The venerable but very unfortunate, Corbet—The Antelope lies to.—Emotions of her despairing Commander.—Night and Morning.—The Fishing Schooner,—An old Acquaintance appears, and puts the old, old Question.—Corbet overwhelmed.—He confesses all.—Tremendous Effect on Captain Tobias Ferguson.—His Selfcommand.—Considering the Situation.—Wind and Tide.—Theories as to the Position of the lost Ones.—Up Sail and after.—The last Charge to Captain Corbet.THE unfortunate Corbet thus found himself in a state of despair. The situation, indeed; could not possibly be worse. The ship was gone; and where? Who could tell? Certainly not he. He had exhausted all his resources. From the cabin table he was unable to elicit any further information, nor could his aged brain furnish forth intellectual power which was at all adequate to the problem before it. He was alone. He had none to help him. With Wade he did not offer to take counsel, feeling, perhaps, that Wade would be about as useful in this emergency as the Antelope’s pump.
Meanwhile the storm increased, and Captain Corbet felt himself unable to contend with it. The tattered old sails of the Antelope were double-reefed, but seemed every moment about to fly into ribbons. There was no object in keeping his present course any longer; and so he decided, in view of the storm and his own indecision, to lie to. And now the Antelope tossed, and pitched, and kicked, and bounded beneath Captain Corbet,"like a steedThat knows its rider,”
and Wade went below, and took refuge in sleep; and the good, the brave, yet the unhappy Corbet took up his position upon the windlass, and bestriding it, he sat for hours peering into space. There were no thoughts whatever in his mind. He tried not to speculate, he attempted not to solve the problem; but there was, deep down in his soul, a dark, drear sense of desolation, a woful feeling of remorse and of despair. Nothing attracted his attention on that wide sea or troubled sky; not the waste of foaming waters, not the giant masses of storm clouds, nor yet that fishing schooner, which, only a few miles off was also, like the Antelope, lying to. Captain Corbet did not notice this stranger; he did not speculate upon the cause of her presence; he did not see that she was the identical vessel that he had noticed before, and therefore did not wonder why it was that he had been followed so long and so persistently.
So he sat on the windlass, and gazed forth into illimitable space.
And the long, long hours passed away.
Evening came.
Deepening into night.
Night, and storm, and darkness came down, and the Antelope tossed, and plunged, and kicked, and jumped; yet the sleepless Corbet remained on deck, occasionally shifting his position, but still overwhelmed by has misery.
Towards midnight the storm abated. Corbet waited a few hours longer, and then stole below, hoping to forget his misery and relieve his fatigues by a little sleep.
In vain.
The air of the cabin seemed to suffocate him. Sleep was impossible. His distressing thoughts seemed to drive him into a fever; he tried hard and for a long time to overcome them, and finally succeeded in getting a short nap.
By this time it was dawn, and the good captain rose, and went upon deck, feeling dejected and miserable.
He looked out over the waters, and noticed that the strange schooner was bearing down straight towards him. She was coming bows on, so that at first he did not know her from any other vessel; but at length she came up, and hove to close by, disclosing the symmetrical hull, the beautiful lines, the slender, tapering masts, and the swelling, snow-white canvas of the Fawn. At the same moment he saw a boat drop alongside, and into this leaped Captain Tobias Ferguson, who at once pulled to the Antelope, and in a few minutes stood on board.
The last time that he had seen Captain Ferguson he had looked upon him in the light of a busybody, a vexatious and too inquisitive spy, a persecutor and a tormentor. But now circumstances had changed so utterly, and Captain Corbet’s sufferings both of mind and body had been so acute, that the once dreaded Ferguson appeared to him almost equal to some Heaven-sent deliverer. His wan face flushed with joy; he could not speak; tears burst from his eyes; and seizing Ferguson’s hand in both of his, he clasped it tight.
Ferguson darted over him one swift, keen glance that took in everything, but made no comment upon the emotion that was so visible.
“Well,” said he, “we’re bound to meet again. The fact is, I was bound not to lose sight of you. I tell you I got those boys on my brain, and couldn’t get them out no how. I knew you were going to find them, or to try to find them. I believed they were all in danger, and so I up sail and followed. And a precious hard job that following was. Why, it was like making a race-horse follow a snail. I had to turn back every other mile or so, and go away. I saw you lie to yesterday, so I lay to; and here I am this morning, right side up, and ready to repeat my question, Where are the boys? So come, now, old man; no humbug, no shuffling. You’re in a fix. I know it well enough. You’ve lost the boys. Very well. I’ll help you find ’em. So, now, make a clean breast of it, and tell me all about it from the very beginning.”
Saying this, Ferguson seated himself on the taffrail, and drawing forth a cigar, lighted it, and waited for Captain Corbet to begin.
But for Captain Corbet there was the difficulty. How could he begin? How could he tell the miserable story of his madness and his folly? of the ignorant confidence of the poor boys? of his culpable and guilty negligence, doubly guilty, since he had deserted them not only once in leaving the ship, but a second time in sailing away from the Magdalen Islands? And for what purpose? Even had he reached the ship with the sails, could he really have saved her? Yet here stood his inquisitor, and this time his questions must be answered.
“Wal,” began Captain Corbet, in a tremulous voice, “I left em—”
“Yes.”
“I—I—left—left—em—”
“Well?”
“I ‘—I—left em, you know.”
