wore an old sky-blue dress-coat, with three brass buttons still remaining, fastened around the waist with a red woollen comforter. A battered silk hat, with the top of the crown off, completed his costume.

With him came Peter Fraser, commonly known as Johnnie Blue, a thick-set, bullet-headed boy, full of obstinate, persevering courage, and dressed in a sailor’s pea-jacket, made to fit himself by the simple plan of cutting off the sleeves. He wore a sou’wester, and carried a sailor’s knife. In fact, his get-up was very remarkably nautical.

Then came David Digg, a tall, solemn, pale boy, very studious, with a taste for geology. He wore an old overcoat minus the tails, and a knitted yarn night-cap. David Digg was always called Bogud by the boys, from the fact that in one of the rules of the Latin Grammar they had learned that “David and Bogud are common.”

Then came George McLeod, whose name was facetiously contracted into Muckle. By some extraordinary means he had obtained possession of a soldier’s red coat, and produced an immense sensation.

Then came Jacob Wiggins, whose name was easily contracted into Jiggins, by which name alone he was known. He wore a red bandana handkerchief around his head, and was arrayed in a big gray homespun coat, which he had borrowed from a friendly farmer.

After these marched William MacNamara, known as Billymack, wearing a tail coat, long top boots, and a felt hat.

And last, there was George Henderson, who had gained the singular name of Sammy Bam Ram, which occurs in one of Dr. Bird’s novels, from some amusing incident in his school life. A very old jacket, a very ragged pair of trousers, and a hat on the extreme verge of decrepitude, formed his attire.

The chief harbor of Grand Pré now goes by the name of Mud Creek, and is one of the many examples which go to prove that the Anglo-Saxon, though superior to the Frenchman in colonizing a new country, is very far his inferior in giving names to the places which he may have colonized. At this place the party soon arrived, and looked for the vessel. To their surprise, they found her quite deserted, lying aground at a wharf. On going aboard, they found that no preparations whatever had been made.

“This is too bad!” cried Mr. Long, in tones of deep vexation. “Corbet promised to be here early, and have everything ready. I wonder what can have become of him.”

Saying this, he started off to try and find Captain Corbet. After about half an hour he returned.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” he said; “we can’t afford to wait. We must begin right away and make our arrangements.”

“There’s no ballast on board,” said Mr. Simmons, who had been carefully inspecting the vessel, “and no floor in the hold.”

“What!” cried Mr. Long; and hurrying on board, he soon saw that such was indeed the case. He then stood for a time vexed and perplexed.

“Well, boys,” said he at length, “we must all get to work, so that we may be ready when Corbet does come. There’s a pile of stones over there which will do very well for ballast;” and he pointed to a stone wall which surrounded a garden close by the wharf. “Now come, boys,” he continued, “form a line from the stones to the schooner, and pass them all along from hand to hand.”

“But it’s Mr. Brown’s fence,” objected Mr. Simmons, who did not relish this infringement on the rights of another.

“O, Mr. Brown won’t mind!” was the reply.

“He knows me. Come, boys;” and Mr. Long, who was always rapid and energetic, soon formed the boys in line, and the stones were speedily transferred from hand to hand.

“Mr. Simmons,” said Mr. Long, after a time, “I think I’ll go and get some boards.” And saying this, he hurried away, leaving the others hard at work, and expecting the absent Corbet. The boys worked with a will; and even the smaller ones, who were to have no part in the voyage, formed another line, and passed on the smaller stones. At the end of two hours the vessel was considered by Mr. Simmons to have sufficient ballast, the garden wall had vanished, and the boys stood waiting, with blistered hands, for Captain Corbet.

While they were waiting, Mr. Long once more appeared.

“What! hasn’t Corbet come yet?” he cried.

“No.”

Mr. Long looked around in despair.

“I’ve had to go three miles for the boards,” said he. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. Everything is against us to-day. We’ve got to work hard yet, or we won’t get off. Mr. Simmons, would you be kind enough to go and see if you can find Corbet in the village? and I’ll go down into the hold to lay the flooring.”

Off went Mr. Simmons, and down went Mr. Long into the hold. The wagon soon arrived with the boards, which were passed down to him, and speedily laid over the ballast. Thanks to his skill and energy, the floor was soon made. Then the boys set to work throwing down the bedding, and arranging the trunks and baskets. There was not much time, however, for any arrangements. The things lay in a confused heap, with a busy crowd laboring to reduce them to order.

At the end of about half an hour Mr. Simmons returned, shaking his head. He had not found Captain Corbet. Things began to look desperate. It was now high tide, and high time for leaving. Time and tide, which wait for no man, were not going to wait for Captain Corbet.

There was the Antelope all ready. She was not much of a vessel, it is true. She resembled a wash-tub in many important points. She looked leaky. She smelled strong of potatoes; and rightly so, for that important vegetable formed her invariable cargo. The name Antelope was a delightful jest. Her chains were deeply eaten with rust; her cordage and rigging had a time-worn appearance. A venerable air of decay rested about her. Yet still, in spite of all, there she was, and a dozen eager young hearts were burning to embark in her, and be away before the tide should fall.

At last Mr. Long started off, in company with Mr. Simmons, to hunt up Captain Corbet, or some other man who might go in his place. The boys stood about the wharf waiting impatiently for their return.

Mr. Long and his companion hurried to the village inn, and found out that Captain Corbet lived three miles away. So they borrowed a horse and wagon, and drove off as fast as possible to the house. Arriving there, they entered, and beheld a scene which so overpowered Mr. Long that for a time he could not speak.

