Friendly Advice and dismal Forebodings.—Once more upon the Waters, yet once more.—Due North.—A Calm.—The Calm continues.—A terrible Disclosure.—Despair of Corbet.—Solomon finds his Occupation gone.—Taking Stock.—Short Allowance.ANOTHER day was passed very pleasantly at the Magdalen Islands, and then the boys concluded that they had seen about all that there was to be seen in this place. As the question where next to go arose, they Concluded to ask the skipper.
“Well, boys,” said he, “in the first place, let me ask you if you’ve ever heard of Anticosti?”
“Of course we have,” said Bart.
“Well, don’t go there; don’t go near it; don’t go within fifty mile of it; don’t speak of it; don’t think of it; and don’t dream of it. It’s a place of horror, a howling wilderness, the abomination of desolation, a haunted island, a graveyard of unfortunate sailors. Its shores are lined with their bones. Don’t you go and add your young bones to the lot. You can do far better with them.”
“Well, where do you advise us to go?” asked Arthur.
The skipper thought for a few moments without answering.
“Well,” said he, “you know Sable Island.”
“Yes,” said Bart, in some surprise.
“Well,” said the skipper, impressively, “don’t go there; don’t go within a hundred miles of it; don’t speak of it; don’t think of it; don’t dream of it.”
“But you’ve said all that to us before,” said Bruce. “We want to know where weareto go, not where we arenotto go.”
“Well,” said the skipper, “I am aware that I’ve said all this before, and I say it a second time, deliberately, for the simple purpose of impressing it upon your minds. There’s nothin like repetition to impress a thing on the memory; and so, if you ever come to grief on Anticosti, or on Sable Island, you’ll remember my warnin, and you’ll never feel like blamin me.”
“But where ought we to go?” asked Bruce.
“Well, that’s the next point. Now, I’ve been thinkin’ all about it, and to my mind there ain’t any place in all this here region that comes up to the Bay of Islands, Newfoundland.”
“The Bay of Islands?”
“Yes, the Bay of Islands, on the west coast of Newfoundland. It’s a great place. I’ve been there over and over, and I know it like a book. Thousands of vessels go there every season. It’s one of the best harbors in the gulf. It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. The air is bracing, the climate salubrious, the scenery inviting; and it only needs a first-class hotel with all the modern improvements in order to become a number one waterin-place. Yes, by ginger!” he continued, “you plant a first-class hotel there, and let that there place become known, and there’s nothin to prevent it from goin ahead of Long Branch or Newport, or any other place you can mention.
“Then,” continued the skipper, “if you wanted to go any further, you might go up the Straits of Belle Isle, and round Newfoundland. If you had time, you might take a run over to Greenland; it’s gettin to be quite a place, a fashionable resort in the hot summer; but perhaps you won’t have time, and won’t care about doin more than cruisin round Newfoundland, and then home.”
Once more the skipper’s tone seemed somewhat extravagant to the boys, and they did not know how to take it.
“O, well,” said Bart, “we don’t want to go to Greenland this season. When we do go there, we shall probably go for good; but just now, we want to confine ourselves to the gulf. If you can really recommend the Bay of Islands, perhaps we had better go there; that is,” added Bart, “unless you think we had better go to Iceland.”
The skipper looked at Bart for a few moments in silence, and a smile gradually passed over his face.
“Well,” said he, after a pause, “that’s the identical place that I was just going to recommend, when you took the words out of my mouth. The fact is, boys, with that old tub of yours you might as well go to Iceland as anywhere else. Every time I look at it I am thunderstruck. What were your fathers and mothers thinkin of when they let you come away up here in such an old rattle-trap?—an old tub that isn’t worth being condemned! Do you think you’ll ever get home again in her? Not you. Do you know where that old tub’s bound to go before the end of this season? Down to the bottom of the sea; and if you don’t go in her, you may bless your lucky stars. I only wish I wasn’t otherwise engaged. I’d make you all clear out at once, and come aboard the Fawn.”
Captain Corbet was not present, and did not hear these insulting reflections upon his beloved Antelope, and therefore was spared the pain which they would have caused to his aged bosom; but the boys were not the ones to listen to such insinuations in silence. The Antelope was dear to them from past associations, and they all began at once to vindicate her character. They talked long and eloquently about her. They spoke of her speed, soundness, and beauty. They told of her performances thus far.
At all of which the skipper only grinned.
“Mark my words, boys,” said he; “that there tub is goin to the bottom.”
“Well, if she does, she’ll get up again,” said Bart.
The opinions of the two parties were so different that any further debate was useless. The skipper believed that they were bound for the bottom of the sea; the boys on the contrary had faith in the Antelope. The end of it all was, that they concluded to take the skipper’s advice in part, and sail for the Bay of Islands. This place was one which they all were desirous of visiting, and they thought that when they had gone that far, they could then decide best where next to go.
They were to leave the next morning. That evening they took leave of the friendly skipper.
“Boys,” said he, “I’m afraid we’ll never meet again; but if you do get back safe from this perilous adventure of yours, and if any of you ever happen to be at Gloucester, Massachusetts, I do wish you’d look me up, and let me know. I’d give anything to see any one of you again.”
