The "B. O. W. C.": A Book For Boys Illustrated

The “B. O. W. C.”

A Book For Boys

By Prof. James De Mille

The Author Of “The Dodge Club,”

Illustrated

Boston: Lee And Shepard, Publishers

1871

This Book Is Dedicated To

Willie

The “B. O. W. C.”

I.

_The “B. O. W. C.,” with their History, Mystery, and Wonderful Doings; and how an aged African became elevated to the Dignity of “Grand Panjandrum.”_

AFTER the long winter session, the approach of the spring vacation had been eagerly welcomed at the Grand Pré School. It was only a short recess, and the majority of the boys would not be able to go home; but such as it was, its advent created the greatest delight. On a pleasant evening in May the examinations were over; little knots of boys were gathered jubilantly in various places, bonfires were blazing, squibs fizzing, crackers snapping, and everything and everybody were as noisy and as jolly as possible.

In the midst of all this, and immediately after tea, the “B. O W. C.” had called a meeting in the Rawdons’ rooms. Who or what the “B. O. W. C.” is, or was, will be explained on a future occasion; let it suffice for the present that the “B. O. W. C.” called a meeting, and the Rawdons’ rooms had the honor, of receiving that august assemblage. Not that it was very numerous. Only four or five could be counted; but then what they lacked a number, they made up in quality and in style. The utmost had been done to bring the rooms up to the level of so great an occasion. The table had been turned upside down, and transformed into a dais; the book-case had been, covered over with the table-cloth; the couch had been placed on one end in the corner; and in the middle of the room was a flour barrel covered with red flannel, on which was placed a phrenological bust. Added to this, the room was darkened--a smoky lamp shedding a feeble and fitful ray over the scene, and dimly disclosing four figures at one end.

These four figures were all dressed in white. The costume was a simple, but a highly effective one. It consisted apparently of a sheet thrown over the head and falling to the feet, with two holes for the eyes. In this attire the four figures bore not a little resemblance to some of those orders of monks which exist in Europe. The table, which lay on the floor, legs upward, with the addition of the ottoman, served as a dais, on which stood a figure with an immense militia captain’s sword in his hand. On each side was also a figure holding a huge wooden battle-axe, while the fourth stood between the dais and the bust.

Soon the silence was disturbed by a knock at the door communicating with the bed-room. The boy near the bust gave it three smart raps, upon which the door opened, and a figure entered clothed like the others in the room. On entering he made a low bow, and then stood erect.

The four figures in the room raised their hands to their faces with a peculiar gesture.

“Blood!” said they in solemn tones.

“Thunder!” said the boy at the door, making the same gesture.

“Is the Grand Panjandrum with you, Venerable Warden?” said the figure on the dais.

“He is, Most Venerable Patriarch.”

“Let him enter.”

At this the Venerable Warden left the room, and in a few moments reappeared, ushering in the personage alluded to as the Grand Panjandrum.

The Grand Panjandrum was an aged gentleman of color, whose wrinkled face was enlivened by an irrepressible comicality of expression, which not even the solemnity of this occasion could quell. He was arrayed in a college cap and gown, with a Master’s red hood and long bands. His face was a study. He was evidently doing his best to exhibit the deepest solemnity of expression, but his droll, keen, twinkling eyes darted furtively about, with an intense relish of the scene before him, and his efforts at gravity were sadly disturbed by the broad grin which, from time to time, would flash out irrepressibly over the dark background of his face. After a few furtive glances he bowed; and then, with an audible chuckle, he awaited further proceedings.

“Grand Panjandrum,” said the figure on the dais, in an impressive voice.

“Yes, sah.”

“Yes, what?” said the other, in a tone of rebuke.

“Yes, sah,--yes, mos’wossifle,” he added, correcting himself. A grin broke out over his face, which, however, was instantly checked by a demure cough.

“Grand Panjandrum, you have heard our map-dates.”

“Mandates?” said the other, in a puzzled tone.

“Yes,--orders.”

“Yes, sah, mos’ wossifle.”

“Have you carried out the instructions of the Venerable Brethren?”

“Yes, sah, mos’ wospeful.”

“Did you get the turkeys?”

“Yes, sah.”