For there in his kitchen, in a high-backed chair, in front of his own hearth-stone,—there sat the identical Captain Corbet for whom so many had been waiting so long. He held an infant in his manly arms, he was gently tilting his chair to and fro, and tenderly feeding his prattling innocent with a spoon. So intent was he upon his tender task, that he did not hear the entrance of his excited pursuers.

“Captain Corbet!”

The tone in which Mr. Long spoke cannot possibly be represented in print; or at any rate to do so would require more notes of admiration than are usually found in any common printing office. The tone will have to be imagined. Suffice it to say, that Captain Corbet dropped the spoon,—almost dropped the baby also,—and started to his feet as though he had been stirred up by a galvanic shock administered full on the ganglionic centres.

“Captain Corbet!” cried Mr. Long, furiously. “Didn’t you say you’d be on the wharf in good time, and that the Antelope would leave at this tide?”

“Why! it’s Mr. Long!” said Captain Corbet. “Why, Mr. Long! Glad to see you. Sit down. Why, you railly frightened me. Why, I’m railly pleased to see you. I am, railly.”

“What do you mean,” cried Mr. Long, in a great passion, “by this mockery? Here have we been waiting for you ever since morning, and we’ve had to put the ballast on board with our own hands; and I come here and find you quite indifferent. What do you mean, sir? Are you going, or not?”

“Good gracious!” said Captain Corbet. “The ballast! Why, railly now! Did you go and put it on board? Why, I do declare!”

Mr. Long gave a dark frown, and with a violent effort smothered his indignation.

“Are you coming, or not?” said he, sternly.

“Coming? Why—not jest now. You see there’s the babby.”

And he put his brown finger under the chin of his offspring, and actually forgot himself so far as to whistle to it; after which he cast a furtive glance at his visitors, as though half expecting that they would admire the child.

“Where’s Mrs. Corbet? It’s her place to mind the child—your place is on board the vessel.”

“Why, I can’t put the babby on the floor, as I see; nor I can’t take him on board.”

“Where’s Mrs. Corbet?”

“Why, you see, she started off airly to hunt up some parygolic. The babby’s troubled with wind, and—”

“When will she be back?” interrupted Mr. Long.

Captain Corbet shook his head solemnly.

“It would take a man with a head as long as a horse to tell that,” said he, sententiously.

“Where is she then? I’ll drive off and get her.”

“She! law bless you, I don’t know no more’n a onhatched chick.”

“Don’t know! You surely know which way she went.”

“Wal, she kind o’ tho’t she’d go to the village, and then she kind o’ hinted she’d visit her married sister that lives on Billy Jackson’s farm. They’re down with the measles, and—”

“Bother the measles! Do you mean to say that you let her go off, and quietly sat down here to nurse your baby, when you ought to have been at work?”

“I didn’t let her go. She walked off herself. ‘Benjamin,’ says she, ‘take care of the babby.’ He’s dreadful fond of me. Won’t be fed by nobody else. I ginrally feed him at nights when he wakes. An’ a dreadful high-sperited creetur is that child’s mother. An’ they shan’t abuse him. No-o-o-o,” he added, abruptly, turning his conversation toward the “babby” himself, who began to make faces and utter sounds premonitory of a howl.

Mr. Long turned abruptly away.

“The man’s an idiot!” said he to Mr. Simmons. “We’ll have to get some one else to go with us.”

“See here,” said he, turning to Captain Corbet, who was stirring up some pap to feed his “babby;”

“I’ve engaged your schooner, and I mean to start in her. All our things are on board, and we can’t lose a whole day. You’ve broken your engagement; so I’ll go without you. I’ll find somebody that can sail her. I’ll go to Captain Pearson, or old McNeil, or somebody.”

“There ain’t a skipper in the place. You won’t find anybody. I’m the on’y schooner here. Everybody is got off to Bosting with taters. I’d been off, too, on’y for the babby.”

“Well, when can you go?”

Captain Corbet shook his head.

“O, it’ll be all right. I’ll be along—some time. I dare say Mrs. Corbet ’ll be home soon. Don’t be alarmed about me. I’ll put you through.”

“See here, Captain Corbet; I’ll go off now and find somebody to take me. You’ve deceived me, and disappointed me.”

Saying this, Mr. Long strode out of the house, followed by his companion, and drove away rapidly in search of some one to navigate the schooner.

All his efforts were vain. It was as Captain Corbet said. There wasn’t any one in the place. Every seafaring man had gone off in some kind of potato craft to Boston, allured by the high prices of potatoes. Fortunes were being made, and nothing but the desperate imbecility of Corbet prevented him from having his share in the golden harvest. Time passed. The tide fell rapidly, and the vessel was again left aground by the retreating waters. It would be necessary to postpone their departure until the following day, for they did not care about starting in the night.

There was no help for it. They would have to wait. Mr. Long went up again to see Captain Corbet, and extorted from him a promise to leave at nine o’clock on the following morning. Before he left he had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Corbet arrive home, and got her to promise that her husband should go. As this was the only thing that could be done, he went back to make known the state of the case to the boys.

As to the boys, though disappointed, they were not at all cast down. They had possession of the vessel, with beds and provisions, and on the vessel they were bound to remain. Mr. Long found that they had eaten an excellent dinner, and were preparing their evening repast in the schooner’s hold, which they now considered their home. They did not want to go to the Academy to eat or to sleep. They were navigators, and their life was on the ocean wave, their home on the rolling deep.