With these words the skipper shook hands with each one of them heartily, and so took his leave.
Early on the following morning the Antelope spread her sails and began once more to traverse the seas, heading towards the north. The wind was fair, and all that day they moved farther and farther away from the Magdalen Islands, until at length towards evening they were lost to view in distance and darkness.
On the next day they were all up early. They saw all around a boundless expanse of water. No land was anywhere visible, and not a sail was in sight. This was a novelty to the boys, for never yet had any of them had this experience in the Antelope. Some of them had been out of sight of land, it is true; but then they were in large ships, or ocean steamers. Being in such a situation in a craft like the Antelope, was a far different thing. Yet none of them felt anything like anxiety, nor had the slurs of the skipper produced any effect upon their affectionate trust in their gallant bark, and in their beloved Captain Corbet.
Certainly on the present occasion there was little enough cause for anxiety about the sea-worthiness of the Antelope. The sea was as smooth as a mirror, and its glassy surface extended far and wide around them. There was not a breath of air stirring. They learned from Wade that the wind had gradually died away between sundown and midnight, until it had ceased altogether. They were now in a dead calm.
None of the party was very well pleased at this. They all wished to be moving. They disliked calms, and would have much preferred a moderate gale of wind. The Antelope, however, was here, and there was no help for it. She was far away from land. She lay gently rising and falling, as the long ocean rollers raised her up and let her down; and her sails flapped idly in the still air, at the motion of the vessel. The boys did the best they could under the circumstances, and tried to pass away the time in various ways. Some of them tried to sleep; others extemporized a checker-board, and played till they were tired; others walked up and down, or lounged about. All of them, however, found their chief employment in one occupation, and that was eating. Ever since they had been on the water their appetites had been sharpened; and now that they had nothing else to do, the occupation of eating became more important and engrossing. To prolong the repast while it was before them as far as possible, and then to anticipate the next, were important aids towards killing the time.
All that day the calm continued: on going to bed that night, the boys confidently looked forward to a change of weather on the following day. The night was calm. The following day came. They were all up betimes. To their deep disappointment they found no change whatever. There was the same calm, the same unruffled sea, the same cloudless sky. Not a sail was visible anywhere, and of course there was no sign of land on any quarter.
The second day the time hung more heavily on their hands. Some of them proposed fishing; but they had no hooks, and moreover no bait. Pat proposed fashioning a spike into a hook; fastening it on a line, and fishing for sharks, and worked all day at a rusty spike for this purpose. Unfortunately, he could not get it sharp enough, and so he had at length to give it up.
Captain Corbet was perhaps the most impatient of all; and this seemed singular to the boys, who thus far had known him only as the most patient and the most enduring of men.
On this occasion, however, his patience seemed to have departed. He fidgeted about incessantly. He kept watching the sea, the sky, and the horizon, and occupied himself for hours in all the various ways common among seamen, who indulge in the superstitious practice of trying to “raise the wind.” One mode consisted in standing in one position motionless for half an hour or more, watching the horizon, and whistling: another was a peculiar snapping of the fingers; another was the | burning of some hairs pulled from his own venerable head. These and other similar acts excited intense interest among the boys, and helped to make the time pass less slowly. Unfortunately, not one of these laudable efforts was successful, and the obstinate wind refused to be “raised.”
That day the boys detected something in their meals which seemed like a decline of skill on the part of Solomon. There was a falling off both in the quantity and in the quality of the eatables. Only four potatoes graced the festive board, and a piece of corned beef that was quite inadequate to their wants. The tea was weak, and there was very little sugar. There was only a small supply of butter, and this butter seemed rather unpleasantly dirty.
On the following day all this was explained. Hurrying up on deck at early dawn, they saw the scene unchanged. Above was the cloudless sky, all around the glassy sea, and before them stood Captain Corbet, the picture of despair. By his side stood Solomon, with his hands clasped together, and his head hanging down.
“It’s all my fault, boys,” said Captain Corbet, with something like a groan. “I was to blame: But I declare, I clean forgot. And yet what business had I to forget? my fustest and highest duty bein to remember. And here we air!”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Tom, who, like all the rest was struck by Captain Corbet’s despairing attitude and words.
“I won’t hide it any longer, boys,” said he; “it’s this calm. I didn’t calculate on bein becalmed. I thought only of head winds, and then we could hev put back easy; but a calm! Why, what can you do?”
“Hide it?” Cried Bruce. “Hide what? What do you mean by this? What would you want to put back for?”
Captain Corbet groaned.
“For—for pro—provisions, dear boys,” he said mournfully, and with an effort.
“Provisions!” repeated Bruce, and looked very blank indeed. All the boys exchanged glanced, which were full of unutterable things. There was silence for some time.
Tom was the first to break it.
“Well, what have we?” he, asked, in his usual cheery voice. “Come captain, tell us what there is in the larder.”
“Ask Solomon,” said Captain Corbet, mournfully.
“Well, Solomon, tell us the worst,” said Tom.
But Solomon would not or could not speak. He raised his head, looked wildly around, and then hurried away.
