Complaints of a disappointed Savant.—The humble Confession of Pat.—A buried Treasure, and a great Search after it by Torchlight’.
"P AT,” said Mr. Long, kindly, “do you
think you will be able to start to-night?”
“To-night, sir?” said Pat, dolefully. “Yes, the recess is over. Our time is up, and we must all be back to-morrow. We ought to have been there Saturday night. Do you think you can come?”
“I suppose I’ll have to, sir.”
“If you’re too weak, or if it pains you to walk, we can carry you down, you know.”
“What time are ye afther lavin’ at, sir?”
“About one o’clock.”
“O, thin, surely I’ll be betther by that time,” said Pat. “I’ll get a wink of sleep, and wake up meself again.”.
“Do so, Pat. Is there anything I could get you?”
“No, sir, thank ye kindly. I don’t know of anything.”
Yes, they had to go back, for their time was up; yet Mr. Long was in despair, not knowing what to do about the minerals. He was confident that they were somewhere—but where? No one knew, and he couldn’t imagine.
“It’s too bad,” he cried, as his indignation grew irrepressible. “It’s too bad. Our expedition has been ill organized. I don’t blame anybody, but we’ve certainly had very bad luck. With only a week we have wasted or lost every day but one. Last Monday we were kept all day and all night at the wharf.”
“Wal, Mr. Long,” said Captain Corbet, “I s’pose you’re kind o’ blamin’ me; but what could I do? Ef a man has a babby, mustn’t he nuss it?”
“No, he musn’t,” said Mr. Long; “he must make his wife attend to household matters, and keep his engagements.”
Captain Corbet stared with a look of horror and astonishment at Mr. Long.
“Wal, sir,” he said, with modest firmness, “in my humble opinion, sir, a babby is a babby, an’ flesh an’ blood is flesh an’ blood; an’ I don’t care who says they ain’t. Ef you’d see that there babby, sir,” he continued, warming up in a glow of fond parental feeling,—“ef you’d a-seen that there babby, as I’ve seen him,—a crowin’, an’ a pullin’ of my har, an’ a sayin’, Ga-ga-ga,—‘you’d—
“Mr. Simmons,” said Mr. Long, suddenly, “have you hunted for the stones?”
“O, yes, everywhere.”
“And did you find nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“There it is,” resumed Mr. Long. “A whole week worse than lost. We lost Monday. We started Tuesday, and sailed nearly all day. We had about two hours’ work, and then the boat went adrift. All Wednesday wo were wandering about the bay. Thursday came, and we didn’t find the boys till the day was well gone, and then stopping at O’Rafferty’s and coming here took up the remainder of the time.”
“Well, we had Friday to ourselves,” said Mr. Simmons, with a pleasant smile. He was an amiable man, and always looked on the bright side of things.
“Yes, we had,” said Mr. Long, “but unfortunately we accomplished nothing. We had a long journey, and came back empty-handed.”
“At any rate, we had the time.”
“But that time was lost.”
“O, well,” said Mr. Simmons, “it was one of those days which everybody must expect to have. We tried hard, but were unsuccessful. I don’t, by any means, call such a day lost. We gave ourselves up thoroughly to science.”
“Well, call it a well-spent day,” said Mr. Long, “and what of it? We will count it in; but after that—what? Saturday came, and we had to go after the boys again; now our time’s up, and to-night we must go back again. We have had a week; and out of it we have been able to spend, at the very utmost, only one day and two hours. Well. I don’t know how it strikes you, but I call it hard.”
“It would, indeed, have been hard if things had turned out as we feared,” said Mr. Simmons.
“O, of course I feel all that. I am only lamenting that these accidents should have happened, and that, when we came for a certain purpose, we should have been unable to carry it out. And see how things have gone on. We are out of provisions, and have to lay in a stock of meal, and molasses, and pork.”
“I’m sure, meal makes very good food,” said Mr. Simmons. “Hot corn-cake is rather a delicacy, and molasses is very good to eat with it.”
“After all, I don’t care anything about these things,” continued Mr. Long. “What I do care about is the loss of the minerals.”
“O, they’re not lost.”
“Yes, they are. No one knows anything about them. No one has seen them. No one can find them. They’re lost, Mr. Simmons, beyond the possibility of redemption.”