So they passed the night on board, and found the first experience of wild life very pleasant. Songs and laughter arose until late, and it was midnight before the merry voices ceased to rise into the still air.

Early the next morning Mr. Long was down, and found that the boys had already finished breakfast, and were eagerly awaiting the next turn in the proceedings of the day. He communicated to them his anxieties about Corbet, and gave them to understand that they might not get off at all, unless they could secure the dawdling skipper. He urged them all to accompany him to Corbet’s house, so as to bring a moral power to bear which he would not be able to withstand.

This proposal the boys received with three stunning cheers.

Off, then, started all the boys, headed by Mr. Long, who, in his excitement, no longer cared about the ragged regiment at his heels. For three good miles they footed it bravely, and at length stood in front of Captain Corbet’s door. Mr. Long entered, and found the navigator seated in his kitchen by the fireplace, dandling the babby. The wife of his bosom was setting the breakfast table.

“Good morning,” said Mr. Long.

“Why, it’s Mr. Long! Railly now,” said Captain Corbet. “An’ it shall see Mr. Long, too,—so it shall,” he continued, holding up the babby, who fastened its large blue eyes upon the visitor.

Mr. Long turned away, and spoke aside with Mrs. Corbet. Rightly considering that she was the true head of the house, he begged her not to let them be disappointed again. He was successful. Mrs. Corbet assured him that the moment breakfast was over she would send him off.

“And we will wait,” said Mr. Long.

So they waited patiently; and at last Captain Corbet tore himself away from his house, his wife, and his babby, and went to the schooner, accompanied by the ragged regiment of boys.

It was about ten o’clock, and the schooner was afloat. All tumbled on board. The hawswrs were unloosed. Captain Corbet had to go ashore to get a man whom he called his “mate;” but as Mr. Long went with him but little time was lost.

At last the sails were hoisted. The wind filled them, and the Antelope moved slowly from the wharf. A loud, ringing cheer arose as the schooner started. Before the last notes died away, however, a man was seen running down toward the wharf. He was short and fat, and panted heavily. Reaching the wharf, he cast one look of consternation at the place where the garden wall had been, and another at the schooner.

“They’ve done it, by jingo!” he exclaimed. “Hallo there!” he screamed. “Did you go and take my fence for ballast, Corbet?”

“No, I didn’t!” yelled Corbet.

“You did, you scoundrel! Harris saw those young reprobates passing the stones on board. Bring them back at once, every one of them, or I’ll make you sup sorrow!”

Here Mr. Long stepped forward.

“It’s all right,” said he. “It’s no matter—”

“What!” cried the owner of the fence. “I say it is not all right; and it is matter. Bring me back my fence!”

“I’ll bring it back.”

“I’ll have the law of you!”

“All right. We’ll replace it.”

“Bring it back!”

“All right.”

“Bring—back—my—fence—!”

Further and further away the schooner moved, and fainter and fainter grew the voice that called after them, till at last but a low and scarcely audible tone could be heard.

As the vessel moved away, Bart stood at the mainmast. He had worked hard the day before, running some lanyards through the truck, and now the moment had come for his reward. Bruce Rawdon fired his pistol, and as the report died away, up to the mast head went the black flag of the “B. O. W. C.”

And all the boys greeted it with a cheer.

IV.

Blomidon.—Tides and Fogs.—Songs and Seasickness.—The Five Islands, and a Race up a Précipice.

WINDING on through the tortuous channel of the creek, they reached its mouth without accident, and passed out into the bay. The morning was bright and beautiful, the wind blew fair, and all gave themselves up to the joy of the occasion. The Antelope, it is true, was of ancient build and model; she was short, and broad, and round, but the wind was of such a kind as to bring out whatever capacity for sailing she might have. The sun shone brightly, and all around them sparkled the blue waves of the bay. Behind them was the long level of Grand Pré, beyond which the hills arose, whose slopes were dotted with white houses. Before them was the wide bay bounded by the Parrsboro’ shore, while conspicuous, as usual, arose the grand form of Blomidon.

“Is Blomidon a French name?” asked Bart of Mr. Simmons.

“No. It is said to be a corruption of the words Blow me down, and it is spelled that way on old maps. A good many old coasting skippers pronounce it in that way. The winds that prevail out there off the cape are a sufficient cause for such a name.”

“Are there more winds off Blomidon than in other parts of the bay?”

“O, yes. It is seldom calm there. It seems as if all the winds of the Bay of Fundy and of the Basin of Minas struggled together there. It is a sort of funnel through which they all pour backward or forward. Then the sea out there is often quite heavy. The meeting of different currents and different winds causes this. Seldom will you find a place where such fierce currents rush to and fro.”

“Shall we land at Blomidon first?”

“I do not think we can with this wind. It will be better, I think, to wait till we come back. We will go across the Basin to the Five Islands first.”

“Where are the highest tides of this Basin?”

“Do you see away there,” said Mr. Simmons, pointing far away toward the right, “where the land seems to sink down?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there the water runs up till it ends in the Shubenacadie River. It is there that the tide runs highest, and I suppose there is no part of the world where the rise is so great.”

“Do you believe it rises ninety feet?”

“I have heard so,—at spring tides,—but I rather think it is an exaggeration. It is difficult to get a fair and accurate measurement. I do not think that it rises much over seventy feet.”

“That is high enough to surpass all other tides, I should think. But see—hallo! what’s that?”