“So you said three times; but I knew that before. The question is, Where?”
“Aboard a ship.”
“Aboard a ship?”
“Yes.”
“What ship? Where?
“Somewhar’s about here.”
“About here? But what ship?”
“She—she—she—was—she—she was—wa-wa-water-logged.”
At this Ferguson started to his feet, almost leaping in the air as he did so. For a moment he regarded the unhappy Corbet with an expression of mingled horror and incredulity.
“You don’t mean it!” he said, at length.
Captain Corbet sighed.
“What?” cried Ferguson. “Were you mad? Were they mad? Were you all raving, stark, staring distracted? What were you all thinking of? A water-logged ship! Why, do you mean to stand there in your boots, look me in the face, and tell me that about the boys?”
Captain Corbet trembled from head to foot.
“A water-logged ship! Why, you might as well tell me you pitched them all overboard and drowned them.”
Captain Corbet shuddered, and turned away.
Ferguson laid his hand upon his shoulder.
“Come,” said he, more quietly, “you couldn’t have been such a fool! You must have considered that the boys had some chance. What sort of a ship was she? What was her cargo?”
“Timber,” said the mournful Corbet in a melancholy wail.
Ferguson’s face brightened.
“You’re sure of that?”
“Gospel sure.”
“Not deals, now, or laths, or palings, or pickets, or battens, or anything of that sort?”
“I saw the timber—white pine.”
“Well, that’s better; that gives them a chance. I’ve heard say that a timber ship’ll float for years, if she’s any kind of a ship at all; and so, perhaps, this one is drifting.”
Captain Corbet shook his head.
“Why not?” asked Ferguson, noticing the movement.
“I anchored her.”
“Anchored her?”
“Yes.”
“Anchored what? The timber ship?”
“Yes.”
“Anchored her? That’s queer! And where?”
“Why, somewhars about twenty mile or so back.”
“Somewhere about twenty mile or so back!” repeated Ferguson. “Why, the man’s mad! See here, old man; what do you mean by anchoring hereabouts? Did you try soundings?”
“Wal, n-n-no.”
“Are you aware that the bottom is several miles down below, and that all the chains and ropes of that ship, if they were all tied together in one line, wouldn’t begin to reach half way?”
“Wal, now, railly, I hadn’t any idee. I jest kine o’ dropped anchor to hold the ship till I got back.”
“Well, old man,” said Ferguson, “I’ve got a very good general idea of your proceedings; but I want a few more particulars, so that I can judge for myself about the poor lads. So I’ll trouble you to make a clean breast of it, and in particular to let me know why you kept so close when I asked you about it before. Close? Why, if you’d been decoying those boys out there on purpose to get rid of them, you couldn’t have fought shyer of my questions than you did.”
Upon this Captain Corbet proceeded, as Ferguson called it, to “make a clean breast of it.” He began at the first, told about their failure in provisions, their discovery of the ship, and his project of saving her. He explained all about his reticence on the subject at the Magdalen Islands, and the cause of his voyage to Miramichi. All this was accompanied with frequent interruptions, expressive of self-reproach, exculpation, remorse, misery, and pitiable attempts at excusing his conduct.
Ferguson listened to all without expressing any opinion, merely asking a question for information here and there; and at the close of Captain Corbet’s confession, he remained forborne a considerable time buried in profound reflection.
“Well,” said he, “the whole story is one that won’t bear criticism. I won’t begin. If I did, you’d hear a little of the tallest swearing that ever came to your ears. No, old man; I’ve got a wicked temper, and I won’t get on that subject. The thing that you and me have got to do is, to see what can be done about those boys, and then to do it right straight off. That’s what we’ve got to do; and when I saywe, I meanmyself, for you appear to have done about as much mischief as is needful for one lifetime.”
Ferguson now began to pace the deck, and kept this up for about half an hour, at the end of which time he resumed his seat on the taffrail. Captain Corbet watched him with wistful eyes, and in deep suspense; yet there was already upon his venerable face somewhat less of grief, for he felt a strange confidence in this eager, energetic, active, strong man, whose pertinacity had been so extraordinary, and whose singular affection for the boys had been so true and so tender.
“I’m beginning,” said Ferguson, at length, “I’m beginning to see my way towards action, and that’s something; though whether it’ll result in anything is more than I can begin to say.
“In the first place, I go on the theory that this timber ship didn’t sink; that she stood this blow as solid as though she was carved out of a single stick.
“In the second place, I scout your idea of anchoring her. That is rank, raving insanity. To anchor a ship in three miles of water! Old man, go home; you have no business on the sea.
“So she’s been drifting; yes, drifting. She was drifting when you found her, and drifting when you left her. Where she was you can’t tell, seeing that you can’t take an observation, and didn’t take one. So we’re all astray there, and I can only calculate her probable position from the course you took to the Magdalen Islands, and the time occupied in making the trip by that astonishing old tub of yours, that disgraces and ridicules the respectable name of Antelope.
“Very well. Now say she’s afloat, and has been drifting. The question is, Where has she drifted to? She probably was found by you somewhere about here. That was about a week ago. Well, after the calm was over, then came a wind. That wind was a south-easter. It got up at last into a storm, like the blow last night.
“Now, there are two things to be considered.
“First, the wind.
“Second, the current.