“O, I hope not.”
“Well, I’m going to make a final search. Captain Pratt has asked every man, woman, and child in the place, but no one knows anything about them.. I’m now going to question every one over again. I’ve asked Captain Corbet already. He knows nothing. Captain Corbet, where’s the mate?”
“Sound asleep in the barn, sir.”
“Then I’ll go out and ask him.”
Captain Corbet went out with him, and after much trouble they roused the sleeper, who, however, could tell them nothing whatever about the stones.
Then Mr. Long asked all the boys in succession. He had asked them once before, but he was determined to try it again. There was no result. No. one knew anything about it. At last, all had been examined but Pat. Mr. Long felt sorry for him, and would have left him untroubled; but his intense desire to investigate thoroughly was too strong, and’ so he resolved to ask him.
Pat was trying to get some sleep, and with very little success. Mr. Long asked him kindly about his feelings, and spoke cheerfully to him for a few moments. At length he asked him,—
“Pat, I had two baskets of specimens, and they’ve been lost. Do you know anything about them?”
“Two baskets of what, sir?”
“Specimens.”
“Spicimins, sir?”
“Yes.”
“What are spicimins, sir?”
“Why, mineralogical specimens. Minerals, you know.”
“Minerals? Sorra a one o’ me knows what that same is,’ sir. I never saw one in my life.”
“Never saw a mineral? Nonsense! What we were gathering on the island—”
“Gatherin’? Was it minerals, then?” said Pat. “Is it anythin’ like o’—like shrimps, sir?”
Mr. Long laughed. He knew Pat’s wonderful ignorance about some things, but he was hardly prepared for this. As for Pat, the poor fellow found he had made a mistake, and colored violently from shame and vexation.
“Do you really mean to say that you don’t know what minerals are?” asked Mr. Long.
“Sorra a bit of it thin, sir.”
“Well, they look like little stones. Didn’t you see us breaking little pieces from the rocks?”
“I didn’t notice, sir.”
“That’s no way to do, Pat. You ought to keep your eyes open, or you’ll never learn anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, these minerals looked like common little stones. They were in two baskets. Each one was carefully wrapped in paper. Now those two baskets of stones are missing, and I can’t find out anything about them. I want you to try and remember if you’ve seen anything of that kind, or if you’ve seen any little bits of paper that may have been around them. Do you understand? Little stones, you know.”
And Mr. Long smiled encouragingly, so to give Pat a chance to collect his thoughts.
“Little stones?” faltered Pat, as there flashed over him an awful suspicion that he had done an irreparable mischief to somebody, and to Mr. Long in particular. “Little stones, sir?”
“Yes, Pat, little stones. Dirty little stones. You might have seen them, and would suppose that many of them were worthless, unless they were wrapped in paper and carefully packed.”
“Dirty little stones, sir?” said Pat, in an imbecile way.
“Yes,” said Mr. Long.
“And aich one wrapped in paper, sir?” said Pat, whose voice died away into a mournful wail, while he cast an imploring glance at Mr. Long.
“Yes..Tell me,” cried Mr. Long, “have you seen them?”
“I have, sir,” said Pat, dolefully.
“When? where? Where are they now? Where did you put them?”
“I—I—” He hesitated.
“Quick! It’s late. I want to get them. You brought them to the house, I suppose; or did you put them on board of the vessel?”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what you did with them?”
“O, sir, it’s heart-broken I am this minute, sir! It’s fairly dead wid grafe I am, sir! You’ll niver forgive me! an’ I’m afraid to tell you, sir.”
“What? What’s all this? What have you been doing? What is it?” said Mr. Long, sternly.
“No, sir, I thought it was a trick, sir, that the boys played on me, sir; and I pitched them over the mud into the bank, sir.”
“You what!” cried Mr. Long, in an awful voice. Hereupon Pat, with many sighs and tears, and entreaties for pardon, told him all. Mr. Long heard him through without a word. Then he asked minutely about the spot where they had been thrown. After this he rushed from the house down to the point. The tide was down below that place, leaving the mud flat uncovered. The sun was just setting. Mr. Long stared wildly about.
There was not a trace of a Single specimen; for the heavy stones had sunk in, and the soft ooze and slimy mud, closing over them, had shut them from sight.
