Waiting for high Water.—A Trial.—A new Discovery.—Total Failure.—Down again.—Overboard.—A Struggle for Life.
Tom's work was thus, at length, accomplished, and it remained now to get the boat in readiness and wait. Slowly and carefully he raised the bow by means of the lever, and one by one he withdrew the boards which held it up. At last the boat lay on the beach, ready to receive the uplifting arms of the returning tide whenever it should make its appearance again. Tom saw with satisfaction that the boat was about three yards down below high-water mark, on the spot to which he had dragged it after the failure of his last experiment. This, of course, would be so much in his favor, for it would thus be able to float before the water should reach its height.
He had worked hard all the afternoon, and it was already dark. The tide, which had been falling, had some time ago reached its lowest point, and was now returning. Between him and the lowest point was a great distance, for the tides here rise to a perpendicular height of over forty feet; but Tom knew that the time required to traverse the long space that here intervened between high and low-water mark was precisely the same as if it had only to rise a few feet.
He was very hungry, but some things had yet to be done. He had to put on board the boat the articles that he had taken ashore. His matches were now quite dry, and he put them in his pocket with a deep sense of their value to him in his present position. His clothes also were dry, and these he put on. The sail, the coil of rope, and the box of biscuit were put on board the boat. Tom had still to make his frugal repast; but this was soon accomplished, and he felt again a sense of exceeding thankfulness at the possession of the box of biscuit. At length his evening meal was over, and by the time that he had finished it, it had grown quite dark. He now went to the boat, and tied up the sail around the mast. There was nothing to which he could fasten the boat; but it was not necessary, as he was on the watch. The water continued smooth, the wind was from the north, as before, and there was no sign of fog. Overhead the sky was free from clouds, and the stars twinkled pleasantly to his upturned eyes, as if to encourage him. There was no moon, however, and though it was not very dark, yet it was sufficiently so to veil the nearest shores in gloom, and finally to withdraw them altogether from his view. Still it was not a matter of necessity that he should see the opposite shores, for he knew that his chief, and indeed his only reliance must be upon the tide; and this would bear him in its upward course on the morrow. The night was only needed to float the boat down as far as low-water mark. The process of floating her would serve to test the security of the fastenings, and show whether he could venture to make the attempt.
For hours Tom waited, sometimes seated in the boat, at other times walking along the beach down to the water. He found it difficult to keep himself awake, and therefore did not venture to sit down long. Wearied with his long work through the day, the necessity of constant exertion wearied him still more, until at length he could scarce draw his legs after him. But all things have an end, and so it was with Tom's dreary watch; for at length the waters came up, and touched the boat, and surrounded it, until at last, to his great joy, Tom found himself afloat. He seized his stick, and pushed the boat into deeper water, a few yards off, with the intention of keeping her at about that distance from the shore.
The one thought that was now in his mind referred exclusively to his work in the boat. Was it firm? Would it hold? Did it leak? The boat was floating, certainly. How long would if continue to do so? For a few minutes he waited anxiously, as he floated there in deep water, with his eyes fixed on the work in the bow, and his ears listening intently to detect any sign of that warning, gurgling sound, which had struck terror to his heart on his last embarkation. But no sign came of any sound of that sort, and he heard nothing but the gentle dash of the water against the sides of the boat. Thus about five minutes passed. At the end of that time, he raised the sail, which he had laid along the bottom of the boat, and examined underneath it. The first touch of his fingers at the bottom lessened very largely the hope that was in him, and at once chased away the feeling of exultation that was rising. For there, in the bottom of the boat, he felt as much as an inch of water. After the first shock, he tried to believe that it was only the water that was in the boat before; and so, taking comfort in this thought, he waited for further developments, but at the same time took the dipper, so as to be ready to bale out the water, and have a struggle for it in case the worst should happen.
Another minute assured him that this was not the water which had been in the boat before. A new supply was entering, and in the space of that short time of waiting it had risen to the height of another inch. Tom felt a sudden pang of dismay, but his stout heart did not quail, nor did his obstinate resolution falter. Since it was the sea water that was coming in, he determined to have a fight with it for the possession of the boat. So he set to work bravely, and began to bale. He pulled up the sail, so as to have plenty of elbow-room, and worked away, dipping out the water; but, as he dipped, he perceived that it was gradually getting deeper. He dipped faster, but without any visible improvement, indeed, his efforts seemed to have but very little effect in retarding the entrance of the water. It grew deeper and deeper. One inch of water soon deepened to two inches, and thence to three. Soon after four inches were felt.
And now the water came in more rapidly. It seemed to Tom as though it had been delayed at first, for a little time, in finding an entrance, but that now, after the entrance was found, it came pouring in with ever-accelerated speed. Tom struggled on, hoping against hope, and keeping up his efforts long after they were proved to be useless. But the water came in faster and faster, until at length Tom began to see that he must seek his safety in another way. Flinging down his dipper, then, with a cry of vexation, he started up, and, seizing his bit of board, he looked around for the shore.