“First, as to the wind. It was a steady southeaster for nearly a week, ending in a hard blow. That wind has had a tendency to blow her over in that direction—over there, nor’-west. In that direction she must have been steadily pushed, unless there was something to prevent, some ocean currents or other.
“And this brings us to the next point—the currents.
“Now, over there, about thirty miles south of this, there is a current setting out into the Atlantic from the River St. Lawrence; and up there, thirty miles to the north, there is considerable of a current, that runs up into the Straits of Belle Isle. Just round about here there is a sort of eddy, or a back current, that flows towards the Island of Anticosti. Now, that happens to be the identical place towards which the wind would carry her. So, you see, granting that the Petrel has remained afloat, the wind and the currents must both have acted on her in such a way as to carry her to that desert island, that horrible, howling wilderness, that abomination of desolation, that graveyard of ships and seamen—Anticosti.”
At this intelligence, Captain Corbet’s heart once more sank within him.
“Anti—Anticosti!” he murmured, in a trembling voice.
“Yes, Anticosti. And I ain’t surprised, not a bit surprised,” said Ferguson. “I said so. I prophesied it. I was sure of it. I read it in their faces at Magdalen. When I saw that rotten old tub, and those youngsters, something told me they were going to wind up by getting on Anticosti. When I saw you come back to Magdalen, I was sure of it. I followed you to Miramichi to find out; and ever since I’ve been following you, I’ve had Anticosti in my mind, as the only place I was bound to.”
Captain Corbet drew a long breath.
“Wal,” said he, “at any rate, it’s better for them than bein—bein—at—at the bottom of the sea.”
“’Tain’t any better, if they’ve been smashed against the rocks of Anticosti in last night’s gale,” retorted Ferguson, who was not willing that Captain Corbet should recover from his anxiety too soon.
“But mayn’t she—mayn’t she—catch?”
“Catch?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Why—her—her anchor. It’s been down all the time. That thar anchor had ought to catch hold of somethin.”
Ferguson slapped his thighs with both hands with tremendous force.
“You’re right! right are you, old man, for once! For the moment, I had forgotten about the anchor. That saves them. That anchor’s bound to catch; for, after all, I don’t think last night’s storm was bad enough to make her drag. At any rate, it gives them a chance, And now—off we go.” With these words, Ferguson jumped into his boat.
He turned his head once more. “Old man, mark me—? all you’ve got to do is to follow straight after me.”
“But you’ll get away in the night.”
“So I will. Well, then, you head straight nothe-west and by nothe. I’ll pick you up some time tomorrow. We’ll cruise along the shore of Anticosti till we find the ship.”
With these words, Ferguson seized the oars. A dozen strokes brought him alongside of his own schooner. He leaped on board, and the boat was hauled up astern.
In a few moments the Fawn spread her snow-white wings, and headed away “nothe-west and by nothe.”
The Antelope followed.
Before evening the Fawn was out of sight.
But Captain Corbet stood calmly and confidently at the helm, and steered “nothe-west and by nothe.” His despair had subsided, leaving only a mild melancholy that was not unbecoming; but his soul was full of hope, for he had confidence in Ferguson.
The Cove.—The grassy Knoll.—The Brook.—A Reconnoitre.—The Bed of the Brook.—Far up into the Country.—A rough Road.—Return.—The Aroma of the strange Dinner.—Solomon again in his Glory.—A great Surprise.—A Resolution.—Drawing of Lots.—The fated Two.—Last Visit to the Petrel.—Final Preparations.—A sound Sleep.—The Embarkation. —The white Sail lost to View..THE cove into which they pulled seemed to the boys to be the most beautiful place that they had ever seen. Such a thought was natural, after such a passage from the wrecked ship, and from the terrors of the sea to this peaceful and sheltered nook; and, indeed, more unprejudiced observers might have been charmed with such a place. The hills encircled it, covered with trees; the brook babbled over pebbles into the sea; the grassy knoll rose invitingly in front of them; while behind them was the sea, upon which the ship floated low in the water. The boys looked upon this with enthusiastic delight; but Solomon’s face was turned away; he was bowed down low, and staring intently into the water. That water was astonishingly clear and transparent; and Solomon found an attractiveness in the sea bottom which made all other things seem dull and commonplace. He said nothing, however, and the boys were too much taken up with the beauties of the place to notice his attitude.
In a few minutes the biscuit and the chest of provisions were put ashore; and Solomon’s first act was to take the former out of the barrel and spread them out over the grass, so that they might dry in the sun. But the boys had other aims. Their first desire was to explore the country; and as they knew well from past experience how easy it was to get lost in the woods, they sought about, first of all, for some sort of a path or trail. Nothing of the kind could be seen. Phil then suggested going up the bed of the brook. His forest experiences had made him far more fruitful in resources than any of them; and the stream occurred to him at once as the readiest way of passing through the impenetrable forest.
Accordingly they all set forth by this path. The brook was not very wide, and the trees almost met overhead; the water was only a few inches in depth, chiefly composed of gravel, and occasionally interspersed with larger masses, which offered a succession of stepping-stones. As they went along, they never ceased to look most carefully in all directions for any traces of a path, however faint. The utter absence of anything of the sort excited their surprise, but only led them to continue their journey still farther. The way at length grew more difficult. They came to a rising ground, where the brook had worn a bed for itself. Here the path became rough, and full of mud and clay. Every few steps they came to trees which had fallen across. But they worked their way along bravely, and at length reached the top of the rising ground. Here they found themselves in the forest, with nothing visible on every side but spruce trees of moderate size. They walked on for two or three hours, traversing fallen trees, and rocks, and mud; but at length they came to a place where the brook lost itself in a swampy soil. Here there was a dense and impenetrable underbrush, and no longer even such a pathway as the bed of the brook had afforded. They all saw that it was impossible to proceed any farther, and therefore they concluded to return.