Mr. Long looked around in despair. He had hoped that he might recover some of them, but was not prepared to see all traces of them obliterated so completely. Besides, to add to his disappointment, the sun set before he had begun anything like a search; and the shadows of evening came on rapidly. What was he to do? Could he thus give up the results of his expedition, and consent to lose those precious specimens for which he had done so much? The thought was intolerable. He would go back and interrogate Pat afresh. It was possible that Pat had directed him to the wrong place. It was scarcely possible that every stone could have vanished so completely, if this were really the place where Pat had thrown them.
Such were Mr. Long’s thoughts and hopes, under the stimulus of which he at length retreated from the bank and returned to the house. Thus far he had kept Pat’s performance a secret, out of consideration for Pat himself; for he was not willing that so glaring a case of dense and utter ignorance should be made public. But now he was compelled to tell it to all of them, so as to get their assistance in the search; so, after once more questioning Pat, and getting from him fresh particulars about the place where he had thrown the stones, and finding, to his dismay, that it was no other than the very place where he had been, he went to summon the rest’ of the boys.
Gathering them together, Mr. Long began to unfold to them the fate of the long sought for, but still missing, stones. As he began, his native generosity made him desirous of sparing poor Pat; but as he proceeded, the sense of his own wrongs overcame the dictates of generosity. He concealed nothing, he kept back nothing, he palliated nothing. All was made known. Finally, he implored the assistance of every one of them in finding the lost treasures.
Of course, after such an appeal, there was no chance for refusal; and so they at once prepared to follow him. Bart insisted on procuring torches, and his inventive genius readily suggested an excellent mode of obtaining light. This was by stripping the inflammable bark from the huge piles of birch firewood that lay near the house; and folding these up in compact scroll-like sticks. A large number of these were made; and with these, with lanterns, and with pine knots, the whole band followed Mr. Long to the bank. Here they took off their shoes and stockings, and prepared for their task.
The mud on the surface was very soft to the depth of several inches, and into this they sank; but sinking thus far, they found a hard clay bottom. Proceeding in this way, they all sought with earnest scrutiny for signs of the buried stones. For some time nothing could be found. At last, with a cry of delight, Bogud plunged his hand into the mud, and drew out something, with which he instantly hurried to Mr. Long.
“Here’s one of them!” said he.
He held out a lump, at which Mr. Long and all the rest eagerly looked. It seemed more like a small lump of mud or clay than anything else.
So they all said.
“Pooh!” said they; “a little lump of clay.”
“It’s not clay,” said Bogud; “it’s the amethyst. I know it by the way it feels. It’s covered with mud, though, and ought to be washed immediately.”
Saying this, he rubbed the clinging mud with his fingers, disclosing at last something with an oval surface and a dirty-gray color.
“It’s the amethyst,” repeated Bogud, triumphantly. “I know it by the oval back. I picked the amethyst myself. Wait till I get the rest of the mud off. See here!—but—what—hallo!”
His confident tones ceased, and changed to an exclamation of doubt, then disgust. The boys had crowded around to see the exhumed treasure, and to catch the secret of Bogud’s luck. As he held it forth and wiped off the last lump of mud that adhered to its edge, it stood revealed to all.
“A clam! a clam! a clam!” was the instantaneous shout, followed by a peal of laughter.
In fact, so it proved. It was a clam-shell filled with mud which Bogud had drawn forth so triumphantly.
After this they sought for some time longer. It was a striking scene. The boys without shoes, with their trousers drawn up above the knee, with their torches flashing through the shades of evening, as they were waved overhead, with the flakes which fell every instant from the torches into the mud, with their laughter, and noise, and jesting,—all formed a scene in the highest degree wild and picturesque.
But the search was useless. Perhaps the finding of the clam disheartened them; perhaps it was really not possible to find what they sought. At any rate, after half an hour, even Mr. Long himself despaired, and called off all the boys to return to the house.’
How to waken a Sleeper.—Off Home.—A weary Way.—Baffled
like the Flying Dutchman.—Corbet pines for his Bobby.—“The
Wind at last! Hurrah!”