“And Bart darted to the side of the vessel, attracted by a shout. A large schooner was approaching, on board of which all were staring with grinning faces at the Antelope.

“Is that Captain Kidd’s craft?” shouted one of the sailors.

“Yes,” screamed Bart.

“We’re going to dig up a little buried treasure.”

A yell of derision and laughter was the answer, to which the boys of the Antelope responded by wild, unearthly shouts; and so the vessels passed each other.

In commemoration of this little incident, one of the boys commenced to sing a doleful ditty, known in literature as “The Dying Confession of Captain Kidd,” of which the following lines will give a good idea:

"O, my name is Captain Kidd,
As I sailed, as I sailed;
O, my name is Captain Kidd,
As I sailed.
O, my name is Captain Kidd,
And much wiekedness I did,
And a heap of gold I hid,
As I sailed.”

One song started another, and one by one their favorite school songs came out. One of these was the following:

1st Verse. (Brisk.)

"Three blue-bottles,
Three blue-bottles,
Three blue-bottles sat
On a milestone.”

Recitative.

"One flew away.”

2d Verse. (Slow.)

"Two blue-bottles,
Two blue-bottles,
Two blue-bottles sat
On a milestone.”

Recitative.

"Another flew away.”

3d Verse. (Slower.)

"One blue-bottle,
One blue-bottle,
One blue-bottle sat
On a milestone.”

Recitative.

"That one flew away.”

4th Verse. (Very slow, very sad, and very solemn.)

"No blue-bottles,
No blue-bottles,
No blue-bottles sat
On a milestone.”

Recitative.

"One came back.”

5th Verse. (Less sad.)

"One blue-bottle,
One blue-bottle,
One blue-bottle sat
On a milestone.”

Gradually the blue-bottles of the song come back, till finally, on the return of the three, the song comes to a triumphant conclusion.

Standing at the helm, Captain Corbet gave directions from time to time to the “mate” about sailing the vessel, and listened to the songs of the boys with a patriarchal smile. He had already shown himself so accessible, that all the boys had chatted with him; and at last they insisted that he should sing. Captain Corbet did not need very much solicitation; Standing at the helm with his eyes half closed, he began in a thin, shrill, piping, nasal voice, full of queer tremolos and grace notes, to drone out several melodies of a varied character. The first one was an ancient ballad, called “The Farmier’s Boy,” which began as follows:

"O, the sky was black, the day was cold,
And the winds did loud-ly roar,
When cold and sad there corned a lad
Into a farimier’s door.

”’Can you tell me,’ says he, ‘if any there be
Who want to give emplo-o-o-o-o-o-y
For to plough and to sow, and to reap and to mow,
And to be a farmier’s bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-y—
To—be—a—farmier’s bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-y?’”

Another song referred to the charms of domestic life, and was evidently directed with a fell, satirical purpose against Messrs. Simmons and Long, who were both hardened bachelors, and who, in Captain Corbet’s estimation, had shown a degree of callousness and indifference to the sweet attractions of domestic happiness which could not be too strongly rebuked.

Meantime the Antelope was drawing nearer to Blomidon, and while listening to Captain Corbet’s dulcet strains, they were gazing with admiration at the dark promontory. None noticed that they were approaching a place where the water, agitated by the wind, and driven by conflicting currents, was tossing itself up into foaming waves; but all stood carelessly about, and the song and the laugh went on. Suddenly the vessel seemed to give a jump, and then a plunge downward. At that instant a wave came dashing over the bows, saturating to the skin a little crowd that had gathered there. Then, with a rush, and a crack, and a wild singing among the rigging, a squall struck the vessel. Over she went on one side, while fresh waves dashed over her gunwale. In an instant all was confusion. Every boy grasped some rope, and held on for his life. The boys who had been drenched at the bows looked forlornly at their companions. Then—poof! came another blast, and away, away went five dark objects careering through the air to leeward. A cry from the “B. O. W. C.” followed this last mishap. They had lost their hats, their beautiful plumed felt hats, their pride, their joy—lost them ingloriously and beyond all hope of recovery. With doleful faces they looked at one another, wondering what they could do. There were no more hats on board. They thought of handkerchiefs, and so one after another bound his handkerchief around his head. But now there was not much chance for lamentation over wet jackets or lost hats. A more dismal fate was lowering over them. Each one knew it, saw it, felt it in his inmost soul. For the sea was rough, and the little schooner pitched and tossed every way, rolling, and leaping, and jumping, more than flesh and blood could bear. At any rate, their flesh and blood could not bear it. A feeling of wretchedness came to every heart; every face grew pale, and assumed an expression of woe. Suddenly Messrs. Long and Simmons disappeared into the cabin. This was the signal for others. Many followed. A few, however, preferred the deck, with its fresh air, to the close air and the sickening smell of bilge-water and potatoes, that predominated below. But the scene had changed for them as for all, and the grandeur of Blomidon, and the magnificence of an iron-bound coast, were forgotten. Hushed was the merry laugh, silent the melodious song. Gone were the joyous young faces that but a short time before had looked out from the vessel upon the sea and sky. Faded were the bright eyes, scattered the bright visions of enjoyment. Alas, how changed!

And now, as they, went on farther, the wind grew fresher, and the waves grew rougher, and the little schooner danced about like a mad thing; and the booms creaked against the masts, and the sails flapped furiously, and the blast went singing through the rigging. The wretched voyageurs paid no attention to it. Their thoughts were all turned inward. Little did they think now of that which they had recently been celebrating so joyously:

"A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
"Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds—and the wi-i-i-i-inds—and the w-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-nds
their re-e-e-e-e-vels keep!”