He had been caught by some side current, and had been carried along in such a way that he was about a hundred yards from the island, and seemed to be drifting up the bay. The dark, shadowy shores were much farther away than he had suspected. While struggling to bale out the boat, he had forgotten how necessary it was to keep near to the shore. He now saw his mistake, and strove to paddle the boat back again. With such a clumsy oar it is not likely that he could have achieved his desire at all, had the flood tide been stronger; but now it was about at its height, and would soon turn, if it was not turning already. The current, therefore, was but a weak one, and Tom found himself able to move slowly back; but his progress was very slow, and working at such a disadvantage was excessively fatiguing. At last he saw that if he trusted to paddling he could never reach the shore. In a moment another idea suggested itself; there was no time to lose, and he at once acted on it. Darting forward, he loosed the sail. The wind was still blowing from the north; at once the sail was filled, and, yielding to this new power, the boat began to move more rapidly. Tom tied the sheet astern, and, seizing his paddle, tried to scull the boat. For some minutes he kept up this work, and the boat moved steadily forward, nearer and still nearer, until the land was at length not more than thirty or forty yards off.
But by this time the danger had come nearer, and the boat was already half full of water. Tom began to see that it could not float as far as the shore. What was he to do? He waited a little longer. He looked around. The boat was drawing nearer, yet soon it must go down. To ease it, it would be necessary to relieve it of his own weight. He did not lose his presence of mind for a moment, but determined at once to jump overboard. In his perfect coolness he thought of one or two things which were of importance to him, and performed them swiftly and promptly. First he took the box of biscuit, and placed it on the heap of boards and canvas in the bows, so that it might remain as long as possible out of reach of the water. Then he took the card of matches out of his waistcoat pocket, and put them in his hat, which he replaced on his head. To secure thus from damage the two necessaries of food and fire was but the work of a few seconds. To throw off his coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and hang them over the top of the short mast, was the work of a few seconds more. By the time this had been done, the water was nearly up to the gunwales. In five seconds more the boat would have gone down; but, so well had Tom's work been done, and so promptly, that these five seconds were saved. Having done what he wished, he let himself down into the water; and, holding on by the stern of the boat, he allowed himself to float after it, kicking out at the same time, so as to assist, rather than retard, its progress.
By this time the land was not more than twenty yards away. The boat did not sink so rapidly now, but kept afloat much better; still the water rose to a level with the gunwales, and Tom was too much rejoiced to find that it kept afloat at all to find fault with this. The wind still blew, and the sail was still up; so that the water-logged vessel went on at a very respectable rate, until at length half the distance which Tom had noticed on going overboard was traversed. The boat seemed to float now, though full of water, and Tom saw that his precious biscuit, at any rate, would not be very much harmed. Nearer and nearer now he came until at last, letting himself down, his feet touched bottom. A cry of delight escaped him; and now, bracing himself firmly against the solid land below, he urged the boat on faster, until at length her deep-sunk bows grated against the gravel of the beach.
He hurried up to the box of biscuit, and put this ashore in a safe place; after which he secured the boat to a jagged rock on the bank. He found now that he had come to a different part of the beach altogether, for his boat was lying at the spot where the little brook ran into the sea. Well was it for him, in that rash and hazardous experiment, that he had floated off before the tide was high. It had led to his drifting up the bay, instead of down, and by a weak current, instead of a strong one. The wind had thus brought him back. Had it been full tide, he would have drifted out from the shore, and then have been carried down the bay by the falling water to swift and sure destruction.
Tom now took off his wet shirt, and put on the dry clothes which he had so prudently hung on the top of the mast. He perceived that he had not a very pleasant lookout for the night, for the sail which he had formerly used to envelop himself with was now completely saturated. It was also too dark to go to the woods in search of ferns or mosses on which to sleep. However, the night was a pleasant one, and the grass around would not be so bad a resting-place as he had been forced to use while drifting in the boat. He had now become accustomed to hardship by bitter experience, and so he looked forward to the night without care.
The day had been an eventful one, indeed, for him, and his last adventure had been full of peril, from which he had been most wonderfully rescued.
These thoughts were in his mind, and he did not fail to offer up prayers of heartfelt gratitude to that good and merciful Being who had thus far so wonderfully preserved him. With such feelings in his heart, he sought out a sleeping-place, and after some search he found a mossy knoll. Seating himself here, he reclined his back against it, and in a few minutes the worn-out boy was buried in a deep sleep.
He slept until late on the following day, and on waking looked around to see if there were any sails in view. None were visible. The tide was about half way up, and the wide waters spread before him without any vessel in sight. He then began his preparations for the day. He hung his shirt upon a bush, and spread out the wet sail on the grass. An examination of the biscuit showed him that they had scarcely been injured at all, the water having penetrated only the lower part of the box. He removed the lower layer of biscuit, and spread them out on a rock in the sun to dry. After this he breakfasted, and wandered about for a time. He then took a swim, and felt much refreshed. By the time that his swim was over, he found that the hot sun had dried his shirt, so that he could once more assume that very important article of clothing.
The sun climbed high towards the zenith, and the tide came up higher, as Tom sat there alone on his desert island, looking out upon the sea. The boat from which he had hoped so much had proved false to those hopes, and all the labors of the previous day had proved useless. His attempt to escape had nearly resulted in his destruction. He had learned from that experiment that no efforts of his could now effect his rescue. He had done the very best he could, and it would not be possible for him, with his present resources, to contrive anything better than that which had so miserably failed. If he could only procure some tar, he might then stop up the interstices; but as it was, nothing of his construction would avail to keep back the treacherous entrance of the water. It seemed now to him that his stay on the island was destined to be prolonged to a much greater extent than he had first thought of, and there did not seem any longer a hope of saving himself by his own exertions.