AT midnight the whole
party left Captain Pratt’s, in order to make preparations for embarking in
the Antelope, as soon as the tide would serve. Pat had regained very much
of his former strength and spirits; the pain had, in a great measure, left
him, and the reaction from his misery exhibited itself in occasional peals
of wild laughter, which broke very strangely upon the silence of the
night. He was quite able to walk down, and joked with the other boys about
his mishap. Trouble had been anticipated in getting him down to the
vessel; but the anticipations, which had proved baseless in regard to him,
were more than realized in the case of the mate. This worthy had spent
almost all the time in sleeping on Captain Pratt’s haymow; and now, when
the time had come for departure, it was found absolutely impossible to
rouse him. At ten o’clock, Captain Corbet had called him, but with no
result. Then he had used other modes of rousing him, which had all ended
in a failure. Mr. Long had exerted himself, and with a like result. As a
last resort, he had commissioned the hoys to do what they could toward
rousing the slumberer. They very willingly undertook the commission.
Ranging themselves round him, they kept up a prolonged shake at his
shoulder, his head, and his feet. By this means they succeeded in rousing
him so far that he would utter words in a dreary way in answer to their
cries.
“Get up! Get up!”
“Ye-e-e-e-e-e-s,” was the reply, ending in a long snore.
“Get up! Hi, hi, hi!”
“In—a—mi—i—i—n’t.”
“Hallo! Up! Get up! The schooner’s off!”
“Hey?”
“The schooner’s off!”
“Hm-m-m—”
“Here! No sleeping! Get up! You shan’t sleep any more! Get up!” and amid loud cries and yells the recumbent form was shaken from head to foot. The mate gaped, and yawned, and blinked, and opened his eyes with a glassy, dreamy stare, dazzled by a candle-light, which flickered in his face, and confused by the uproar. He was like a bat suddenly plunging into a lighted parlor full of noisy children—out of the midst of a dark night. Only he wasn’t quite so much awake as a bat might be.
“My—name’s—Wade,” he ejaculated at last, in a slow and solemn tone.
“Hi, hi, hi! Yah, yah, yah! Hi, yah! h-o-o-o-o! Get up!”’
“My ole ’oman’s name’s Gipson,” continued the mate, in a dreamy voice, as though amid his dreams he was still following out the one train of thought which seemed to engross his mind during his waking hours.
“Ya, ya, ya, ya! Get up! Get up! Hal-l-o-o-o-o-o! Bow-avoav-wow! Ba-a-a-a-a!” and with yells and shouts like these, with cock-crows, with all the cries of a crowded barn-yard, the boys returned to their effort at rousing him.
“An’ ye’ll not find many of that name in this country!” said the mate, with a tone, to which he seemed struggling to give a sleepy emphasis.
Up rose the barn-yard cries again, mingled with yells, shrieks, bellowings, cat-calls, hoots, and roars.
“Come, come,” cried Bart, shaking his head violently. “Won’t you get up?”
“No, sir!” said the mate; but whether if referred to his dream, or was intended as a reply to Bart, did not very clearly appear. The boys began to despair, and at length, after further endeavors, they were compelled to give up. They accordingly returned to Mr. Long, and informed him of their utter failure.
Mr. Long’s eyes glared wildly.
“Very well!” said he, sternly, and with a dark frown. “Ve-e-ry well! I’ll see if I can’t wake him this time. I’ve been humbugged long enough; and if words are of no use, I’ll have to try what virtue there is in cold water.”
Saying this, he seized a pail, filled it at the well, and strode to the barn, followed by all the boys. Reaching the place, he advanced to the mate, and mercilessly emptied the entire contents full upon his head.
That succeeded.
With a gasp, a splutter, and a shriek, the mate started to his feet, looking wildly around as he tried to regain the breath which Mr. Long had so rudely driven out of him.
“What—what—what—why, what—d’ye—mean?”
“I mean this,” cried Mr. Long, “that you’re wanted on board, and if you don’t go, I’ll empty the whole well on you.”
The mate looked at him half fearfully, half reproachfully, and then, shaking the water out of his dripping locks, he slowly wended his way to the vessel.
At last all were on board; the baskets and boxes were in the hold, the lines were cast off, the sails were hoisted, and the Antelope dropped down the stream. Messrs. Simmons and Long retired, but most of the boys remained on deck for some time, singing, and laughing, and joking with each one about the peculiar mishaps which he might have incurred during the last eventful week. At length all retired, and silence reigned over the schooner and over the deep.