Time passed, and still the Antelope went tossing, and rolling, and pitching onward.. How long a time no one knew. Not one of the voyageurs kept any account of that. Whether minutes or hours, they could not tell. It seemed to them all one long duration, involving days or months. But at last the motion of the vessel ceased, and she went on more smoothly. Most of the boys below mustered up their courage, and began to think of going on deck once more. Soon the joyous voice of Bart Darner summoned them up.

“Come along, boys. We’re going to anchor. We’re at Five Islands. Hurrah!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah!”

A loud cry arose. Up went the boys scrambling to the deck, and there the scene before them was sufficient to drive away all suffering. The water was smooth, the wind was quieter. Before them lay the outlines of Five Islands, rising beautifully out of the water between them and the main land, the nearest one being not more than a mile away. These islands were of different and peculiar shapes. The two more distant were rounded and well wooded; the third, which was midway among the group, had lofty, precipitous sides, and the summit was dome-shaped; the fourth was like a table, rising, with perpendicular sides, to the height of two hundred feet, with a flat, level surface above, which was all overgrown with forest trees. The last, and nearest of the group, was by far the most singular. It was a bare rock, which rose irregularly from the sea, terminating at one end in a peak, which rose about two hundred feet into the air. As they approached it, this rock had a very peculiar appearance. It resembled, more than anything else, a vast cathedral rising out of the sea, the chief mass of the rock corresponding with the main part of the cathedral, while the tower and spire were there in all their majesty. For this cause the rock has received the name of Pinnacle Island. This lonely and desolate rock, that thus rose out before them, grew more distinctly revealed as they drew nearer. At the base they saw the white foam of breaking surf; while far on high, around its lofty, tempest-beaten summit, they saw myriads of sea-gulls. Gathering in great white clouds about this place, they sported and chased one another; they screamed and uttered their shrill yells, which sounded afar over the sea.

Nearer and nearer they came, till at last they reached a smooth place on the lee of the second island. This one was so close by Pinnacle Island, that it seemed as though they might be joined at low water. Before them, within a moderate distance, lay a gravelled beach, which extended as far as they could see at the verge of the island, above which the dark cliffs towered precipitously.

“There!” said Mr. Simmons, pointing, with sparkling eyes, to the dark and sombre rocks,—“there, boys, is the place for minerals! I have found on those rocks the most beautiful specimens, that have ever been seen, of crystals, of jasper, and of chalcedony. I have found onyx, spar, and hundreds of other stones; all kinds of agates, fragments of copper ore, barytes, beautiful petrifactions, and footprints of birds among masses of sandstone. From those cliffs came the famous amethyst that was once among the crown jewels of Louis XV. Come, boys, be diligent; use your eyes, and you will find something worth remembering. David Digg, don’t forget your hammers.”

His enthusiastic speech was interrupted by a loud shout from Captain Corbet.

“Let go!” he cried.

Down came the sails; and shortly after, rattle—rattle—rattle—rattle, and with a plunge and a splash, the anchor rushed to the sea bottom.

“And now for the boats,” said Mr. Long.

The boat was brought up alongside. It was short, wide, and round, and appeared to have been constructed after the identical tub which had evidently served as a model for the Antelope. There was but one oar, which was used to propel the boat by sculling. Not more than five or six could get into her with safety.

“We can’t all go ashore in that,” said Mr. Simmons.

“Why not?” asked Captain Corbet.

“Why, she won’t hold us.”

“Yes, she will.”

“O, no.”

“Excuse me, sir,” persisted Captain Corbet. “Of course you don’t all mean to go at once.”

“O, I see,” said Mr. Simmons, whose mathematical mind began to grasp the solution of the difficult problem. “You’ll make two or three trips with her.”

“Of course.”

“O, that quite alters the case.”

“Bless your heart, of course it does.”

“Will we want any provisions?” asked Bart.

“Provisions! What for?”

“Are we going to camp out?”

“O, no. We’ll return to the vessel. But provisions! O, yes, we’ll want a lunch ashore, of course.”

And now began the process of disembarkation. Messrs. Simmons and Long, with two boys, went first. A number of baskets of provisions were thrown in, and the mate sculled them ashore.

On his return five more boys were ready. The “B. O. W. C.” generously waited till the last. The loss of their hats had been a sore grievance, but the handkerchiefs were not a bad substitute. Bart had his pistol in his belt, and a sailor’s knife. Bruce Rawdon had a beautiful little hatchet. The others had knives. When the boat returned, they were quite worn out with impatience, and were almost ready to jump overboard and swim ashore. But their time of waiting ended at last, and the boat landed them on the gravelly beach..

It was about two o’clock when the party landed on the island. They had started at ten, three hours before high tide. The tide was therefore already beginning to turn, and would of course continue to run out till seven or eight. On this account, the schooner could not come any nearer for fear of being stranded. As they did not intend to pass the night on the island, it was necessary, at all hazards, to keep the vessel afloat. Captain Corbet had selected a place where he knew the vessel could ride at all times of tide; and though it was inconveniently distant, yet it was the only place for her under the circumstances. Mr. Simmons had told Captain Corbet that he would leave the island in three hours, after which the schooner was to sail to a port a few miles off on the main land, and anchor for the night. He had also taken care to let all the boys understand these arrangements perfectly, and had warned them not to be too far away when the hour for leaving might come.