Alone on a desert island!
It was a dreadful fact which now forced itself more and more upon Tom's mind, until at length he could think of nothing else. Hitherto he had fought off the idea whenever it presented itself, and so long as he had been able to indulge in any hope of freeing himself by his own exertions, he prevented himself from sinking into the gloom of utter despair. But now he could no longer save himself from that gloom, and the thought grew darker and drearier before him—the one fact of his present situation.
Alone on a desert island!
A very interesting thing to read about, no doubt; and Tom, like all boys, had revelled in the portrayals of such a situation which he had encountered in his reading. No one had entered with more zest than he into the pages of Robinson Crusoe, and no one had enjoyed more than he the talks which boys love to have about their possible doings under such circumstances. But now, to be here, and find himself in such a place,—to be brought face to face with the hard, stern, dismal fact,—was another thing altogether. What oppressed him most was not the hardships of his position. These he could have withstood if there had been nothing worse. The worst part of his present life was its solitude. If Bart had been here with him, or Bruce, or Arthur, or Phil, or Pat, how different it would have been! Even old Solomon would have enabled him to pass the time contentedly. But to be alone,—all alone,—without a soul to speak to,—that was terrible.
Tom soon found that the very way to deepen his misery was to sit still and brood over it. He was not inclined to give way to trouble. It has already been seen that he was a boy of obstinate courage, resolute will, and invincible determination. He was capable of struggling to the last against any adversity; and even if he had to lose, he knew how to lose without sinking into complete despair. These moods of depression, or even of despair, which now and then did come, were not permanent. In time he shook them off, and looked about for some new way of carrying on the struggle with evil fortune.
So now he shook off this fit of depression, and starting up he determined not to sit idle any longer.
"I won't stand it," he muttered. "There's lots of things to be seen, and to be done. And first of all I've got to explore this island. Come, Tom, my boy; cheer up, old fellow. You've pretended to admire Robinson Crusoe; act up to your profession. And first of all, my boy, you've got to explore Juan Fernandez."
The sound of his own voice had the effect of encouraging and inspiriting him, while the purpose which he thus assigned to himself was sufficient to awaken his prostrated energies. There was something in the plan which roused all his curiosity, and turned his thoughts and feelings into a totally new direction. No sooner, then, had this thought occurred to him, than he at once set out to put it into execution.
First of all he took one parting look at the scene around him. The sun had now passed its meridian, and it seemed to be one o'clock or after. The tide was high. The boat, which had at first floated, was now nearly full of water. Tom threw a melancholy glance at this fresh proof of the utter futility of all his labor, and then examined the fastenings, so that it might not drift away during his absence. Then he searched among the drift-wood until he found a stout stick to assist him in climbing, and to serve as a companion in his walk, after which he started.
The sun was bright, but over the sky some clouds were gathering, and the opposite shores seemed to have grown darker than they were a few hours ago, having assumed a hue like olive green. The wind had also died away, and the water was as smooth as glass.
Where's Solomon?—An anxious Search.—The Beach.—The cavernous Cliffs.—Up the Precipice.—Along the Shore.—Back for Boats.
The loss of Solomon had filled the boys with anxiety, and even Captain Corbet shared in the common feeling. He had preferred to set out, as he said, with a coil of rope; but the sight of this seemed to make Solomon's fate appear darker, and looked as though he might have fallen over a precipice, or into a deep pool of water. They all knew that a serious accident was not at all improbable. They had seen the lofty and rugged cliffs that lined the bay shore, and knew that the rising waters, as they dashed over them, might form the grave of a man far younger and more active than the aged Solomon. He was weak and rheumatic; he was also timid and easily confused. If the water had overtaken him anywhere, he might easily fall a prey. In his efforts to escape, he would soon become so terrified that his limbs would be paralyzed. He might then stumble over the rocks, and break some of his bones, or he might be intrapped in some recess of the cliffs, from which escape might be impossible without external help.
Full of thoughts like these, the boys went on, with Captain Corbet, up through the village, looking carefully around as they went on, and making inquiries of every one whom they met. No one, however, could give them any information. At last they reached the end of the village. Here, on the left, there arose a high hill. The road wound round this, and descended into a valley, through which a stream ran to the bay. In this valley there was a ship-yard, where the half-finished fabric of a large ship stood before them, and from which the rattle of a hundred axes rose into the air. The valley itself was a beautiful place, running up among steep hills, till it was lost to view among a mass of evergreen trees and rich foliage. Below the shipyard was a cove of no very great depth, but of extreme beauty. Beyond this was a broad beach, which, at the farthest end, was bounded by the projecting headland before alluded to. The headland was a precipitous cliff of red sandstone, crowned at the summit with a fringe of forest trees, white at its base were two or three hollow caverns, worn into the solid rock by the action of the surf. One of these was about thirty feet in height at its mouth, and ran back for sixty or seventy feet, narrowing all the way, like a funnel, from its entrance to its farthest extremity.
The tide was now nearly at its height, and progress down the beach and along the cliff was impossible. The caves were cut off also, and the water penetrated them for some distance. At low tide one could easily walk down to the extreme point of the headland, and rounding this, he would find it possible to go along in front of the cliffs for an immense distance, either by walking along the rough beach at their foot, or, if the water should rise again, by going along rocky shelves, which projected for miles from the surface of the cliff.