Captain Corbet looked after him, and heaved a heavy sigh.
“Wal, boys,” said he, “the fact is, Solomon and me, we’ve been talkin it all over. You see, he considers himself cook, and cook only, and looks to me for the material. It’s all my fault. I forgot. I thought there was lots till yesterday mornin. Then Solomon told me how it was. I’d ort to have laid in a supply before leavin Bay de Chaleur; but as I said, I forgot. And as for Solomon, why, he’s been calmly a continooin of his cookery, same as if he was chief cook of a fust-class hotel, and all the time he was in a becalmed schewner. He told me all about it yesterday mornin; but I says, ‘Don’t tell the boys; mebbe the wind’ll change, and I’ll sail for the nighest port.’ So he didn’t, except so far as you might have guessed, from the meals which he served up; pooty slim they were too; but he did his best.”
“Well,” said Tom, with unaltered self-possession, “it would have been better for us to have known this yesterday morning; but that can’t be helped. So we have no more provisions?”
“Precious little,” said Captain Corbet, mournfully.
“Have we any?” asked Tom.
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “the tea’s all gone; and the coffee, and all the potted meats, and the apples, and the taters, and the turnips and carrots, and all the vegetables, and the smoked provisions, and you had the last mite of corned beef yesterday.”
“But what is there left?” asked Tom.
“Only two or three papers of corn starch,” said Captain Corbet, with an effort, “and, I believe, a half box of raisins, and a little rice.”
“And nothing else?”
“Not a hooter,” said Captain Corbet, despairingly.
Tom was silent. The boys all looked at one another with anxious faces, and then began to talk over the situation.
The result was, that first of all they made Solomon produce everything in the shape of eatables that remained on board. Solomon ransacked the vessel, and laid everything out on the cabin table.
It was not a very large supply, and the display created additional uneasiness in the minds of the boys.
There were,—
3 papers of corn starch, 1 lb. each.
1 ham bone.
l box raisins.
1 lb. rice.
6 biscuits.
1 bowl soup.
4 carrots.
1 potato, turnip.
2 apples.
1 oz. tea.
This was all—absolutely all on board the Antelope for the sustenance of no less than nine human beings, all of whom were blessed with excellent appetites. Fortunately, there was a sufficient supply of fresh water, so that there was no trouble on that score.
But this supply of food, even when husbanded with the greatest care, could scarcely last more than one day,—and here they were in the middle of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and becalmed!
The circumstances in which they were, excited the deepest anxiety in the minds of all. A grave and earnest discussion followed as to the best course to be pursued. First of all, they all resolved to deny themselves as far as possible, and make their supply of provisions last three days. This could be done by making a very thin soup out of the ham bone with the potato and turnip. The raisins were to be cooked with the corn starch and rice, in one general mess, which was to be carefully divided day by day. The biscuits, carrots, and apples were to be reserved.
After this they decided to try and construct something like oars, and propel the Antelope in that manner.
The provisions were divided and cooked in accordance with this decision. They all went without breakfast, for they had decided to eat but one meal per day. At midday they partook of this important meal, which consumed one third of their whole stock. But little was afforded out of that one meal for each individual, and each one felt able to consume the whole repast, instead of the beggarly ninth part which fell to him. Poor Captain Corbet refused at first to eat, and so did Solomon, for each reproached himself as the cause of the present famine; but the boys put a stop to this by refusing also to eat, and thus compelled Solomon and the captain to take the allotted nourishment.
As to the oars or sweeps, the plan proved a total failure. There was nothing on board which could be used for that purpose. There was but one small oar for the boat, and they could find nothing else that could serve for an oar except the spars of the schooner, and they were not quite prepared to resort to these. Even if they had done so, there was not an axe or a hatchet on board with which to fashion them into the requisite shape. There was, in fact, no tool larger than a pocket knife, except perhaps the table knives, and they were too dull.
The calm continued.
Thus the first day of their famine passed.
They went to bed hungry.
They awaked famished, and found the calm still continuing. There was no breakfast for them. The long hours passed slowly. In vain Captain Corbet whistled for a wind. The wind came not.
Dinner was served at midday. Each one ate his meagre share. Each one felt that this repast only tantalized his appetite, rather than satisfied it. Solomon was in despair. Captain Corbet heaped upon himself never-ending reproaches. Wade sat stolid and starving on the deck. The boys stared, with hungry eyes, around the horizon.
There was not a sign of land; there was not a sail to be seen.
So the second day passed away.
The third Day.—A strange Sail.—Below the Horizon.—Making Signals.—No Answer.—Weary Waiting.—Starvation stares them in the Face.—A long Day.—Hope dying out.—A long Discussion upon the Situation.—The last Meal.—Bruce and Bart come to a desperate Determination.—The secret Resolve.THE third day came.
The boys slept soundly during the night, and were up early. As they took their first look all around, their feelings were those of deep despondency; for far and wide, as before, there was nothing visible but the smooth sea and the cloudless sky. The calm continued, and all the east was glowing with the fiery rays of the rising sun.
Suddenly there was a cry from Phil.