Their calculations led them to suppose that they had gone many miles; yet in all that distance they had found no trace whatever of any human beings. They had not come upon even the rudest trail. This fact impressed them all very forcibly. Hitherto, each one had had a different theory as to the country; and no less than five provinces were claimed, in order to support the theory of each. But they all knew that it would be difficult indeed to find a place in any one of those five provinces, where a march could be made for so great a distance, without encountering some signs of humanity, past, if not present. In all of them the woods had been scoured by lumbering parties, or, at least, by hunting parties; and if there were no paths made by lumbermen, there might be found, at least, some trail. Pat, of course, gave up the Magdalen Islands; Bruce gave up Miramichi: Tom, Prince Edward’s Island; and Bart, Cape Breton. There remained, then, the belief of Phil in Newfoundland, and that of Arthur in Gaspé. Upon these two localities the party divided; and though in the laborious journey back they were too much fatigued to expend their breath in argument, yet, when they did reach their journey’s end, they were all prepared for it.
But all argument was postponed for the present by the advent of dinner.
It was late when they got back. They had eaten nothing since breakfast. They found Solomon waiting for them most impatiently. He had kindled a fire under a rock, and had taken the trouble to go back to the ship for some pots, kettles, and pans. A pot was even now hanging over the fire, and when they reached the place, there issued from this pot a stream so savory, so aromatic, so odoriferous, and so enticing, that in an instant every other thought vanished from their minds.
“O, Solomon,” was the cry, “what is it that you’ve got there?”
And they rushed up to the place.
But Solomon, brandishing a huge ladle, waved them back with solemn dignity.
“You look heah, chilen; don’t you go bodder yer heads bout dis yer; it’s a kine o’ soup dat I ben a concoctin’; an you’ll know when de time comes. Jes now, you’d all bes lie down ober dar, an res yourselves. I ben worritin’ bout you for ten hour an more. You didn’t ought to go for to ’crease de ’ziety ob dis ole man; cos he ain’t able to hole up. But nebber mind; you’re all safe an soun; so now you all jes lay by a few minutes, an I’ll walk dis yer dish off de hook in no time.”
The boys respected Solomon’s whim, and fell back. A few dishes, with spoons, were lying on the grass, and towards these they allowed themselves to drift, and then flung their weary frames upon the ground near by.
Solomon was true to his word. He did not keep them long waiting. In a short time he took the pot off the fire, and brought it towards them. He then filled each of the dishes in silence.
The savory steam rose up; its odor was now unmistakable. Scarce able to believe the evidence of the sense of smell, they hurried to appeal to that of taste. One mouthful was enough. A cry of joy burst from them all, followed by,—
“Oysters! Oyster stew! O, glorious! Solomon, where in the world did you find these?”
Solomon’s eyes beamed with quiet exultation; he drew a long breath of silent rapture, and gently rubbed his-old hands together. For a few moments his emotions deprived him of the power of utterance; but at length he found voice.
“Well, chilen, to tell de troof, I intended it as a great ‘prise, for you. I saw dem dis yer mornin when we landed, and didn’t say nuffin. But dar dey is—dem’s um. De cove is full; nuff heah to feed a ship’s company ten years; an we’s boun to feed on de fat ob de lan so long as we stick to dis yer place. Dat’s so; mind I tell you. Yes, sir.” After such a repast as this, they all felt much more able to grapple with the difficulties of their situation. And now once more arose the question, what land this was upon which they had been thrown.
“Of course,” said Arthur, “there’s no use now to talk about the Magdalen Islands, or Prince Edward’s Island, or Cape Breton, or even Miramichi. This coast lies east and west, as we saw while we were drifting towards it. We came from a southeast direction towards it; we can tell now. There’s the west, where the sun is soon going to set, and there’s the south. Now, my idea is, that this must be Gaspé. Besides, the desolation of the country shows that it must be Gaspé.”
Phil shook his head.
“Gaspé doesn’t lie east and west,” said he; “and it may just as well be Miramichi as Gaspé. The fact is, it can’t be either of them. It must be Newfoundland. We’ve drifted up from the south, and have been driven upon these shores. I can’t imagine where it is, but I rather think it may be the south-west corner of the island. If that is right, then settlements ought to be not very far away; only we can’t get to them by land. There’s St. Pierre’s Island east, and there’s the Bay of Islands.”
“It’s rather a bad lookout’ for us,” said Tom, “if there isn’t any settlement nearer than St. Pierre or the Bay of Islands. Why, there are hundreds of miles of the roughest coast in the world lying between. We may be on the coast, as you say; somewhere between Cape Ray and Fortune’s Bay; but how we are ever to get to any settlement is a little beyond me.”
“There’s the boat,” said Bart.
“What can we do with the boat?” said Tom. “We have no oars. I don’t feel inclined to set out on a long journey with paddles like those. They do very well to land a shipwrecked party, but are hardly the things to start off with on a sea voyage. I tried going about with a bit of board once, and didn’t find, that it worked very well.”