Early in the morning all were up. The sea, far and wide, was as smooth as glass, except where long lines, and occasional ripples, showed the meeting of opposing currents. Above, the sky was cloudless, the sun was bright, and in the air not a breath of wind was stirring. Upon this Mr. Long looked with extreme impatience, frowning darkly upon land, sea, and sky. The schooner’s sails were flapping idly, her head was pointed toward the Five Islands, and Captain Corbet was standing listlessly at the helm.
“Captain, what’s all this?” asked Mr. Long.
“The schooner is heading toward the Five Islands. Are we going back?”
“No, sir. The schooner’s not particular just now whar she heads.”
“Why don’t you steer for Grand Pré?”
“Jest what I’d like to do, if she’d let me.”
“Let you?”
“Yes. There ain’t a mite o’ wind, an’ she’s, goin’ every which way.”
“Then we’re standing still, and doing nothing.”
“Standin’ still?” cried Captain Corbet. “Lor’ bless you, a couple of hours ago we were ten miles up there;” and he pointed far away toward the other end of the bay.
“Up there?”
“Yes. We’re not standin’ still; not by no manner o’ means.”
“What are we doing?”
“Driftin’.”
“Drifting?”
“Yes; goin’ ahead like a race-horse—head fust, tail fust, sideways, end on, and every kind o’ way that a floatin’ craft kin move.”
“Where are we drifting to?”
“Down to Blomidon.”
“Blomidon!” cried Mr. Long, aghast.
“Yes; an’ farther too. It’ll be lucky if we don’t find ourselves out in the Bay of Fundy before long.”
“But can’t you do something? Can’t you sail for some harbor?”
“Jest what I’m a pinin’ to do, on’y I can’t come it, nohow. Ef I had a steam tug-boat I’d clap a line on board her, an’ get into a place of refooge; but bein’ as there isn’t any, we’ve got to drift.”
“Why don’t you anchor?”
“Anchor?” cried Captain Corbet, in surprise. “Why, the anchor’s broke.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Long, in bitter vexation, “haven’t you got something—no sweeps?”
“Not a sweep, as I’m a livin’ Corbet.”
It was too true. There was no wind, and they were drifting at the mercy of the tide. The vessel went every way, heading in no direction. They had no anchor, and they could not sail into the shore. They were completely helpless. By this time they had all hoped to be near their destination; but it seemed, from appearances, that they were farther away than ever.
What brought their situation home most forcibly to all, was the solemn fact that their provision was now limited to Indian meal and molasses, with a little salt pork. If Solomon had only been on board, it would not have been so bad, for the genius of the venerable cook would have evolved even out of such unpromising materials as these a wonderful variety of palatable dishes. But Solomon was far away, and the cooking was intrusted to the clumsy hands of the mate. His attempts were so deplorable that the boys were permitted to make experiments of their own in the lofty art of cookery. The consequence was, that they spent the whole morning in the cabin, and used up most of the molasses in making candy, which, though very badly burned, was still more agreeable than the burned paste of Indian meal which the mate laid before them as a breakfast.
The hours of the morning passed, and neither anger, nor impatience, nor hunger could have any effect upon the relentless tides. The schooner calmly and placidly went drifting on, past Blomidon, past Cape Split; and they would assuredly have drifted out into the Bay of Fundy, had they not, very fortunately, encountered a side current, which bore them into a bay by Spencer’s Island. There they remained embayed till the turn of tide, and then they were borne out again, and up the channel, on the way back into the Basin of Minas.
They were so near the shore that Mr. Long deliberated seriously about landing, going on foot to Parrsboro’ village, and trying to get a row-boat to take them to Cornwallis, or taking the steamer to Windsor, or doing something else equally desperate. But Captain Corbet assured him that the steamer would not come for two days, and that he would be utterly unable to get any men to row him so far. So he was compelled to stay by the schooner.
Captain Corbet bore all this with admirable equanimity, looking with a mild concern at the impatience of Mr. Long, and regarding the boys with the indulgent smile of a superior being. Leaving the tiller to take care of itself, he mingled with them, and conversed freely with all. They drifted far up into the Basin of Minas, and looked forward to nothing better than a return to Blomidon and Cape Split, with, perhaps, an excursion in the Bay of Fundy.