“A ship! A ship!”
“Where? Where?” asked all the others.
“There! There!” cried Phil, in intense excitement, pointing towards the east, where the fiery sky rose over the glowing water. Looking in the direction where he pointed, they all saw it plainly. It was indeed as he said. It was a ship, and it was now plainly visible, though at first, on account of the glare, none of them had noticed it but Phil. As they stood and looked at it, every one of them was filled with such deep emotions of joy and gratitude that not a word was said. Captain Corbet was the first to break the solemn silence.
“Wal, I declar,” said he, “it’s ben so dim all along that I didn’t notice her; and then it kine o’ got so bright that the glare dazzled my eyes; but there she is, sure enough; and now all we’ve got to do is to manage to get into communication with her.”
The boys made no answer, but stood looking in silence. Every minute the glare lessened; then the sun rose, and as it ascended above the horizon, the form of the strange ship became fully revealed.
It was a ship apparently of considerable size; but her hull was low down in the water, and only her masts were visible. She seemed to lie below the horizon, yet was as plain to the eye as though she had been only five miles away.
“Well, boys,” said Bruce, at length, “I don’t know how you feel, but for my part I feel like taking the boat and going off to her at once. I’m sick of this fare, and should like to get a good breakfast. What do you think, captain?”
Captain Corbet shook his head.
“Wal,” said he, “I don’t exactly seem to see my way clear to approvin of you takin a row for such a matter as twenty mile or so. We’d never see you again.”
“Twenty miles!” exclaimed Bruce. “Why, it doesn’t look like more than two.”
The captain smiled.
“Why, you can’t see more of her than her masts,” replied Captain Corbet; “and a ship that’s down below the horizon far enough to hide her hull is a pooty good distance off—twenty mile, at least.”
At this Bruce was silent. Captain Corbet’s remarks were unanswerable, and he did not yet feel prepared to row so great a distance as twenty miles.
At length Bart went to the cabin, and returned with a spy-glass. This instrument did not belong to Captain Corbet, for the venerable navigator was strongly prejudiced against any such instruments, and the dimmer his eyes grew, the stronger grew those prejudices. It belonged, in fact, to Bruce, who had provided himself with it before leaving home. Armed with this, Bart took a long look at the stranger. Then he passed the glass to Bruce, and then all the boys, in turn, took a look.
The strange ship already appeared surprisingly distinct for a vessel that lay below the horizon; and on looking at her through the glass, this distinctness became more startling. Most of her sails were furled, or rather, there appeared to be no sails at all, except the jib. The fore and main-top gallant masts were gone. She appeared, indeed, to have encountered a storm, in which she had lost her spars, and the present calm seemed very little in accordance with her appearance.
The comments which the boys made upon the appearance of the stranger excited Captain Corbet’s curiosity to such a degree that he surmounted his prejudices, and condescended to look through the glass. His astonishment at the result was due rather to his own ignorance of glasses than to anything in the strange ship; but after he had become somewhat more familiar with the instrument, he began to pay attention to the object of his scrutiny.
“The fact is,” said he, after a long and careful search, “it doos railly look jest for all the world as if that thar craft has been in a storm, and lost her spars and sails. Perhaps he’s in distress. Perhaps they’re watching us more anxiously than we’re watching them.”
“I wonder if they can see us?” said Bruce.
“I’m afraid not,” said Bart, “we’re so small.”
“But they’ve got a glass.”
“Yes, and they’d be sweeping the horizon for help.”
“I wish we could get nearer.”
“If they’re hard up, they might row to us.”
“Is it any use to signalize, captain?” asked Tom.
“Not a mite,” said Captain Corbet. “You can’t signalize to a vessel so far away; at least I never heard of such a thing.”
“O, well, captain,” objected Bruce, “you see they have glasses. We could see any signals if they were to hoist them, and they can see us as well as we can see them, of course.”
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, thoughtfully, “perhaps they can; and if so, I’m sure I don’t see why we mayn’t try. So you may as well hist that thar flag o’ yourn, boys. It can’t do any harm, at any rate.”
This proposal was at once acted upon. Several of the boys sprang aft, and seizing the lines, began to lower and elevate, incessantly, the proud, yet somewhat battered banner of the B. O. W. C.—the banner whose pictured face had so often grinned at them through many an adventure, in storm and in calm. It gave them an occupation; it also served to excite hope; and so, for several hours, the flag never ceased to rise and fall,—the boys taking turns at it, and one relieving the other, so as to keep a fresh hand always at the work. This continued till midday; but at length they gave it up in disgust.
They gave it up because it had not produced the slightest result, nor excited the smallest attention; nor had the circumstances of their situation changed in any respect whatever. Far away lay the ship, and no more of her was visible. Nothing but her masts appeared to their eyes; not a particle of her hull could be seen. She seemed somewhat longer now, and some of them accounted for this on the ground that she had changed her position somewhat, and presented her broadside more than she had done in the morning.
The weather had not changed, nor were there any signs whatever of a change. The sky was still as cloudless as ever, and not the faintest fleck disturbed the expanse of blue that hung above them. The sea was unruffled, nor was there any puff of wind to agitate its surface.