“O, we can rig up a sail. We can get something on board the Petrel that’ll do—some quilts, or, better yet, some sheets.”
“Sheets aren’t big enough,” said Arthur.
“Well, we can sew two or three of them together. They’re good, strong sheets, and they’ll do very well for the boat. As for a mast, why, we can find a very good one here in the woods in five minutes.”
“But what direction should we take?”
“Well, that’s a question that requires a good deal of careful consideration.”
“My opinion is,” said Tom, “that it is by far the best to sail east. If we sail west, we could scarce hope to meet with any one till we got to the Bay of Islands; and we’d have to double Cape Bay,—which is altogether too dangerous a thing for a little boat like this. But if we go east, we’ll have more chances of shelter in case of storms, and we’ll be sure to reach some sort of settlement, either St. Pierre or some fishing stations on the main land, or in Fortune’s Bay.”
“East, then, is the course,” said Bart. “And now, who of us shall go? We’d better not all go.”
“Well, no; I suppose not.”
“Of course not,” said Bruce. “The boat isn’t large enough. Two will be plenty. The rest of us can stay here.”
“If the boat goes,” said Arthur, “those of us who stay behind won’t be able to go on board the ship.’ Shall we stay aboard or ashore?”
“For my part,” said Pat, “I won’t put a fut aboard that ship again as long as I live.”
“I’ll stay here, or else go in the boat,” said Phil. “I’m ready to do either.”
“I’m quite of Pat’s opinion,” said Arthur.
“Well, I’m not anxious to visit the ship again,” said Bart, “not even as a salvor, and I certainly would not stay aboard of her.”
“It’s too comfortable here altogether,” said Tom.
“And so say I,” said Bruce. “The fact is, boys, we’re all of one mind about the Petrel. Her glory is departed; and after that night in the mizzen-top, we don’t fancy trying any other nights.”
“Fortunately,” said Tom, “the wind has changed. It’ll be fair for the boat if she goes east.”
“But who are to go?” said Phil.
“I think,” said Bruce, “that the best way will be to draw lots. What do you say, boys?”
To this proposal they all assented. Bruce thereupon took some bits of grass, and broke them up into different lengths.
“Two of these,” said he, “are short; the rest are long. Those who draw the short ones are to go in the boat. Will that do?”
“All right.”
Upon this Bruce put the pieces of grass in his hat, stirred them about; and then laid the hat in the midst. Each one then shut his eyes and took a piece of grass from the hat. Then they all held them forth.
And it was seen that the two shortest pieces had been drawn by Arthur and Tom.
Upon this every one of the other boys offered to exchange places with either one of these, and go in his stead. But Arthur and Tom were both firm in their refusal.
“What are you going to take with you?” asked Bart.
“Well,” said Arthur, “first of all, we’ll need to have a sail. I think we’d better make a raid on the Petrel at once, and hunt up some sheets. Tom and I will go, and you fellows might find a couple of sticks that’ll do for the mast and pole.”
“O, by the way,” said Bart, “if you’re going aboard, you’d better bring back some more biscuit. We won’t have enough.”
“I’ll go and help you,” said Bruce.
“And I too,” said Phil.
The boys now pushed off,—Arthur, and Tom, and Bruce, and Phil. In about a quarter of an hour they reached the ship, and boarded her. They noticed now that the change of the wind had caused a corresponding change of position. She had swung round at her anchor, and was very much nearer the headland before spoken of.
“It’s my opinion.” said Tom, “that she’s been dragging her anchor a little.”
“She’s certainly a good deal nearer the shore,” said Arthur.
“She’s so deep down,” said Bruce, “that she’ll touch bottom if she drags much longer,—and a strong breeze might do it too.”
“If it does,” said Phil, “then good by forever to her. A timber ship may hold together as long as she keeps in deep water; but these rocks would soon grind her to powder, if she touched them.”
“Let her grind,” say I.
“Yes. I give up my share of the salvage.”
“The best place for her will be the bottom of the sea.”
“At any rate, we’ll make one final haul, boys, and take ashore everything that may be needed at all.”
The boys now hurried to complete their preparations, for the sun was not more than one half hour above the horizon, and there was no time to spare. Arthur went to secure the sails. He selected a half dozen of the largest sheets, and flung them into the boat. They were the coarsest and strongest which he could find. Tom found some sail needles and sail twine in a drawer in the pantry, where he remembered having seen them before.
They then rolled out four barrels of biscuit, and put them on board the boat. After this they put six hams in her, and all the rest of the potted meat, and canned vegetables, and other dainties. Phil looked with longing eyes at the galley stove, but concluded that it was best not to try to convey that ashore. Finally, they took all the blankets, for they were articles that promised to be always useful.
With this cargo they returned to the shore.
Arthur then went to work at his sail, while Tom went to see about the mast. He found that Bart had already nearly finished one that was very suitable. In smoothing this, in fitting it into the boat, and in shaping a pole, another hour or so was taken up. Meanwhile Arthur had found that three of the sheets were large enough. These he stitched together, and afterwards cut it the right shape.
It was then secured to the mast, and the little boat was all ready for her voyage.
But they had still more preparations to make. First of all, the spy-glass, which had been brought ashore in the chest, was deposited in the boat. Then, a barrel of the biscuit that Solomon had dried in the sun was put on board, together with a sufficient supply of potted meats. A jug of water was considered sufficient, as they expected to land from time to time, and would be able to replenish it, if it should be necessary. For warmth or shelter, three or four blankets, which the careful forethought of Solomon had dried in front of the blazing fire, were deemed amply sufficient.