As the last of the passengers landed, they walked about the beach, looking up at the gigantic cliffs, picking up the stones and shells, and exulting in the novelty of their situation. The island was about half a mile long, and about half that width. The beach was narrow; and the boys began to look, with longing eyes, to the summit of the island. In their wanderings they came across their companions. Mr. Simmons, followed by Bogud, was busy at the rocks in one place. Mr. Long, with Billymack, was working away near him. The baskets lay open, and all could help themselves to lunch. After satisfying their hunger, the “B. O. W. C.” quickly determined to explore the island thoroughly, with the hope of finding a way to the top. With this intention they started off, and at length found a place which seemed to promise what they desired. It was at the end nearest to Pinnacle Island. A torrent had made a rough pathway for itself in that place, and though the stones were somewhat insecure, yet it seemed safe enough for active lads.

Up this place, then, they tried to climb. The footing was very insecure, the loose stones constantly rolling down, and making it dangerous for one to go behind another. It was so steep that they had to climb with hands as well as feet. They clutched the roots of trees, the long, tough grasses, and the thick ferns. Thus pulling, pushing, clutching, dodging stones, and forcing a way up through all difficulties, they-managed to scramble to the summit.

V.

Exploring a desert Island.—Tumbling over a Cliff.—Peril of Bruce.—A mad Row over the waves.—Adrift in the Fog.

ON reaching the summit, the triumphant, climbers gave vent to their feelings in loud shouts. Looking out from their lofty perch, a magnificent scene unfolded itself before their eyes. There was the broad expanse of water. In the distance, a kind of haze rested over the hills, which, to experienced eyes, would have been significant of an approaching fog, but it gave no such warning to them. There rose Blomidon, always the supreme monarch of the scene. Around them were clustered the other islands; and here, directly opposite them, and beneath them, was Pinnacle Island, with its cloud of screaming gulls. Yet it was not to these, or to any one of these, that the eyes of the boys were most attracted. There, beneath them, lay another object, which had for them a greater charm. It was the Antelope. There she swung at her anchor, while ever and anon the passing breeze, as it came by, swept out the folds of the black flag, from which that benevolent face, which it bore, seemed to look up at them with a grin of welcome, encouragement, and sympathy.

It was another proud moment for the “B. O. W. C.”

After feasting their eyes on this fascinating flag, they all started off to explore the island. There was not much to explore; but what there was, proved difficult. The trees grew densely, interlacing their branches, while beneath them was a thick growth of underbrush and ferns. Fallen trunks, some fresh fallen, others half rotted, intercepted them at every step; and they had to climb over them or crawl under. Progress was extremely difficult, and a good half hour was occupied in going from one end’ of the island to the other. Here they rested for a while, looking from the edge of the cliff down the precipice-into the sea. Then they began to return, keeping along the edge of the island, where the trees and the underbrush were not so dense. Beneath they could see Messrs. Simmons and Long diligently hammering away. Scattered along the beach were the other boys. In the air, abreast of them, the sea-gulls darted about with hoarse screams. One huge fellow flew straight toward them, without seeing them, carrying a fish in his claws. The sight of them so frightened him, that he dropped the fish, and flew off with a harsh shriek. On picking up the fish, they found it yet possessed of much vigor. Bruce took it and hurled it far out, and watched it to see where it would fall. It struck its own native element, into which it sank; and the boys generously hoped that it was able to resume its life, which had been interrupted by so wonderful a transition into the world of air.

So they wandered along, finding their way here much easier, and from time to time stopping to examine some object of interest, to dart into the woods after something that attracted their attention, or to lean over the cliff, and let stones fall, ‘and watch them as they fell straight down, far, down, till they struck the beach below.

By and by they became scattered. Phil Kennedy and Tom Crawford had gone across the island. Arthur and Bart were walking on, and Bruce lingered behind to try and find a gull’s nest, which seemed to be somewhere over the edge of the cliff. He lay down, and bent far over, and at length saw what he suspected. The gull that was on the nest flew away in affright, as she saw the face peering at her, and Bruce determined to seize the eggs. But how could he? The nest was out of his reach, he scrutinized the place narrowly, and at last concluded that it could be done. About three feet beneath him was a projecting rock. On this he could Stand; and holding on to the root of a tree at the edge of the cliff with one hand, he could extend his other hand far enough to touch the nest. All this he saw, and at once began to make the attempt. The edge of the cliff was rocky, and hung over a foot beyond the precipice; the projecting rock below did not come out so far. About five feet back, a tree grew, one of the roots of which had projected itself forward, and crooked itself along the edge, and the earth having been blown away, it was now exposed. This root Bruce grasped; and lowering himself over the edge, he let himself down till his feet touched the shelf; then lowering himself still more, he prepared to reach out his hand.

But at that instant a thrill of horror shot through every nerve. The shelf on which he was standing seemed slowly to sink beneath him. Well for him was it at that moment that he had not lowered, himself farther, and that there had not yet been time to extend his arm to the nest. The thrill of horror transfixed him. He sprang up, and grasped the root with both hands. The next instant the shelf crumbled away, and his feet hung idly in the empty air. A wild shriek sounded out—a shriek of mortal terror, that sent an icy chill to the heart of Bart and Arthur, and brought them back in mad anxiety and fear.