Early in the morning, when that strange ship first appeared, they had hoped that a wind might arise before long to bring them together; or, if a wind did not come, that at least the currents of the sea might drift them into closer proximity; but now there began to arise a dark fear that, instead of drifting nearer together, they might be carried farther asunder, and that this strange ship, which had thus been borne so mysteriously to their sight during the darkness, might, on the advent of another day, be borne as mysteriously out of their sight. With anxious eyes they watched her form, testing it in every possible way, to discover whether the intervening space had increased or lessened. Some of the more desponding ones were convinced that they were drifting asunder; others, more hopeful, maintained that they were nearer; while others, again, asserted that their respective positions had not changed. And, in fact, it was evident from the very dispute itself, that the position of the two vessels had not very greatly altered.
Half of the day had passed. Another half remained; and after that, what? Night and darkness, and then how easily could they drift away from this stranger, on which they had been placing such hopes! How could they expect that the rest of the day would be any different from the beginning?
Midday had come, and this was the time for their single daily meal. Moreover, this meal was the last,—the last of the three portions which they had set aside for the consumption of three days.
Here arose a solemn question.
Should they eat up all of this last portion? or should they divide it into two parts, reserving something for the possible emergency of the next day? The moment that this was proposed, they all decided at once to reserve something, and not to devour at once all that was left. They determined to deny themselves for this day for the security of the morrow; and, hungry though they were, they preferred to have a meagre repast with hope, rather than a fuller repast with despair. And so their dinner was divided, and one portion set aside for the next day. Meagre indeed and inadequate was this repast for these long-fasting and ravenous boys; but there was no help for it; and as yet they had not quite reached the worst. They, therefore, all tried most strenuously to look on the bright side, make the best of their situation, and cheer one another with remarks of a hopeful and encouraging character.
Dinner was prolonged as far as possible. Then came the long hours of the afternoon. Gradually the efforts of the boys to keep up their own spirits and encourage one another grew feebler and feebler. From time to time they made faint efforts to find occupation for themselves, by resorting to the flag, and actively lowering and hoisting it. But the greater part of the time was spent in silently and sadly staring at the strange ship, sometimes through the glass, whenever they could get the chance, but generally without it. The remarks grew more and more infrequent. The hoplessness of their situation began to weigh down more and more the spirits of each, and at length they, one and all, relapsed into silence. Solomon kept out of sight. Wade sat, as usual, stolid and passive. Captain Corbet stood at the helm, looking in all directions, at sea and sky, with an unchanged expression of heart-broken melancholy. So the time passed.
The afternoon was far worse than the morning: in every respect. The moral tone of the whole party had declined, and the whole scene around presented no encouraging feature. In the morning they had been inspired by the hope of making communications with the ship, but now this hope died out more and more with every passing moment.
At length the sun went down, and then the shadows of the gloomy night followed slowly and steadily. One by one the shades passed over the distant ship, until at last they stood staring at the place where they had seen her, but where now they could see nothing but darkness. This completed their despondency, and the gloom around was commensurate with that which now fell darkly and desparingly over the soul of each.
For a long time they wandered up and down the deck. No one spoke. Each one was involved in his own gloomy thoughts. At length, one by one, they retired to their beds, with the hope of forgetting their cares in sleep.
Bruce and Bart were left on the deck alone. All the rest had gone below. Around all was dark. Both the boys were pacing up and down restlessly on opposite sides of the deck.
At length Bruce stopped. “Bart,” said he, in a low voice, “is that you?”
“Yes,” said Bart. “Look here. I’ve got something I want to tell you.”
At this Bart came up to him in silence.
“I don’t like this style of thing,” said Bruce.
“Why, what can we do?”
“O, never mind. I’ve got a plan. Do you think we couldn’t have been doing better all this day than staying here, moping our lives out?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean the very thing that I proposed this morning.”
“What, to row to the ship?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“How can you row twenty miles?”
“Stuff and nonsense. She can’t be so far. Captain Corbet’s utterly mistaken.”
“Why, she’s below the horizon.”
“I don’t care. I judge from the looks of her. Do you believe you can see so plainly a ship that’s twenty miles away? Why, man alive, if she had a flag up you could almost make it out. For my part, I feel sure that she isn’t over five miles away at the very farthest. I haven’t the slightest doubt about it. Why, Bart, you and I are both accustomed enough to look at ships out on the water, and you can see for yourself that it’s simply impossible that this one can be so far away as twenty miles, or farther away than I say. All the morning I couldn’t help feeling puzzled, and concluded that it might be something in the atmosphere that magnified the ship, and made her seem so near,—like the mirage, you know; but, afterwards, I gave that up.”
“Well,” said Bart, after some thought, “I don’t know but what you’re about right, Bruce; but what are you going to do?”
“Well, we’ve got this night before us, and if the wind comes, why, of course we are all right. But suppose that the wind doesn’t come, and we find ourselves to-morrow morning as we did this morning, with that ship so near. Do you feel able to stand here all day, and watch, and wait, and then sit down to our last dinner? I don’t. Or suppose that we find ourselves gradually drifting away from her. No—I can’t stand it. I’ve made up my mind to row out to her. What do you say? Will you come with me?”