So the day passed, and night came. On the following morning they found themselves still in the Basin of Minas, not far from the Five Islands, and drifting toward Blomidon.
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “I’ve been a-thinkin’ that this here is just like the Flyin’ Dutchman. You’ve heerd tell of him; course. They say he’s a-sailin’ an’ a-beatin’ round the Cape of Good Hope, but can’t never get round, nohow. That’s jest the pecooliarity of our position. Here we are, almost in sight of home, you may say, an’ still we have to go a-driftin’ an’ a-driftin’, an’ I shouldn’t wonder if we’ll get out into the Bay of Fundy to-day. If that happens, it wouldn’t be a wonder if we were blown off to Bosting.”
“Captain,” said Mr. Long, “I can’t stand this. I must get ashore. If we get near to Blomidon again, I’ll take Bruce Rawdon, and go ashore in the boat. I must go, for it’s a matter of the highest importance. Of course, it’s different with you. You wouldn’t care if you drifted here till doomsday.”
At this Captain Corbet thrust both hands deep into his trousers’ pockets, and regarded Mr. Long with a fixed gaze.
“Me?” said he, in a mild and almost parental tone. “Me not care? me! Look here, Mr. Long. Do you know what I am? I’m a parient! Your books call you home, sir; but what is it that’s a-callin’ o’ me? My babby, sir! That there tender infant has twined hisself round my boosom; an’ what am I a-doin’? You don’t know, sir; but I’m a-yearnin’ an’ a-pinin’ for my babby. He’s the most wonderful babby that I ever see,” continued the captain, in a faltering voice. “He’s got the pootiest crow; and if you’d jest hear him say his ga, ga, ga—”
“O, bother your confounded baby!” said Mr. Long, with brutal rudeness, turning away abruptly.
Captain Corbet looked after him with a puzzled expression. At first, indignant surprise seemed to predominate, and those who stood near anticipated an outburst of long-restrained feeling. But it was only for a moment. Then Captain Corbet’s better angel came to his assistance. Indignation vanished, and the face that was turned toward Mr. Long had on it nothing but a meek, sad smile.
Captain Corbet shook his head.
“Thar, that’s it; allus the same,” said he; “on-sympathetic, hard as a milestone, an’ owdacious in opposition to the tender babe. Human natur’,” he continued, elevating his patriarchal head, and regarding Mr. Long’s back with a severe dignity,—“human natur’ might exult in a administerin’ of a rebewk to sich langedge; but I’ve learned a better lesson. Yes, boys. I’ve sot at the feet of my babby. The aged Corbet has received insterruction from a mild infant. Now, I regard all that,” waving his hand toward Mr. Long, “not with anger, not with re-perroach, no, but with kimpassion. I pity him. I feel sorry for him. To him is unknown the holiest feeling of the hewman boosum; sich as I feel, sich as every feyther feels when he’s a-nussin’ of his peresshus babby.”
Blomidon, insulted, avenges himself.—A Victim devotes himself to
appease his Wrath.—Original Views of Captain Corbet with regard to
the Archaeology and the Science of Navigation.
THE
schooner went on drifting, and drew near to Blomidon again. The giant
cliff frowned darkly overhead, its sides all scarred and riven by the
tempests of centuries, its base worn by the fierce tides that never cease
to sweep to and fro. Standing as it does, it forms one of the sublimest
objects in nature. Other cliffs are far higher, and every way more
stupendous; but Blomidon is so peculiar by its shape, its position, and
its surroundings, that it stands monarch of the scene, and rises always
with a certain regal majesty, seldom appearing without its diadem of
clouds. All around are low lands, wide meadows, and quiet valleys, and the
far spreading sea, into which this rugged height is boldly projected,
terminating an abrupt rocky wall. From the shores, for many and many a
mile around, wherever the eye may wander over the scenery, it rests upon
this as the centre of the view.
“Blomidon,” said Bart, “looks more magnificently than ever, and we have an excellent chance for a close inspection.”
“I confess,” said Bruce, “that I would rather not have so good a chance just now. I’d rather be near the mud flats of Cornwallis than this majestic cliff.”
“It’s my opinion,” said Phil, “that Blomidon is taking it out of us.”
“How?”