“How many? Six?”

“No, sah.”

“What! not six?”

“No, sah.”

“How many, then?”

“Ten,” said the other, with a chuckle and a grin of triumph.

“O-h!” said the first speaker; while a titter ran round among the others. “H’m! Very well, and what else?”

“Spring chickens.”

“How many?”

“Twenty.”

“Ah! Very well. And how?”

“Broiled, sah.”

“Any tongue?”

“Yes, sah, three.”

“And the ham?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Nuts?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Raisins?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Crackers? Cheese? Figs? Cake?” “Yes, sah, mos’ wossifle.”

“And what about the drink? Have you prepared the lemonade?”

“No, sah.”

“No! Why not?”

“No lemons, sah.”

“That’s bad. And there is no drink, then?”

“Yes. sah. Ginger beer.”

“Ginger beer. H’m! that will do,” said the Venerable Patriarch, solemnly. “How much have you?”

“Ten gallons, mos’ wossifle.”

“What else have you?”

“Ten mince pies, twelve apple pies, a basket of tarts, a tin dipper, an iron pot, an iron spoon,” said the Grand Panjandrum, rapidly enumerating the various items. “Fact,” he continued, carried away by the ardor of the moment, “I’se got most nigh eberyting. Gracious sakes! you’ll open your blessed eyes, mind I tell you! But what are you gwine to do about de bread and butter? Tell you what, boys! you’ve clean forgot de most ’portant of all.”

“Silence!” cried the Venerable Patriarch, in an indignant voice, rapping his sword against the leg of the table.

“The sakes now! how you _do_ go on!” said the Grand Panjandrum, with a broad grin.

“No levity,” said the Venerable Patriarch, in a stern voice.

“Yes, sah,” said the other, assuming an expression of awful solemnity.

“Venerable Warden!”

“Yes, Most Venerable Patriarch.”

“The audience, is over! Escort the Grand Panjandrum to the outer world.”

The Venerable Warden bowed, and led the way out, followed by his sable companion.

Scarcely had the door closed behind them than the scene underwent a sudden change. With a shout, the four figures flung off their white draperies, and kicked them into a corner of the room. Then they drew back the curtains, replaced the table and couch, while the light that now came into the room showed the laughing faces of four boys, which had nothing in common with the sepulchral figures that had taken part in the late scene.

Two of these boys were big, brawny, broad-shouldered fellows, with Roman features, and dark, curling hair. They very closely resembled one another. These were the two Rawdons, to whom the rooms belonged. The elder was named Bruce, and the younger Arthur. Of the others, one was tall and slight, Tom Crawford by name; and the other was small and slight, and was called Phil Kennedy.

“Hurrah, boys!” said Phil. “Isn’t old Solomon a perfect brick of an old darkey? Do you fairly realize the fact that we are to have ten turkeys,--ten, my boys, instead of six?”

“And the spring chickens!” said Tom Crawford.

“And the mince pies!” said Bruce.

“And the ginger beer!” cried Arthur.

“The encampment, of the ‘B. O. W. C.’ is going to be a grand success,” said Bruce. “It will be memorable forever in the history of the school.”

“We ought to have a grand bonfire, and burn our Latin Grammars, before starting,” said Tom Crawford.

“Yes,” said Phil Kennedy, “and our Arithmetics too. I’d like to burn all the Arithmetics in the world.”

“No, no,” said Arthur, “don’t let us have a bonfire. Let us have a burial, with a solemn procession, and a real burial service.”

“Well, what’ll we bury?”

“The Latin Grammar.”

“No, Cæsar.”

“No, the Arithmetic.”

“Let’s bury them all; that is the best plan,” said Phil.

“Yes,” cried all; and a confused medley of proposals arose, in which all were talking together. In the midst of the uproar the door opened, and the Venerable Warden made his appearance. Throwing off his white robe, he disclosed the fair, round face of a fresh, handsome boy, with merry, mischievous eyes, and curling golden hair. That busy brain of his had been prolific in all sorts of plans dear to boys, while his generous nature and frank, pleasant manner made Bart Darner the favorite of Grand Pré School.

“O, Bart,” said Tom Crawford, “what about that powder?”

Bart left the room for a moment, and returned with a package under his arm.