Reaching the head of the beach, Captain Corbet paused, and looked around.
"Before goin any further," said he, "we'd better ask the folks at this ship-yard. It ain't possible to tell whether he's gone by the beach or not. He may have gone up the valley."
"O," said Bart, dolefully, "he must have gone by the beach."
"I rayther think I'll ask, at any rate," said the captain.
So saying, he walked up towards a house that was not far off, and accosted some men who were standing there. On hearing his question, they were silent for a few moments; and at last one of them recollected seeing an aged colored man passing by early in the morning. He had a basket on his arm, and in every way corresponded to the description of Solomon. He was on his way up the shore.
"Did he go down to the pint," asked Captain Corbet, "or up to the top of the cliff?"
The man couldn't say for certain; but as far as he could recollect, it seemed to him that he went down to the pint.
"About what time?"
"Between eight and nine o'clock—in fact, about eight—not much later."
"Did he speak to any one here?"
"No; he walked past without stoppin. An do you say he ain't got back?"
"Not yet."
"Wal," said the man, "for an old feller, an a feller what don't know the country hereabouts, he's gone on a dangerous journey; an ef he's tried to get back, he's found it a pooty hard road to travel."
"Isn't there any chance of his gettin back by the cliff?"
"Not with the water risin onto his path."
"Is there any way of gettin up to the top of the cliff?"
"Wal, fur a active young feller it wouldn't be hard, but for a pore old critter like that thar, it couldn't be done—no how."
"Wal, boys," said Captain Corbet, sorrowfully, "I guess we'd better get on, an not lose any more time."
They walked away in silence for some time, until at last they reached the foot of the cliff. A path here ran up in a winding direction so as to reach the top.
"It seems too bad," said Captain Corbet, "not to be able to get to the beach. I wish I'd come in the boat. What a fool I was not to think of it!"
"O, I dare say the top of the cliff will do," said Bruce.
"Wal, it'll have to do. At any rate I've got the kile of rope."
"We shall be able to see him from the top just as well, and perhaps better."
"Wal, I hope so; but we'll be a leetle too far above him for my fancy,—ony we can use the rope, I s'pose. Can any of you youngsters climb?"
"O, yes," said Bart, "all of us."
"What kind of heads have you got—stiddy?"
"Yes, good enough," said Bruce. "I'll engage to go anywhere that I can find a foothold; and here's Bart, that'll go certainly as far, and perhaps farther. And here's Phil, that can do his share. As for Pat, he can beat us all; he can travel like a fly, upside down, or in any direction."
"Wal, I'm glad to hear that, boys, for it's likely you'll be wanted to do some climbin afore we get back. I used to do somethin in that way; but since I've growed old, an rheumatic, I've got kine o' out o' the way of it, an don't scacely feel sech confidence in myself as I used to onst. But come, we mustn't be waitin here all day."
At this they started up the path, and soon reached the top of the cliff.
Arriving here, they found themselves in a cultivated meadow, passing through which they reached a pasture field. After a walk of about a quarter of a mile, they came to the cliff that ran along the shore of the bay, and on reaching this, the whole bay burst upon their view.
It was still a beautiful day; the sun was shining brilliantly, and his rays were reflected in a path of dazzling lustre from the face of the sea. The wind was fresh, and the little waves tossed up their heads across where the sunlight fell, flashing back the rays of the sun in perpetually changing light, and presenting to the eye the appearance of innumerable dazzling stars. Far away rose the Nova Scotia shore as they had seen it in the morning, while up the bay, in the distance, abrupt, dark, and precipitous, arose the solitary Ile Haute.
Beneath them the waters of the bay foamed and splashed; and though there was not much surf, yet the waters came rolling among the rocks, seething and boiling, and extending as far as the eye could reach, up and down, in a long line of foam.
Reaching the edge, they all looked down. At the bottom there were visible the heads of black rocks, which arose above the waves at times, but which, however, at intervals, were covered with the rolling waters that tossed around them in foam and spray. Nearer and higher up there were rocks which projected like shelves from the face of the cliff, and seemed capable of affording a foothold to any climber; but their projection served also to conceal from view what lay immediately beneath.
Along the whole beach, however, up and down, there appeared no sign of human life. Anxiously they looked, hoping to see some human form, in some part of that long line of rock; but none was visible, and they looked at one another in silence.
"Wal, he don't turn up yet; that's clar," said Captain Corbet.
"We can see a great deal from here, too," said Bart, in a despondent tone.
"Ay, an that's jest what makes the wust of it. I thought that one look from a commandin pint would reveal the wanderer to our eyes."
"Perhaps he is crouching in among the rocks down there."
"Wal, I rayther think he'd manage to git up a leetle further out of the reach of the surf than all that."
"He may be farther on."
"True; an I dare say he is, too."
"There don't seem to be any place below these rocks, where he would be likely to be."
"No; I think that jest here he could climb up, as fur as that thar shelf, certain. He may be old an rheumatic, but he's able enough to climb that fur."
"I don't think anything could have happened to him here, or we should see some signs of him."
"Course we would—we'd see his remains—we'd see his basket, or his hat, floatin and driftin about. But thar's not a basket or a hat anywhar to be seen."