“How? Why, because we slighted him. We started with the intention of landing here, and instead of doing so we’ve been almost everywhere but here. So now he has got us, and he will keep us.”
“Well, if we only had something to eat, I wouldn’t care.”
“I can’t eat pork.”
“And I always hated Indian meal.”
“.And I’m getting tired of molasses candy.”
“Besides, I don’t believe that it’s healthy.”
“And then, you know, it’s always burnt.”
“But it certainly takes away one’s appetite.”
“Yes, that’s a consideration. What would become of us if our appetites were left?”
As they spoke, Mr. Long drew near. They were within a stone’s throw of the cliff, and were drifting slowly by. He looked up at the summit, as it. towered far above him, and then ran his eye along the black, tempest-torn sides.
“Boys,” said he, with a smile, “you’re right. Blomidon feels his majesty to be slighted. He’s avenging himself on us. He’ll keep us here till he gets a victim, or at least till some apology is made. Now, I’m going to appease his sullen majesty.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“By offering up a victim. And who do you think it will be? It will be—myself.”
“You, sir!”
“Yes. I’m going to land.”
“To land!”
“Yes. One of you can take me ashore, and leave me. I know the place well enough, and will walk to the nearest village. I can get a horse easily enough, and be home before sundown.”
“Can’t some of us go with you, sir?” asked Bart, eagerly.
“O, no. It’s better for you to stay. You had better remain together; besides, the walk will be too rough. For my part, I wouldn’t go if I could help it. But I must go. My work demands my presence at once. And then—I really can’t stand this any longer. I could, perhaps, endure the delay, but I can not stand Captain Corbet and his—ehem!—his baby.”
As he said this, he looked toward Captain Corbet, who was out of hearing, and was standing discoursing, with a pleasant smile, to Bogud and Jiggins.
“Bruce, will you put me ashore?” asked Mr. Long.
“Certainly, sir, with the greatest pleasure. But I’m very Sorry that you’re going.”
“I wish you’d let all of us go, sir,” said Arthur.
Mr. Long shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You see it will be easy enough for one to get a horse to take him over, but so many could not do it. So I’ll go alone. I’ve been there before, and I know my way.”
“It will seem worse than ever when you go, sir,” said Bart.
“O, you’ll have a wind before long. You won’t be home as soon as I am, for the tide won’t let you; but, I dare say, you won’t be much behind me. Take care of yourselves, and don’t try the boat again.”
Saying this, Mr. Long went to Mr. Simmons, to announce his determination. That gentleman was much surprised, and endeavored to dissuade him. But Mr. Long was not to be dissuaded. Captain Corbet said nothing. He merely elevated his eyebrows; and there was that in his face which seemed to say, “There, I knew it. I’m not at all surprised. I’m sorry for him, but not surprised. He’s capable of any piece of wildness. He can’t appreciate babbies. What more would you have from such a man?” All this his face fully expressed, but not a word of all this did Captain Corbet say.
Mr. Long shook hands with all the boys. Bruce was in the boat waiting, and soon he jumped in.
The line was cast, off, and Bruce sculled on over the smooth water without much difficulty. The tide was running rapidly, but there was plenty of coast before them; it was not far away, and before long the boat had reached the beach.
Mr. Long jumped out, and as his foot touched the shore, he gave a sigh of relief.
“Ah!” he exclaimed; “here I am at last.”
“Which way are you going, sir?” asked Bruce. “Well, I’ll walk along the shore for two or three miles, and after that I can find my way to a road.”
“You know your way I suppose, sir?” asked Bruce, anxiously.
“O, yes. I’ve been here often. I know all about it. I’ll make very good time if I don’t get attracted by the minerals. That’s my only danger here. Good by.”
He wrung Bruce’s hand, and walked off. Bruce then returned to the schooner, and reached it without difficulty. The boys on board watched Mr. Long for some time. The vessel was drifting down the strait, and he was walking along the shore in an opposite direction. They watched his black figure till he turned around a curve in the shore, and passed out of sight.
For some time the vessel continued to drift under the same circumstances, without any signs of wind, or oven the prospect of a friendly mud flat on which they, could be quietly and comfortably stranded. This time they drifted below Spencer’s Island, and looked ont into the Bay of Fundy with a vague fear of being borne away into its waters, and carried off for immeasurable distances. But the tide soon turned after they had reached this place; and though the dark form of Ile Haute towered up gloomily from out the waters of the Bay of Fundy, yet they came no nearer-to it.