“I will,” said Bart, firmly. “I’ll go, even if it is twenty miles. I’d go forty, rather than live this day over again. But when do you propose to start?”
“I’ve been thinking it all over,” said Bruce. “My plan is this: We’ll get all ready to-night; that is, have the oars in the boat, and put in a couple of bottles of fresh water; besides, we can take with us about our share of the food that remains. Well, to-morrow morning, if the calm continues, the moment that we see the ship, we’ll start, and row for her. Why, if we had only done that this morning, by this time we’d have been on board of her, with a boat from the ship back here with provisions. Mind you, don’t think of twenty miles; it isn’t more than five at the very furthest—perhaps not over three or four.”
“All right. I’ll go. Do you intend to tell anybody?”
“No; not a soul. The rest of the fellows would insist on going; and it will be better for us two only to go; it will prevent confusion, and be the best for all concerned.”
“But how can we get away without their knowing it?”
“O, my idea is to push off from the schooner before any one is up, and then watch for the appearance of the ship by daylight. The moment we see her we can pull for her.”
“That seems pretty good,” said Bart, thoughtfully; “but it is a puzzle to me how that ship can be below the horizon, and yet not be farther off than five miles. She certainly did not look farther away than that. For my part, I don’t see how she could be less than ten miles at the least, so as to be so completely hidden. I forget the rule for the disappearance of a ship below the horizon; but there is something in this one that I can’t understand. Yet, as you say, judging by the appearance of her masts, one might imagine her to be not more than three or four miles off. After all, it must be mirage.”
“O, no; mirage doesn’t last all day long, without the slightest change.”
“You don’t know. It may in this case.”
“Well, of course I don’t pretend to understand all the freaks of the atmosphere; but all that I’ve ever read about the mirage shows that it is incessantly shifting and changing, and never lasts over an hour or so, at the furthest. Besides, in our latitudes, these peculiar appearances only take place in the morning.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Bart. “At any rate, I shall be prepared for a row of at least ten miles.”
“All right. Make up your mind to that, and then you won’t be disappointed.”
“Shall you go to bed to-night, Bruce?”
“Of course.”
“But how can you wake?”
“O, I can wake whenever I like. I’ll wake you.”
“All right. About what time?”
“O, about an hour before daybreak; but come, let’s get things ready now.”
The boys then went about completing their preparations for their adventurous journey. These were but slight. They consisted in simply putting on board the boat, which was floating astern, two bottles of fresh water and a little of the provision which had been put aside for the next day.
After this they both retired.
On the following morning, at about three o’clock? Bruce laid his hand on Bart’s forehead. Bart awoke instantly. The two then went as softly as possible on deck. No one was there. All were below, sound asleep.
Silently, yet quickly, the two boys got into the boat, and then pushed off. There were two oars in the boat. Each took one, and then began to row. But, after a few strokes, Bruce took the oar from Bart, for the boat was too small for two oarsmen. So Bruce pulled very silently out into the darkness over the water, in the direction which they supposed would lead towards the strange ship. After rowing about a hundred yards Bruce stopped. Both boys now waited patiently till it should become light enough for them to see the ship.
Daybreak.—Startling Discovery.—The Boat gone.—Where are Bruce and Bart?—Dismay.—The long Row.—The distant Ship.—Below the Horizon.—Deep in the Water.—The shattered Sails.—Waterlogged!—Boarding the Stranger.—Discoveries of a Kind which are at once exciting and pleasing.WITH the break of day the boys were all on deck. Their first impulse was to take a look around. They saw the reddening eastern sky and the smooth water all around them, and their hearts sank within them as they perceived that the wearisome calm still continued. They noticed, however, that the ship was still visible, and this was some consolation. It seemed now a little nearer than the day before.
“Captain,” said Tom, “we’ve got nearer to her: don’t you think so?”
The captain made no reply. Tom looked up, and repeated his remark. As he looked up, he saw Captain Corbet standing astern with a puzzled expression, and looking down into the water and all around.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom.
“The boat,” said Captain Corbet.
“What of her?”
“Some one’s been and stole her, or else she’s gone to the bottom, only the rope’s gone, too.”
“What! the boat!” cried Tom. “You don’t mean to say the boat’s gone!”
The other boys were startled at this, and hurried aft to look for themselves.
“I’m glad I wasn’t in her this time, at any rate,” said Tom, and then added in a melancholy voice, “but I suppose it wouldn’t make much difference now.”
The boys stood in silence for some time, not quite knowing how to take this new incident. At length Phil looked all around.
“Where’s Bart?” he asked, “and Bruce?”
“They’re not up,” said Tom. “Don’t wake them. Let them sleep as long as they can.”
“Up? They’re not down, either,” said Phil. “Their berths are empty.”
The boys all stared at each other. A suspicion flashed across their minds.
“Sure and if they’re not up nor down, they must be in the boat, and there you have it,” said Pat, dryly. “And it’s meself,” he added, “that ’ud be proud to be with thim this day.”