Before these were completed it was dark. Of course they had no intention of setting off that evening, though Tom was at first of the opinion that they had better start, and take advantage of so fine a night. But the others overruled him, and expressed the opinion that they had better sail by night as little as possible.
Solomon kept the fire heaped high with fuel, not for the purposes of warmth, for the air was balmy and pleasant, but more for the sake of cheerfulness. He had found no difficulty in procuring dry wood from the fallen trees in the forest. Brightly the flames leaped up, throwing a pleasant glow over the surrounding scene. The contrast between this evening and the evening of the previous day was thought of and felt by all; and more than once there arose from the warm, grateful hearts of these honest lads a prayer of thankfulness to that Being who had heard their cry in the stormy sea, and had saved them from destruction.
Early the next morning they were all awake. Solomon already had breakfast prepared. It was a bright and beautiful morning. The little cove looked charming. But on the sea the Petrel still floated; but they were all sure that she was nearer than ever to the headland.
A pleasant breeze was blowing, and all things promised well. Arthur and Tom finished their breakfast, and then, bidding all the rest good by, they embarked, and pushed off.
The wind filled the sail, and the little boat moved out of the cove, and away to sea. The boys watched their departing friends in solemn silence, until the white sail disappeared around the headland.
Trouble and Consolation.—A fresh Proposal.—The Building of the Camp.—Hard Work.—The triumphant Result.—Blisters and Balsam.—A new Surprise by Solomon.—Illumination.—The rising Wind.—They go forth to explore.—The impending Fate of the Petrel.—Wind and Wave.—A rough Resting-place.—What will be the Fate of the Ship?—The Headland.—The View.—Where are our departed Friends?AFTER the little white sail had disappeared around the headland, the boys stood in silence for some time. The departure of Arthur and Tom had made a perceptible breach in their numbers, and the thought that they had gone on a long, an uncertain, and a perilous expedition seemed to throw an air of gloom over those who remained behind.
Bart was the first to rouse himself.
“Seventy-four hours, with this wind; ought to do it,” said he.
“Do what?” asked Bruce.
“Well,” said Bart, “I’ve been making a calculation. I don’t see how St. Pierre can be more than a hundred miles from here at the very farthest. Now, this breeze ought to take them four or five miles an hour, and if they went on without stopping, they certainly ought to reach St. Pierre by this time to-morrow, even if they don’t find any settlements or any fishing vessels on the way.”
“Yes; but they won’t find it so easy to get back,” said Bruce.
“O, yes, they will,” said Bart. “They won’t have to work their own way back. They’ll get a schooner, and have no trouble.”
“Well,” said Bruce, “we’ll have to allow a week, at least.”
“Certainly,” said Phil. “It won’t do for us to tie them down to two days. If we do, we’ll be all the time in a fever, and watch for them day and night. I’m determined not to expect them at all this time.”
“Sure an that’s the wisest risolution we can make, so it is,” said Pat, sedately; “and, be the same token, it’s a month I’m goin to allow, so it is; an, what’s more, I’m thinkin we’ll betther be afther buildin a bit of a house, or tint, or camp.”
“A camp!” cried Bart. “Hurrah! that’s the very thing.”
“Yes,” cried Phil; “just like the camp in the woods behind the hill at Grand Pré.”
“The very best thing we could think of,” said Bruce. “It’ll give us all something to do, and at the same time it’s a positive necessity.”
“It’s a pity we hadn’t some of that spare lumber on board the Petrel,” said Bart.
“Well,” said Phil, “I think we’ll have it all before another day; for, from present appearances, she’ll be on the rocks soon; and if so, there’ll be a general free delivery of her cargo all along the beach. But we needn’t wait for that.”
“Sure an there’s nothin betther,” said Pat, “thin good honist spruce. We can get sticks enough all around us, an have a camp that’ll be as warrum, and as dhry, and as whowlsome as iver was, so we will.”
There was a hatchet which had been brought ashore in the chest, and had already done good service in making the masts for the boat. This was now made use of for the purpose of getting the necessary supply of poles and brush for the camp. As there was only one hatchet, they could not of course cut the brush quite so fast as was desirable; but Bruce cut pretty quickly, and kept two of them well employed in carrying the poles and brush to the grassy knoll. Phil and Pat did this work while Bart occupied himself with the preparation of the ground for the erection of the camp. He first selected a place that seemed suitable, where there was a level space, about twelve feet square. Then he sharpened one of the stakes, and cutting off a portion of it, about three feet long, he hardened the point by burning it in the fire. He then marked out the line of foundation, and made holes in the ground all around the marked space, so that the stakes might be inserted without any delay. Fortunately there were no stones to interfere with his work. The ground was sandy, and he drove his stake in without any difficulty.
In this way they worked until noon, when Solomon called them to dinner. All the boys were amazed at finding that the time had passed so rapidly; and they saw by this a fresh and striking example of the importance of having some pleasant occupation in life. It had been for want of this, to a great extent, that their time had dragged along so slowly, first during the famine on board the Antelope, and afterwards on board the Petrel.
After dinner they examined their work, and concluded that the immense heap of stakes and brushwood ought to suffice for the needs of any ordinary camp; so now they proceeded to the important task of its erection.