"The cliff is long here, and runs in so from that point, that if he went up any distance, it would be easy for him to be caught by the rising tide."
"Course it would. O, yes, course. That's the very thing that struck me. It's very dangerous for an ole inexperienced man. But come, we mustn't stand talkin, we must hurry on, or we may as well go back agin, at onst."
Starting forward, they walked on for some time in silence. For about a hundred yards they were able to keep close to the edge of the cliff, so as to look over; but after that they encountered a dense alder thicket. In order to traverse this, they had to go farther inland, where there was some sort of an opening. There they came to a wood where the underbrush was thick, and the walking difficult. This they traversed, and at length worked their way once more to the edge of the cliff. Looking down here, they found the scene very much like what it had been farther back. The waves were dashing beneath them among rocks whose black crests were at times visible among the foam, while from the cliffs there were the same projecting shelves which they had noticed before.
"See there!" cried Bart, pointing to a place behind them. "Do you see how the cliff seems to go in there—just where the alder bushes grow? That looks like a place where a man might be caught. I wonder if he isn't there."
"Can't we go and see?"
"I don't think you can git thar."
"O, it isn't far," said Bart. "I'll run back and look down. The rest of you had better go on; I'll join you soon."
"I'll go with you," said Bruce.
"Very well."
Bruce and Bart then set out, and forced their way through the dense alder bushes, until at length they found themselves near the place. Here there was a chasm in the line of cliff, reaching from the top to the bottom. The sides were precipitous, and they could see perfectly well all the way down. At the bottom the water was rolling and tossing; and this, together with the precipitous cliffs, showed them plainly that no one could have found shelter here.
Sadly and silently they returned, and rejoined the others, who had been walking along in advance.
"Wal?" said Captain Corbet, interrogatively.
Bart shook his head.
They then walked on for some time in silence. "Come," said Captain Corbet; "we've been makin one mistake ever sence we started."
"What's that?"
"We've kep altogether too still. How do we know but we've passed him somewhar along down thar. We can't see behind all them corners."
"Let's shout now—the rest of the way."
"Yes; that's it; yell like all possessed."
The cries of the boys now burst forth in shrill screams and yells, which were echoed among the woods and rocks around.
"Now," cried Captain Corbet, "all together!"
The boys shouted all together.
"That'll fetch him," said the captain, "ef anythin doos. It's a pity we didn't think of this afore. What an ole fool I must ha ben to forgit that!"
The boys now walked on shouting, and screaming, and yelling incessantly, and waiting, from time to time, to listen for an answer.
But no answer came.
At times Captain Corbet's voice sounded forth. His cry was a very peculiar one. It was high pitched, shrill, and penetrating, and seemed as though it ought to be heard for miles. But the united voices of the boys, and the far-piercing yell of the captain, all sounded equally in vain. No response came, and at last, after standing still and listening for a longer time than usual, they all looked despondingly at one another, as though each were waiting for the other to suggest some new plan of action.
Captain Corbet stood and looked musingly out upon the sea, as though the sight of the rolling waters assisted his meditations. It was some time before he spoke.
"I tell you what it is, boys," said he at last. "We've ben makin another mistake."
"How so?"
"We've gone to work wrong."
"Well, what can we do now?"
"Wal, fust an foremost, I muve we go back on our tracks."
"Go back?"
"Yas."
"Why?"
"Wal, you see, one thing,—Solomon can't hev come further than this by no possibility, onless he started straight off to walk all the way up the bay agin, back to Petticoat Jack by the shore route,—an as that's too rough a route for an ole man, why, I calc'late it's not to be thought of. Ef, on the contrairy, he only kem out to hunt for fish, 'tain't likely he come as fur as this, an in my pinion he didn't come nigh as fur. You see we're a good piece on, and Solomon wouldn't hev come so fur if he'd cal'lated to get back to the schewner. What d'ye say to that?"
"I've thought of that already," said Bruce, sadly. "We've certainly gone as far as he could possibly have gone."
"Terrew," said Captain Corbet, solemnly.
"But what can we do now?" asked Bart.
"Fust of all, go back."
"What! give him up?"
"I didn't say that. I said to go back, an keep a good lookout along the shore."
"But we've done that already."
"Yes, I know; but then we didn't begin to yell till quite lately, whereas we'd ought to hev yelled from the time of fust startin. Now, I think ef we went back yellin all the way, we'd have a chance of turnin him up somewhar back thar whar we fust came in sight of the cliff. Very likely, if he ain't already drownded, he's a twisted himself up in some holler in the cliff back thar. He couldn't hev got this fur, certain,—unless he'd ben a runnin away."
All this seemed so certain to the boys that they had nothing to say in opposition to it. In fact, as Bruce said, they had already gone as far as Solomon could possibly have gone, and this thought had occurred to them all. Captain Corbet's proposition, therefore, seemed to them the only course to follow. So they all turned and went back again.
"What I was a goin to say," remarked Captain Corbet, after walking a few paces,—"what I was a goin to say was this. The mistake I made was in not gettin a boat."
"A boat? Why we've traced the coast from the cliff well enough—haven't we?"