Far below, Mr. Simmons had been busily hammering at the cliffs. His basket was filled with unusually fine specimens, and he had just turned to send off Bogud with this basket to the landing-place. He was just in the midst of some directions about a peculiar hammer which he wanted, when suddenly an immense mass of rock came thundering down, and buried itself in the gravel, not ten feet in front of him. Mr. Simmons started back, and rushed far out from the treacherous precipice. Looking up with a white face, he sought to see the place from which the rock had fallen.

He looked up. A deeper, deadlier pallor came to his face; big drops started from his forehead; a shriek escaped him.

“O, God! Who is it?” he groaned.

For there on the edge, grasping the tree-root with both hands, hung the figure of a boy writhing as he sought to find some place for a foothold against the rock. Two figures were bending over.

By the red shirts which all wore, he knew that the one in danger must be one of those five that had dressed themselves in this way. But which of them it was, he could not tell.

His shriek roused others. Mr. Long came hurrying there, and the other boys, all looking up with eyes of horror and ashen lips. The moments of that suspense were agony.

There was nothing that they could do. Mr. Long alone tried to do something. Starting off at full speed, he ran on, trying to find a place to scale the cliff. Gradually a few others followed. But the rest thought it was of no use, and awaited the end in voiceless horror.

Meanwhile Bruce Rawdon had clung to the root, shrieking for help, and trying to find some resting-place for his feet. In vain he tried. The precipice retreated inward, and the shelf that had fallen left a deeper hollow behind. Almost senseless with the horror of his situation, he was conscious of nothing but the fact that friends were near; and for these he shouted, clinging desperately to the root of the tree. Another boy might have fallen; but Bruce’s muscles had been toughened by all kinds of manly exercise, and he had in him the germ and the promise of mighty strength and stature.

The shriek that roused Arthur and Bart was followed by others, which led them speedily to the place.

With a groan Arthur flung himself down, and grasped his brother by the wrist. Bart took a swift glance around.. A small tree was growing near the edge. Twining his sinewy legs around this, he bent his body over the precipice, and caught Bruce by the waistband. Then, clutching the tree with his legs, he made a mighty effort to raise Bruce. The latter, in the mean while, had seized Arthur, who was also trying to raise him. But Arthur had not a fair chance to exert his full strength, and so they prevailed but little against the dead weight which they were trying to lift.

“Arthur!” cried Bart.

“Well.”

“Can you catch hold of this tree where my legs are? Hold it with one hand, and then you can pull better with your other. Can you do it?”

“Yes. I’ve got hold.”

“Now then.”

With a tremendous effort, both boys pulled together. The slender tree bent beneath their efforts. But the weight was raised! Yes! O, thank God! higher—higher! There was Bruce’s head at the edge, and now his shoulders. And now he himself, by a last; despairing, convulsive effort, had flung himself forward, and was on the rock. They dragged him forward. He was saved.

Arthur burst into tears, and held Bruce in his arms. Bart rushed off for water. Returning in a few minutes with his leathern cup,—which he always carried,—full of cold water, he gave it to Bruce. The fainting boy drank it, and then drew a long breath.

“God bless you, boys!” he said at last, wringing the hand of each. He would have said more, but he could not.

“I’ll be all right’ presently,” said he, taking a long breath. “My heart feels painful;” and he pressed his hand against his breast. “Don’t bother any more, Bart. I’m coming round fast. Just let’s sit here, and be quiet for a little while.”

They sat there in silence for some time; and gradually the color began to come back to Bruce’s face.

Suddenly the crackling of brushwood was heard, avid Mr. Long came running up to them, his face as pale as death, and his eyes round with the horror of a frightful suspense. The moment he saw the little group, he flung himself on his knees by Bruce, and, catching him in his arms, he kissed him again and again.

“Thank God! O, thank God!” he moaned, and burst into tears.

Hitherto Mr. Long had the reputation, among the boys, of being a hard, unfeeling man; but from that moment this opinion was changed.

Mr. Long said nothing more at that time, partly because he did not wish to distress. Bruce by any questions just then, and partly because he was so faint, from the tremendous rush up the cliff, that he could not speak. In fact, for a time he seemed as much broken as Bruce. So they sat quietly together waiting.

Mr. Long’s effort was a desperate one, but the only thing to be done. It is possible that Bart and Arthur, if they could not have drawn up Bruce, might have held him there for a long time, and in that case Mr. Long would have been there to save him.

After about an hour, Bruce said he was all right, and they walked toward the place of descent. It seemed, indeed, as though he had got over his accident. He said his arms ached a little, and there was a slight pain in his breast, but that it was passing away. The descent was toilsome, but Bruce accomplished it as well as any of them. By the time he reached the shore, he declared himself perfectly well.

Mr. Simmons was there to meet him. He wrung his hand very earnestly, with tearful eyes, but did not trust himself to speak. Then Bruce told all about it, and the excitement of this adventure put an end to all further search for minerals.

At length five o’clock came, and they prepared to go back to the schooner. The tide had fallen considerably, and a strong current was running past them. The water was not so placid as it had been, but was getting broken up, and somewhat rough. The wind had changed, and was blowing more freshly than before. There were also gathering fog banks, which were drawing nearer every moment, and threatening soon to be around them. All things showed, therefore, that it was high time to retire. Signals were made, and before, long they saw the boat leave the schooner, and come to the shore.

On landing, the mate wanted to know if any of them could scull a boat. Bruce said that he could, and so did Arthur and Bart. The mate said that he wanted to stay aboard to get the sails ready; and to save time, it would be necessary for some one of them to bring the last boat aboard. Each one of these three offered to scull her; but it was at last decided that Arthur should go in the second boat and bring her back, while Bruce should take the last load. Bart readily gave up his claim to the others; and so it was arranged.