“The boat? But what for?” asked Phil.
“They must have started off for the ship,” said Tom, who-now understood all.
At this they all looked with eager eyes over the water in the direction of the ship. All thought that they could see a shadowy spot, but it was too indistinct as yet to be resolved into anything. After a few minutes Phil went below, and returned with the glass, through which he looked long and attentively.
“It’s them,” said he at last, passing the glass to Arthur.
Arthur looked, and then Tom, and then Pat, and then Captain Corbet. It grew brighter and brighter every moment, and at length, as Corbet looked, he saw the boat plainly for an instant; but the next moment the glare of the rising sun drove his eyes away. The sun rose and ascended higher, and still they could see the boys rowing with quick strokes very far away, while beyond lay the strange ship.
It was still as low down as ever, “below the horizon,” as Captain Corbet said, but was very much larger and plainer. Every one of them wondered how she could be in reality so far away as twenty miles. None of them spoke, however, but stood with varying feelings, staring in silence after their companions.
Of them all the most affected was Captain Corbet. At the first mention of the fact he had started, and after having assured himself of its truth with his own eyes, he exhibited every mark of the deepest agitation.
“Wal,” said he, as he stood with his head bowed upon his breast. “I never! Who’d a thought it! Why, its ravin madness. And them, too, thinkin of rowin to a ship that’s below the horizon. Twenty mile in that thar boat, if it’s an inch, and two mile an hour’s the most they can do. Why, it’s temptin fate. It’s flyin in the face of Providence. That’s what it is. That thar ship’s twenty mile away. The wind’ll come up before they get half way. They’ll never get there—never. And stealin off in this way, too! Why didn’t they get me to go with them? Why didn’t they ask my advice? And them, too, a trustin of their two perecious lives in that thar ferrail bark, that hadn’t ought ever to go more’n a mile at the furthest. And here am I, chained to this post, and can’t move, and them a rushin on to utter ruination. O, boys, dear boys,” he concluded, in a kind of wail, “for your sakes I want the wind to rise, but for their sakes I want it to contennew a calm.”
“O, captain, never fear,” said Arthur, cheerfully. “They’ll take care of themselves easy enough; and, in fact, the more I think of it, the better it seems.”
“I only wish I was in the boat,” said Tom, heartily.
“So do I,” said Phil.
“Sure and that same I said meself at the first,” said Pat.
Meanwhile Solomon had stood a little apart from the rest, looking after the boat, but manifesting very different emotions. His occupation being gone, he had come upon deck to see what the prospects might be, and had heard everything. Taking advantage of a moment when the glass was not in requisition, he had given a look towards the receding boat, and had assured himself by actual inspection of the facts of the case. The moment that he had done this he drew a long breath, laid down the glass, and then stood looking after the boys with a gentle smile irradiating his ebony face. From time to time he would close his eyes, sigh gently, and his lips would move as though whispering to himself, while once or twice a half audible chuckle escaped him.
“Tell you what it is,” said he at length; “don’t you go on. Dem yer boys is goin to save der blessed selves and us too. It’s my pinion dey’ll bring us luck, fust rate, too, fust chop, tip-top, prime. Hooray! Dey’ll quaint dem yar seamen ob our difficulties, an dey’ll come back a flyin wid a big boat-load of pro-visium. O, you can’t drown dem blessed chilen. Dey’re boun to tak car ob demselves, and dey’ll work dar way ober de oceum foam, to sabe de libes ob all aboard, and’ll be back to-night to tea. Hooray! Mind, I tell you!”
The gayety and hopefulness of Solomon did not fail to be communicated to all the rest, until at length even Captain Corbet was willing to admit that it was just as well, after all, that they had gone, though he still professed to feel hurt that his advice had not been asked.
To the boys their situation seemed now in every way more endurable. They had at least something to hope for, and the adventure of their companions formed a perpetual subject for thought or conversation. Even the calm was now welcome, for as long as this continued it would be favorable to the boat. On the other hand, should the ‘wind arise, they could up sail and after them. They all thought that Captain Corbet’s estimate of a distance of twenty miles was extravagant; and even if the ship was “below the horizon,” they concluded that at the farthest it could not be more than eight or ten miles away. Allowing two miles an hour for the boat, they thought that Bruce and Bart might reach their destination by nine or ten o’clock in the morning, and thus have the greater part of the day still before them.
As the hours passed away, the boys thus beguiled the time by various speculations about the progress of their companions. The calm continued; and they were not sorry, for they saw in this the best chance for a successful issue to the enterprise. Phil made a sort of chart, with the schooner and the ship in proper position, and marked off ten intervals which he estimated at a mile each. For hour after hour they watched this, and amused themselves by indicating on it the progress of their friends. At length it was ten o’clock, and all the boys felt quite sure that the boat had reached the ship.
Meanwhile the two adventurous boys had been going on their expedition. At a hundred yards from the schooner they had stopped, as we have seen, and looked anxiously around in the direction where they supposed the stranger to lie. For some time they could see nothing; but at length, as it grew lighter, they detected her masts through the gloom, and were overjoyed at finding that she was nearer than on the previous day. They had made a mistake, however, as to the right direction, for the ship lay very much more to one side.