Bart had made a double row of holes around four sides, which were intended to enclose the camp. These holes were about a foot apart, and the rows were separated by a space of about three inches.
The next task was to prepare the stakes. These were sharpened, and cut about seven feet long; and as fast as each one was prepared, it was inserted as tightly as possible in one of the holes. Before long all the stakes were set up, and the outline of the camp became dimly visible. Bart and Phil now went off in search of roots, which might serve the purpose of cords, to bind together those portions of the frame which needed securing, leaving Bruce and Pat at work preparing other stakes, the one with his hatchet, and the other with a knife. The roots were found without any difficulty, most of them belonging to a species of dwarf willow, or osier, and they were as flexible and as strong as the stoutest cord.
The next thing was to take four long poles, and bind these along the top of each row of stakes, so as to form the eaves of the camp. When all these were secured, the framework was quite as strong as was necessary.
It now remained to form the roof. This was a matter of some difficulty, but was at length successfully achieved. They had all had so much practice in camp-building, that there was but little hesitation at any stage of the proceedings. The way in which the roof was erected was so ingenious that it deserves to be explained. They procured two stout poles, about fifteen feet long, which they put at each end of the structure, binding each firmly in its place, and leaving at the top a fork, formed from the projecting stump of one of the severed branches. Across these, and resting on these forks, they laid their ridge-pole, and bound this firmly in its place. To make it still stronger, they set up a third support in the middle of the camp, and thus made the ridge-pole firm enough to bear the weight of any of them.
After this they proceeded to lay a row of poles along from the eaves to the ridge-pole, and others again intersecting these. Thus they formed a framework close enough and strong enough to admit of brush being placed upon it, and this they proceeded to lay there after the manner of thatch. The roof was pretty steep, and the spruce brush was so smooth, and was laid on so compactly, that it could have resisted any ordinary rain storm.
The remainder of their task was easy enough, the roof and frame having been by far the most troublesome. One side was allotted to each, and the work was interweaving spruce brush along the stakes. The space was twelve feet long by six high. They began from the ground, and went upward; and at length this was finished.
There was still an open space at each gable end, but it was their intention to leave windows here. Poles were fastened in such a way that a square space was left in each gable, which admitted an ample amount of light, and the remainder was filled in with brush, like the sides. The door, of course, had been attended to in the construction of the frame.
It had been hard work, but they were all adepts at the business, and knew exactly how to do each thing. The consequence was, that by sundown their camp was all completed, and only needed a few finishing touches, which could very well be postponed till the following day.
They all sat down to their evening repast with the consciousness that they had passed a well-spent day. Solomon had done his duty, as usual, with a minute conscientiousness, and a painful care of the smallest details, which was evinced by the exquisite flavor of the oyster stew. The chief regret that they had was, that Arthur and Tom were not there to share it.
After tea none of them ventured to move. They were more utterly fagged out than they ever remembered to have been in the whole course of their lives. There had, of course, been times when they had been more exhausted, and Phil could tell a tale of weariness which might have shamed his present feelings; but for the fatigue resulting from sheer hard work, they never knew anything that had equalled this. Their hands were all covered with blisters and balsam, while an additional air of shabbiness had been given to them by new rents and tatters in their clothes.
After sunset they noticed that the wind was stronger and the sea rougher. The Petrel had moved also still farther in to the shore.
“Another night’ll finish her,” said Bruce, “if this wind continues.”
“I hope they’ll land,” said Bart, thinking of Arthur and Tom.
“Well, as to that,” said Bruce, “it seems to me that they won’t feel inclined to sail all night; and they’ll land, if they only can; but the trouble is, they may find themselves off some coast where no landing can be made.”
“I dare say,” said Bart, thoughtfully, “that the coast is rough enough all along, for most of the way; but then, fortunately, this wind is off the land; so they’ll be all right. The danger would be if it was in any other direction. As it is, the closer they keep in to the shore, the safer they’ll be; and, in fact, the safest place for them would be close in under the highest cliffs.”
“Well, that certainly is a consolation,” said Bruce, with a sigh of relief. “I’ve been a good deal bothered all the afternoon, for I noticed that the wind was rising. I rather think you’re in the right of it, Bart, and I’m glad enough that you thought of that.”
“O, they’re all right,” said Phil, “as long as the wind is this way.”
“The throuble is,” said Pat, “they might have to go round some headland, and thin they’d catch it, hot and heavy.”
“O, they wouldn’t try it if it was too rough,” said Bart. “They’d haul up ashore, and wait till the wind went down. The fact is, they’ll do just as any of us would do in the same circumstances. Neither Arthur nor Tom is inclined to run any risks. They know that there’s no hurry, that we’ve got lots of provisions. They’ve got a good supply, too, and so they’ll take it easy. My opinion is, they both landed two or three hours ago, hauled up their boat high and dry, picked up some drift wood, and are at this moment sitting in front of a roaring fire, calmly discussing what had best be done to-morrow.”
This discussion about the fate of their two absent friends made them all feel quite at their ease once more, and soon after they went to bed inside of the camp.
Here they found a pleasant surprise awaiting them, which had been devised by Solomon. He had taken the fat out of some of the jars of potted meat, and put it in two cups. In these he had ingeniously arranged floating wicks, and lighted them. So now, as the boys entered, they were surprised at a cheerful glow inside. At first they were alarmed, and thought the camp was on fire; but a second look showed them the truth.