“But are you sure you’re strong enough for that?” said Mr. Long.

“Strong? Of course.” said Bruce. “I’m stronger than ever, sir.”

So the first boat started with the same load which it had when landing before, with the addition of one boy more. The next boat took Arthur and four more boys, leaving Bruce, and Tom, and Phil, and Bart.

About an hour had passed between the time when the boat left to take them from the island and the time when Arthur brought it back for the last trip. In that hour many changes had taken place. The tide had fallen farther. Between the beach, where they stood, and Pinnacle Island, the rocks were laid bare, and could be traversed on foot. Between the schooner and the shore, a swift current was running, which grew stronger every moment. By six o’clock the current was very powerful. The mate, on his second trip, had considerable difficulty in getting to the schooner; and he had given very careful directions to Arthur as to the course which he should go in returning.

“You must head the boat farther up,” said he, “so as to strike the scho’oner fair. I didn’t cal’late right about that there tide. You’ve got to head your boat well off that side, and then the tide ‘ll help you instead of henderin’.”

“All right,” said Arthur.

In going ashore, he found the current very strong; but the beach was long, and, of course, it was very easy to land somewhere. As it happened, he was carried down some fifty feet below the place which he wished to reach; but that didn’t make any practical difference. It served to open his eyes to the peculiar danger before them, and made him see that the very greatest care would have to be exercised in returning, or else the swift tide would sweep them away from the place to which they wished to go.

As Arthur looked round, after the other boys had got in, an exclamation burst from him.

“Whew!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why, the fog. How suddenly it has come up! Why, it’s getting as thick as night. Look here, Bruce; we’ve got to be pretty careful this time. See here; you must head out that way, for the current is running like a race-horse, and this fog isn’t helping matters.”

He then proceeded to explain to Bruce the best course to take, and Bruce said he would do exactly as he told him.

“You’re sure you can do it. You’re sure you’re not used up at all,” said Arthur.

“Not a bit of it!” said Bruce, with a laugh.

“If I feel used up, I’ll hand over the oar to you or Bart.”

Saying this, he worked away with vigorous pushes, and the boat moved in the direction indicated by Arthur.

Bruce soon found that Arthur had not exaggerated the force of the current. It seemed to drag the boat sidewise with fearful power. But a strong hand was at the scull, and the boat’s course was true, and every moment brought them nearer.

As they went, the fog grew thicker at every foot. The wind blew more strongly, and the water grew rougher, making the progress of the clumsy boat more difficult. Soon the shore grew indistinct; but this they did not regard, since their eyes were fixed on the schooner, to which they drew steadily nearer. There, on board, stood the-other boys; and Mr. Simmons was talking to Captain Corbet, and Mr. Long was watching them with some anxiety. The mate stood near the bow with a rope, ready to throw as soon as they should come within reach.

But though near enough to see all this, they could not hope to get there yet without a severe effort. For now the farther out they went, the stronger grew the current; and Bruce felt a heavier drag, against the boat, and gathered up his strength for sterner exertions. He took a hasty look at the schooner, so as to get her bearings, and then headed the boat at a sharper angle against the current. This was admirably calculated; and now the boat fell off less, and seemed to work itself steadily toward the schooner.

Arthur was in the bows, anxiously watching the boat’s course. The other boys sat in silence, conscious of the hazard before them, but facing it bravely. On board the schooner not a word was spoken. Mr. Long’s face seemed to grow more anxious. His hands clutched one another with a rigid grasp, and his eyes seemed fastened on Bruce. The mate stood with his rope, not venturing to make any suggestion, for he saw that Bruce was doing all that could be done. His forehead was contracted into a painful frown, and he was whistling softly to himself (from a habit that he had acquired), and which, in him, was a sign of grave perplexity of soul.

Nearer and nearer came the boat; but the anxious watchers began to see that, the current was swerving them off more rapidly than they had expected, and that the angle of the boat’s drift would lie not so near as they hoped. Bruce saw this, and summoned up a new force out of his strong muscles. A few mighty ‘strokes, and something was gained even against the pressure of that tremendous current. There was the schooner. On—on; nearer—nearer.

They had hoped to touch her bow; but now they saw it would be well if they could get near her stern. Back ran the mate with his rope. Not a word was spoken. No one ventured to call for greater exertions from that brave, strong boy, who was plying his oar so mightily. And now the moment had come. Forward sprang the mate, and the rope sped through the air. Arthur’s hands were extended to seize it. Bruce did not abate one stroke, but worked with desperate energy. The boat was borne past the schooner’s quarter. The rope touched Arthur’s right hand,—his fingers closed around it.

Alas! it was but the extreme end of the rope that he held; and before his other hand could seize it, it had slipped through his fingers, and fell into the water.

“Row, row, Bruce! I’ve dropped the rope!”

A groan burst from Bruce. He gave three tremendous strokes. They were the last efforts of despairing energy. As he moved his arms to make the fourth, he staggered back. The oar fell from his nerveless grasp. He sank down, with a groan, at the bottom of the boat.

“Boys, I—I’m dying!”

Gasping out these words, Bruce closed his eyes, and lay motionless.

A cry of dismay and terror burst from the schooner. Pallid faces, and eyes of horror, were turned toward the boat, which now, hurled on by the swift current, was borne farther and farther away, until at last it vanished from view in the fog.