"No, not well enough. We'd ought to have planned this here expedition more kerfully. It wan't enough to go along the top of the cliff this here way. You see, we've not been able to take in the lower part of the cliff underneath. We'd ought to hev got a boat. Some of us could hev gone along the cliff, jest as we hev ben doin, and the others could have pulled along the shore an kep up a sharp lookout that way. We've lost any quantity o' time that way, but that's no reason why we should lose any more; so I muve that some of us go back, right straight off, an get a boat at the ship-yard, an come back. I'll go, unless some o' youns think yourselfes smarter, which ain't onlikely."
"O, you can't run, captain," said Bart. "Bruce and I will go, and we'll run all the way."
"Wal, that's the very best thing that you could do. You're both young, an actyve. As for me, my days of youth an actyvity air over, an I'm in the sere an yaller leaf, with spells o' rheumatics. So you start off as quick as your legs can carry you, an ef you run all the way, so much the better."
The boys started off at this, and going on the full run, they hurried, as fast as possible, back over the path they had traversed, and through the woods, and over the fields, and down the cliff towards the ship-yard.
Phil and Pat, however, remained with Captain Corbet; and these three walked back along the edge of the cliff; still looking down carefully for signs of Solomon, and keeping up constantly their loud, shrill cries.
Thus they walked back, till, at length, they reached the place where the alders were growing. Here they were compelled to make a detour as before, after which they returned to the cliff, and walked along, shouting and yelling as when they came.
Back again.—Calls and Cries.—Captain Corbet's Yell.—A significant Sign.—The old Hat.—The return Cry.—The Boat rounds the Point.
Captain Corbet, with Phil and Pat, walked along the top of the cliff in this way, narrowly scrutinizing the rocks below, and calling and shouting, until, at length, they reached the place at which they had first come out upon the shore.
"Now, boys," said the captain, "from here to the pint down thar is all new ground. We must go along here, an keep a good lookout. If we hev any chance left of findin anythin, it's thar. I'm ony sorry we didn't examine this here fust an foremost, before wanderin away off up thar, whar 'tain't at all likely that Solomon ever dreamed of goin. I hope the boys won't be long gettin off that thar boat."
"Perhaps they can't get one."
"O, yes, they can. I saw two or three down thar."
They now walked on a little farther.
At this place the cliff was as steep as it had been behind; but the rocky shelves were more numerous, and down near the shore they projected, one beyond another, so that they looked like natural steps.
"If Solomon was caught by the tide anywhar hereabouts," said Captain Corbet, "thar's no uthly reason why he shouldn't save himself. He could walk up them rocks jest like goin up stairs, an git out of the way of the heaviest surf an the highest tide that these shores ever saw."
"It all depends," said Phil, "on whether he staid about here, or went farther up."
"Course—an it's my opinion that he did stay about here. He was never such an old fool as to go so far up as we did. Why, ef he'd a done so over them rocks, he'd never have got the use of his legs agin."
"Strange we don't see any signs of him."
"O, wal, thar's places yet we hevn't tried."
"One thing is certain—we haven't found any signs of him. If anything had happened, we'd have seen his basket floating."
"Yes, or his old hat."
"I should think, if he were anywhere hereabouts, he'd hear the noise; we are shouting loud enough, I'm sure. As for your voice, why, he ought to hear it a mile away; and the point down there doesn't seem to be a quarter that distance."
"O, it's further than that; besides, my voice can't penetrate so easily down thar. It gits kine o' lost among the rocks. It can go very easy in a straight line; but when it's got to turn corners an go kine o' round the edges o' sharp rocks, it don't get on so well by a long chalk. But I think I'll try an divarsify these here proceedins by yellin a leetle lower down."
So saying, Captain Corbet knelt down, and putting his head over the cliff, he uttered the loudest, and sharpest, and shrillest yell that he could give. Then he listened in silence, and the boys also listened in breathless expectation for some time. But there was no response whatever.
Captain Corbet arose with a sigh.
"Wal, boys," said he, in a mournful tone, "we must git on to the pint. We'd ought to know the wust pooty soon. But, at any rate, I'm bound to hope for the best till hope air over."
The little party now resumed their progress, and walked on towards the point, shouting at intervals, as before.
From this place on as far as the point, the ground was clear, and there was nothing to bar their way. They could go along without being compelled to make any further detour, and could keep near enough to the edge to command a view of the rocks below. They walked on, and shouted without ceasing, and thus traversed a portion of the way.
Suddenly Captain Corbet's eye caught sight of something in the water. It was round in shape, and was floating within a few feet of the shore, on the top of a wave. As Captain Corbet looked, the wave rolled from underneath it, and dashed itself upon the rocks, while the floating object seemed to be thrown farther out. The tide had turned already, and was now on the ebb, so that floating articles, such as this, were carried away from the shore, rather than towards it.
Upon this Captain Corbet fastened his gaze, and stood in silence looking at it. At length he put his hand on Phil's shoulder, and directed the attention of the boys to the floating object.
"Do you see that?" said he.
"What?"
"That thing."
"What—that round thing?"
"Yes, that round thing. Look sharp at it now. What doos it look like to your young eyes?"
Phil and Pat looked at it very carefully, and in silence. Then Phil looked up into Captain Corbet's face without saying a word.
"Wal?"
"What is it, do you think?" asked Phil, in a low voice.
"What do YOU think?"
"Sure an it's a hat—a sthraw hat," said Pat.
Captain Corbet exchanged a meaning glance with Phil.
"Do you think it's HIS hat?" asked Phil.
"Whose else can it be?"