Their camp now seemed very cheerful indeed. The ground was quite dry, and each one rolled himself up in his blanket, which formed their only preparation for bed. Here, reclining on the soft grass, with the green walls of their camp encircling them, they chatted pleasantly for a short time, and at length, one by one, dropped off into sound and refreshing slumbers.
On awaking they all hurried forth. They found that the wind had increased, and must have been increasing all night. Close in under the shore the water was smooth enough, but a mile outside it began to roughen, and a white line of breakers shone along the base of the headland.
But it was the Petrel that now engaged all their attention. She had been forced in to within a stone’s throw of the shore, and had evidently touched bottom, for she lay a little over on one side. She had reached a place where the sea felt the effect of the wind, and the waves broke over her decks. She rose and fell occasionally, with a slow, heavy movement, at the force of the waves that beat upon her. The shore immediately opposite the place where she had grounded was all white with foam, and it seemed as if the bottom where she touched might be strewn with rough, jagged rocks.
Hard indeed was the resting-place to which the Petrel had come after so long a wandering!
The boys looked on in silence. They did not exactly lament the fate which seemed to impend over her, but, at the same time, they felt as though, in some way, it might be a disaster to themselves. For the Petrel, as long as she had floated, had served, at least, as a sort of signal by which any passing vessel might be attracted; whereas, if she were destroyed, their chance of rescue in that way grew less. They also felt that the large store of provisions and supplies on board might yet be needed; and in case of the unsuccessful return of Arthur and Tom, they might need to visit her once more. But now all hope of this seemed at an end. In this half-developed regret at her fate, there was, however, no thought of salvage; that subject was forgotten.
After breakfast their attention was once more directed to the Petrel. Any further operations in the camp had now to be postponed, for the attractions of the imperilled ship were too engrossing to admit of lesser thoughts.
“I say, boys,” said Bruce, “why can’t we try to get nearer? We can work our way along at the top of the bank, I should think.”
“Of course we can,” said Bart. “At any rate, it’s not very far.”
“It won’t be worse than the upper part of that miserable brook,” said Phil.
“Sure an I’d go on me hands and knees all the way, so I would, to git nearer to her,” said Pat.
The coast that ran along terminated in the headland, between which and the cove it consisted of steep banks, at first wooded, and rough cliffs. The top of the bank all along was covered with trees, and seemed to offer no greater difficulties than any other part of the woods. The headland itself seemed over a mile away, and the Petrel was some distance inside of this.
They thus resolved to go, and set forth at once.
“Be back in time for dinna,” said Solomon, as they climbed up the steep bank to get to the top..
“O, yes,” was the reply, as they vanished into the woods.
It was decidedly rough walking. The ground was uneven, rising into mounds and depressed into hollows. Sometimes fallen trees lay before them; at other times underbrush so dense and so stubborn that a way could only be forced through with the most persevering effort. Besides, it was absolutely necessary to keep as near as possible to the edge of the cliff, for they all knew how easily they might be lost, if they once ventured out of sight of it. So they kept on, close by the brink, even though places occasionally appeared which seemed much easier to traverse.
At length they reached the place immediately opposite the Petrel. She lay within easy stone’s throw. Before them the cliff went down with rough, jagged sides, and the shore at its foot was covered with masses of rock that had fallen there from the precipice. It was not more than sixty or seventy feet down. On this elevation, and at this distance out, they felt the full force of the blast.
The Petrel had certainly grounded, and it was evident to them that the bottom was rough and irregular. She lay over on her side, her stern nearest to the shore. The bows were sunk under to the depth of about a foot, while the stern rose a little. She swayed backward and forward with a regular motion, and there was a dull, gringing, creaking noise, that came from her to their ears, and was plainly discernible through the noise of the surf on the rocks below. The sea at this point was quite heavy, and rolled over and over the doomed ship. The long waves came sweeping up at successive intervals, and at every stroke the Petrel would yield, and then slowly struggle back.
“I wonder how long she can stand this sort of thing,” said Phil.
“Not long, I should think,” said Bart; “but after all, the wind isn’t very strong just yet, and if there are no rocks under her, she may hold out some time.”
“If this wind grows to a gale, she’s done for.”
“But then it may not get any worse, and if it goes down, I’d undertake to swim on board.”
“O, of course, if it gets smooth.”
“What do you say to going out to the point?” said Bruce.
“O, yes, let’s go.”
The point was not far away, and the woods were thinner. They reached it without much difficulty. Standing here an extensive scene came upon their view.
On the left, the coast line ran on for a few miles, rough and rugged cliffs, with a crest of stunted trees. On the right, the coast line was what they had already seen. In front was the boundless sea, covered with foaming waves. At their feet the surf thundered in a line of foam, and tossed its spray high on the air.
“I don’t altogether like the look of things,” said Bruce, after a long and silent gaze upon the sea and the rough coast in the west.
“O, don’t fret,” said Bart. “Look, Bruce, close in to the shore under the cliffs: why, it’s smooth enough there to paddle a raft in. They’ll keep close in to the shore, and land whenever they want to.”
“Only they might try to round a headland like that,” said Bruce, pointing to a cliff which terminated the view towards the left, at the base of which there was a line of white foam; “and if they did,” he added, “I’m afraid neither Arthur nor Tom—”
He stopped abruptly, leaving the sentence unfinished.