On the turn of the tide they drifted back once more. This gave them much relief, for as long as they were within the Basin of Minas it did not seem so bad. As they drifted along they came to the place where Mr. Long had landed, and they watched anxiously to see if there were any signs of him. They found none.
“If we only had a glass,” said Bart. “Captain Corbet, haven’t you a glass?”
“Yes—a kind of a one.”
“Where?”
“It’s in the cabin.”
“May I have it?”
“O, yes.”
Bart went down and looked for some time. At last he returned disappointed.
“1 can’t find any glass, Captain Corbet,” said he.
“Why, it’s jest in front of yer nose,” said Captain Corbet. “Come down. I’ll show you where it is.”
Down went Bart after Captain Corbet, and, the latter pointed to the wall. .
“There,” said he. “I wonder you didn’t see it.”
“Where?” asked Bart.
“Where? Why, there,” said Captain Corbet; and saying this he put his horny finger on a small triangular fragment of what was once a looking-glass, which small triangular fragment was fastened to a post, on one side of the cabin, with brass trunk nails.
“There it is,” said Captain Corbet. “You don’t seem to have any eyes in your head, though you’re sharp enough sometimes, gracious knows.”
“That!” cried Bart. “That! Why, it’s a spyglass I want.”
“A spy-glass no, yes. Wal, I hain’t got none.”
“You haven’t any!”
“No; never owned one in all my born days.”
“That’s odd, too. I thought every sea captain had to have one.”
“Wal, no. There ain’t no great use for sich. They’re a kind o’ luxury, you see. I don’t have any call for them. There’s other machines, too, that they talk about, sech as quadrupeds an’ sextons; but I never bother my head about, ’em.”
“Why, how do you manage to sail your schooner?”
“How? Why, jest up sail an’ let her slide.”
“But what do you do when you’re out of sight of land?”
“Never git out of sight. Ef I should, I’d steer straight back for the land agin.”
“What do you do in the fog?” asked Bart.
“The fog? I jest do the best I kin. Any ways, I don’t see what use a sexton would be in a fog, nor a quadruped nuther. Then them sort o’ con-sarns have to be worked by the sun. So, you see, they’re no manner o’ use in these here waters, nor in no waters at all. People git along jest as well without ’em. Why, here am I, an’ I bin sailin’ this forty year, an’ never tetched a sexton nor a quadruped; and me bin all the way to Bosting. Besides, did Noah make his vyge in the Ark with a quadruped? No, sir. Did Solomon have one in the ship that he sailed to Ophir? Agin I say, no, sir. So I conclude that what the prophets, an’ patriarchs, an’ wise men of old,—an’ a darn sight better men than sea captains are as they go these times;—what they did without, we can do without.”
“But you have a compass?”
“Course I have.”
“They didn’t have a compass in those days.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Excuse me—they didn’t have anything of the kind.”
“Excuse me, young sir,—bein’ a man old enough, to be your feyther, an’ a seafarin’ man, too, an’, what’s more, a man that reads his Bible,—but they did.”
“I should like to know how you make that out.”
“Did you ever read Acts?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever happen to hear tell of the vygo of the ‘postle Paul, young sir?”
“Yes; but what’s that got to do with it? You don’t mean to say that he had a compass.”
“That’s the very pint that I’m a drivin’ at.”
“What! that the apostle Paul had a compass?”
“Course he had.”
“Why, the compass wasn’t known till the fourteenth century. Flavio Gioja, of Amalfi, is the one that they say invented it.”
“So that’s what they teach you over there at the Academy—is it?” said Captain Corbet with a look that would have been one of scorn if it hadn’t been so full of pity. “So that’s what they teach—is it? Wal! wall wal! If I ever! I never did! However, I’ll show you at once what’s the wuth, the terew wuth, of your lamin’, when it’s put fair an’ square in opposition to facts. Look here now, an’ listen, an’ don’t forget. In the account of that vyge, it says distindtly, ‘So we fetched-a compass.’ What have you got to say to that, now? hey?”
And Captain Corbet drew himself up, and watched the effect of this startling piece of intelligence.