Phil was silent, and his gaze was once more directed to the floating object. As it rose and fell on the waves, it showed the unmistakable outline of a straw hat, and was quite near enough for them to recognize its general character and color. It was dark, with the edges rather ragged, a broad brim, and a roomy crown, not by any means of a fashionable or graceful shape, but coarse, and big, and roomy, and shabby—just such a hat as Solomon had put on his head when he left Grand Pre with them on this memorable and ill-fated voyage.
They looked at it for a long time in silence, and none of them moved.
Captain Corbet heaved a deep sigh.
"This here," said he, "has been a eventfool vyge. I felt a derred persentment afore I started. Long ago I told you how the finger of destiny seemed to warn me away from the ocean main. I kem to the conclusion, you remember, that henceforth I was to dwell under my own vine an fig tree, engaged in the tender emplymint of nussin the infant. But from this I was forced agin my own inclynations. An what's the result? Why, this—that thar hat! See here, boys;" and the venerable seaman's tone grew deeper, and more solemn, and more impressive; "see here, boys," he repeated; "for mor'n forty year hev I follered the seas, an traversed the briny deep; but, though I've hed my share of storms an accydints, though I've ben shipwrecked onst or twiste, yet never has it ben my lot to experience any loss of human life. But now, but now, boys, call to mind the startlin events of this here vyge! Think of your companion an playmate a driftin off in that startlin manner from Petticoat Jack! An now look here—gaze upon that thar! Words air footil!"
"Do you give him up, then?" cried Phil. "Poor, poor old Solomon!"
Captain Corbet shook his head.
"'Deed, thin, an I don't!" cried Pat. "What's a hat? 'Tain't a man, so it isn't. Many's the man that's lost his hat, an ain't lost his life. It's a windy place here, an ole Solomon's hat's a mile too big for him, so it is—'deed an it is."
Captain Corbet shook his head more gloomily than ever.
"Ow, sure an ye needn't be shakin yer head that way. Sure an haven't ye lost hats av yer own, over an over?"
"Never," said the captain. "I never lost a hat."
"Niver got one blowed off? 'Deed an ye must have."
"I never got one blowed off. When the wind blowed hard I allus kep 'em tied on."
"Well, Solomon hadn't any tie to his, an it cud tumble off his old pate asy enough, so it cud. Sure he's lost it jumpin over the rocks. Besides, where's his basket?"
"At the bottom, no doubt."
"Sure an it cud float."
"No; I dar say it was full of lobsters."
"Any how, I'll not believe he's gone till I see him," cried Pat, earnestly. "Seein's believin."
"Ef he's gone," said Captain Corbet, more solemnly than ever, "ye'll never see him. These waters take too good care of a man for that."
"Well, yer all givin up too soon," said Pat. "Come along now; there's lots of places yet to examin. Give one of yer loudest yells."
Captain Corbet did so. In spite of his despondency as to poor old Solomon's fate, he was not at all unwilling to try any further chances. On this occasion he seemed to gain unusual energy out of his very despair; and the yell that burst from him was so high, so shrill, so piercing, and so far penetrating, that the former cries were nothing compared to it.
"Well done!" cried Pat. "Sure an you bet yerself that time, out an out."
"Stop!" cried Phil. "Listen. What's that?"
Far away, as they listened, they heard a faint cry, that seemed like a response.
"Is that the echo?" asked Phil, anxiously.
"Niver an echo!" cried Pat, excitedly. "Shout agin, captain, darlin."
Captain Corbet gave another shout as loud and as shrill as the preceding one.
They listened anxiously.
Again they heard the cry. It was faint and far off; yet it was unmistakably a human cry. Their excitement now grew intense.
"Where did it come from?" cried Phil.
"Wal, it kine o' seemed to me that it came back thar," said the captain, pointing to the woods.
"'Deed an it didn't," cried Pat; "not a bit of it. It was from the shore, jest ahead; from the pint, so it was, or I'm a nagur."
"I think it came from the shore, too," said Phil; "but it seemed to be behind us."
"Niver a bit," cried Pat; "not back there. We've been there, an whoever it was wud have shouted afore, so he wud. No, it's ahead at the pint. He's jest heard us, an he's shoutin afther us. Hooray! Hurry up, an we'll be there in time to save him."
Pat's confidence was not without its effect on the others. Without waiting any longer, they at once set off at a run, stopping at intervals to yell, and then listening for a response. To their delight, that response came over and over again; and to their still greater joy, the sound each time was evidently louder.
Beyond a doubt, they were drawing nearer to the place from which the sounds came.
This stimulated them all the more, so that they hurried on faster.
The edge of the cliff was not covered by any trees, but the ground at its summit had been cleared, so that progress was not at all difficult. They therefore did not take much time in traversing the space that intervened between the spot where they had first heard the cry, and the point where the cliff terminated. The cry grew steadily louder, all the way, until at last, when they approached the point, it seemed to come directly from beneath.
The cliff here was perpendicular for about forty feet down, and below this it seemed to retreat, so that nothing could be seen. The tide was on the ebb; but it was still so high that its waves beat below them, and seemed to strike the base of the rock. Beyond, on the right, there was a sloping ledge, which descended from the cliffs into the sea, over which the waves were now playing.