“We’ve drifted nearer together during the night,” said Bruce, “and I don’t believe she’s over three miles away.”
Saying this, he changed the boat’s course, and heading for the ship, pulled with all his might.
“I say, Bruce,” said Bart, “you’d better not pull so hard at first; you’ll tire yourself.”
“O, it’s only till we get further from the schooner. I want to get well out of the reach of hearing before the fellows see us. I’ll take it easy after a time.”
Saying this, he pulled on, watching the schooner, and succeeded in getting so far away, that by the time they came on deck he could only distinguish the moving figures. Then he slackened his efforts somewhat.
“There isn’t a bit of prospect of any wind,” said he. “I tell you what it is, my boy: I’d far rather be here this minute than aboard the Antelope.”
“So would I,” said Bart; “but can you imagine the state of mind that the fellows must be in?”
“O, they’ll be glad after the first excitement’s over.”
“I wonder if they saw us.”
“Of course.”
“They didn’t shout, or anything.”
“We were too far off to hear them.”
“No, we weren’t; but I suppose we were so far off that they thought it would do no good.”
For about half an hour Bruce pulled quite leisurely, for he wished to husband his strength as much as possible, and then Bart took his turn at the oars. Not much was said, partly because the exertion of rowing did not allow of any prolonged conversation, and partly because they were too much filled with their own thoughts, arising out of the suspense of the occasion.
At length, after rowing for another half hour, Bart handed the oars to Bruce, and took his seat in the stern.
The moment he did so he uttered a cry of surprise.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bruce.
“Why, how near we’re getting!” said Bart.
“Of course we are.”
“I haven’t looked since I took the oars, on purpose to see what our progress is. And now—why, really, Bruce, it seems as if we must be half way already.”
“Of course we are,” said Bruce, “and more too.”
“Why, she’s as low in the water as ever.”
“I know; there’s something queer about her.”
“She looks as though she’d been in a heavy gale.”
“She must have been.”
“I don’t see a soul on board.”
“I haven’t seen any one, either.”
“Perhaps no one is up yet. It’s early, you know.”
“I hope it’s that,” said Bruce.
Bart was silent for a few moments. At length he said,—
“I should like to see some signs of life there, I must say.”
“Well, we’ll know all about her by the time you’re through your next pull.”
Bruce now rowed, and Bart sat with his eyes fixed on the ship. She still lay as low in the water as ever, but they could see her bulwarks plainly, and her cabins. Her rigging seemed as disordered as ever, and it was a puzzle to Bart, why, in this calm weather, she should be so neglected. Various unpleasant thoughts arose in his mind, but he kept-them to himself. Thus the time passed, and Bruce rowed, and the boat drew steadily nearer. At length he gave the oars over to Bart, and took his seat in the stern.
By this time they were not more than a mile from the ship. She was certainly very low in the water. At a distance they had supposed that her sails were furled. They could now see that she had no sails at all. There was her jib, and that was all. There was no sign of life aboard, and the disorder in her rigging was more perceptible than ever.
“Bart,” said Bruce in a solemn tone, after he had gazed silently at the ship for full ten minutes.
“Well?”
“Do you know what I think about her?”
“What?”
“It’s my opinion that there’s not a soul on board of her.”
Bart was silent.
“She’s evidently been in a storm; her sails are gone; her rigging is every way. The crew have probably deserted her; and, yes, she is—there’s no doubt about it. I suspected it—I knew it.”
“She’s what?” asked Bart.
“Waterlogged!” said Bruce.
Bart turned his head and looked at her for a long time. He said not a word. At last he turned to Bruce.
“Well,” said he, “at any rate, we must board her. After coming so far, we can’t go back. Besides, we may find something.”
“Find something? Of course we shall,” said Bruce, confidently. “We’ll find lots of things. We’ll find barrels of pork, and beef, and bread, and other things besides, no doubt. When they left her, they would only take enough to last them till they got ashore. They must have left the greater part of their supplies and sea stores behind.”
“Of course,” said Bart; “so here goes.”
And with these words he pulled as vigorously as though he had not yet rowed a stroke.
And now every minute they drew nearer and nearer. Bart rowed without turning his head, but Bruce sat with his eyes fixed upon her, occasionally telling Bart when he got out of his course.
As they drew nearer in this way, every doubt was removed, if there had been any doubts in the mind of either. The ship was evidently deserted. She was also as evidently waterlogged. Now they were able to account for what had puzzled them before; her lying so low in the water, and yet at the same time seeming so near. Her nearness was not apparent, but real; her lowness in the water actual, and not seeming. That she had been deserted by her crew was more and more evident every moment, for as they drew nearer, they could see not a sign of life. Had there been any one on board, he would certainly have made himself visible.
At length Bruce bawled out, “Ship, ahoy!”
Bart stopped rowing and looked around. Both boys listened. They did not expect any answer, nor did any answer come. They waited for about a minute, and then Bart rowed on. In about two minutes they were alongside. The oars were thrown in, the boat secured, and the two boys stepped aboard.