It was from the hollow and unseen recess down at the foot of the cliff that the cry seemed to arise, which had come in response to the calls of those on the summit. On reaching the place above, they knelt down, and looked over, but were not able to distinguish any human being, or any sign of the presence of one. But as they looked anxiously over, the cry arose, not very loud, but quite distinct now, and assured them that this was the place which sheltered the one who had uttered that cry.
Captain Corbet now thrust his head over as far as he could, and gave a call in his loudest voice.
"Hal-lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!"
To which there came up in answer a cry that sounded like—
"Hi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i!"
"Solomo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-on!"
"He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ey!"
"Is that yo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ou?"
"It's me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!"
"Where are y-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ou?"
"He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-re!"
"Come u-u-u-u-u-u-u-up!"
"Ca-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-n't!"
"Why no-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ot?"
"Too hi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-gh!"
"Go round the pi-i-i-i-i-i-nt!"
"Too high ti-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-de!"
"Wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-it!"
"All ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght!"
Captain Corbet now sprang up as nimbly as a young lad, and looked at Phil and Pat with an expression of such exceeding triumph, that his face seemed fairly to shine.
"It IS Solomon!" he cried. But it was of no use for him to convey that piece of information to the boys, who already knew that fact quite as well as he did.
"It IS Solomon," he repeated; "an now the pint is, how air we to git him up?"
"Let me go down," said Pat.
"How?"
"Sure an I can git down wid that bit o' rope you have."
"Mebbe you can, an then agin mebbe you can't; but s'posin you was to git down, how upon airth would that help the matter?"
"Sure an we cud give him a pull up."
"I don't think we could manage that," said Captain Corbet, "and you couldn't, at any rate, if you were down thar with him. As far as I see, we'll hev to wait till the tide falls."
"Wouldn't it be better," said Phil, "for us to go around, so as to come nearer?"
"How? Whar?"
"Why, down to the beach, and then we could walk around the point."
"Walk? Why, it's high water."
"So it is—I forgot that."
"The fact is, we can't git any nearer than we air now. Then, agin, the boys'll be along in a boat soon. They ought to be here by this time; so let's sit down here, an wait till they heave in sight."
With a call of encouragement to Solomon which elicited a reply of satisfaction, Captain Corbet sat down upon the grass, and the boys followed his example. In this position they waited quietly for the boat to come.
Meanwhile, Bart and Bruce had hurried on as rapidly as their legs could carry them, and at length reached the path which went down to the beach. Down this they scrambled, and not long afterwards they reached the ship-yard. Here they obtained a boat without any difficulty, which the workmen launched for them; and then they pushed off, and pulled for the point, with the intention of rowing along opposite the shore, and narrowly inspecting it.
Scarcely had they reached the point, however, when a loud and well-known voice sounded from on high. They both turned and looked up, still pulling. There they saw Captain Corbet, and Phil, and Pat, all of whom were shouting and making furious gestures at them.
"We've found him! Come in closer!" cried Captain Corbet.
"Whe-e-e-re?" cried Bruce.
But before any answer could come, a loud, shrill scream, followed by a yell of delight, burst forth from some place still nearer.
Burt and Bruce both started, and looked towards the place from which this last cry came.
There a very singular and pleasing sight met their eyes.
About six feet above the water was a shelf of rock, that ran down sloping to the beach, and over this there projected a great mass of the cliff. In this recess there crouched a familiar figure. He had no hat, but between his legs, as he sat there, he held a basket, to which he clung with his knees and his hands. As he sat there his eyes were fixed upon them, and their whites seemed enlarged to twice their ordinary dimensions, while yell after yell came from him.
"Help, he-e-e-e-e-lp! Mas'r Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-art! O, Mas'r Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-art! He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp! Sa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ave me!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried Bart and Bruce, in a burst of heartfelt joy.
"He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp!" came forth once more from Solomon.
"All right," cried Bart; and at once the boat pointed towards the place where Solomon was sitting. The water nearer the shore was somewhat rough, but fortunately there were no rocks just there, and they were able to bring the boat in close to the place where Solomon was confined. At their approach Solomon moved slowly down the incline of the rock, on his hands and knees, for there was not room for him to stand upright; and as he moved he pushed the basket before him, as though there was something inside of uncommon value. Reaching, at length, a spot where the rock was about the level of the boat, he waited for them to approach. Soon the boat touched the rock.
"Come, old Sol," cried Bart, "jump in!"
"Hyah, take hole ob dis yar," said Solomon, even in that moment of rescue refusing to move till his precious basket should be safe.
Bart grasped it, and put it into the boat, noticing, as he did so, that it was full of lobsters.
"Come, Solomon, hurry up. I don't like the boat to be knocking here this way."
"All right, sah," said Solomon, crawling along rather stiffly; "ben tied up in a knot all day, an feel so stiff dat I don't know as I'll git untied agin fur ebber mo. Was jest makin my will, any way, as you came along."
By this time Solomon had tumbled into the boat, and worked his way aft, though not without many groans.
"It's de cold rocks, an de wet," he groaned. "Sech an attack o' rheumaticses as dis ole nigga's gwine to hab beats all! Any how, I ben an sabed de lobsta. Loss me ole hat, but didn't car a mite fer dat so long as I sabed de lobsta."
"All right," cried Bart; and at this the two boys pulled away from the rocks and rounded the point. As they came into the sight of those who were waiting on the top of the cliff, a shout of joy arose.