“The powder?” said he. “It’s all right. I’ve got it in my room.”

“And the rods?”

“Yes, I’ve got the rods too.”

“Any matches?”

“Matches? Of course not.”

“Why, what’ll we do for lights and fires?”

“I hope you don’t mean to say that you would dream of taking _matches_,” said Bart, in a voice of solemn rebuke.

“Why not?”

“Why not? Who ever heard of matches in an Encampment of Knights? No, boys, flint and steel is the thing for us. That’s what I’ve got; and I’ve made some first-rate tinder, and a lot of sulphur lights. Besides, I’ve got something to surprise you.”

“What’s that?”

“The dresses.”

“Dresses?”

“Yes; come to my room, and I’ll show you what I’ve got. It wouldn’t do for us to go out and be brigands in ordinary jackets and trousers, I hope. Why,” he concluded, in a tone of rebuke, “it would be infamous.”

“And have you got any dresses in your room?” said Bruce.’

“Yes; come along and take a look at them.”

Off went the five with a shout, and going up a flight of stairs, they soon entered Bart Darner’s room. Here Bart brought out a bundle from the bed-room, and opening it, he proudly displayed its contents. There were five red shirts, each of which had a huge white cross on the back; five belts; and five felt hats, each of which was decorated with a feather. As he displayed these articles one by one, the boys were struck dumb with admiration, while Bart’s eyes glowed with delight.

“Don’t say anything,” said he, “but try them on.”

Bart locked the door carefully, and then they all arrayed themselves in the new costume. Soon five figures stood there with their red shirts and plunged hats, looking like so many juvenile Garibaldians.

“You see, these belts will do first rate for pistols, and daggers, and that sort of thing,” said Bart.

The other boys said nothing. Astonishment and delight deprived them of words; but each stood looking, first at himself, and then at his companions, in mute admiration.

“But how in the world did you manage it, Bart? Where did you get them all?” asked Tom Crawford.

“O, I found the shirts down in Brown’s,” said Bart, “and picked out the smallest ones. I had them altered, and got Maggie Lunt to sew on the crosses. I begged some old ostrich feathers from. Mrs. Porter, and of course the hats could be got anywhere. They’re rather large, but we can put bits of paper inside the lining, you know, and make them fit well enough. They’ll do for the woods.”

“Do for the woods!” cried Bruce Rawdon. “I should think they would, and for other places, too. Boys, don’t let’s hide our light under a bushel. I move that we have a grand procession at once.”

“Yes, yes,” cried all. “Let’s go down now. The fellows are all out on the grounds.”

“How they’ll stare!” cried Phil. “The ‘B. O. W. C.’ will become more famous than ever,” said Tom Crawford.

“Come, then,” said Arthur, “let us go down now.”

“No,” said Bart. “That would spoil all.”

“Why, don’t you want the ‘B. O. W. C.’ to show themselves?”

“Of course, but not now. I’ll tell you what to do. Let’s wait till to-morrow, and then we’ll get Jiggins’s cart, and make Solomon drive, dressed as Venerable Warden, up to the woods. We’ll follow as brigands.”

“Hurrah! That’s splendid!” said Bruce Rawdon.

“And I’ll show you something else,” said Bart, taking up the parcel which he had under his arm in the Rawdons’ room. “I’ve got something else.” And he proceeded to open the parcel, while the others looked on with eager expectation. He opened it, and drew out a folded cloth. Unfolding this, he shook it out, and spread it on the table. It was a black flag., Upon this was stitched something round, which close examination showed to be a desperate effort to represent a skull. To the ordinary observer, however, it looked exactly like an elderly gentleman’s face, quite bald, and with a benevolent grin. Beneath it were the mysterious initials “B. O. W. C.” At sight of this, the long-repressed feelings of the boys burst forth without restraint. With wild shouts they waved their hats in the air, and at last gave three cheers for Bart. It was long before their wild excitement could be quelled. Until late that night they sat in their wonderful dresses, admiring their wonderful flag, and waiting, with eager impatience, for the next day.

But who or what was the “B. O. W. C.”? That I must now proceed to answer.

The “B. O. W. C.” arose from the genius of Bart Darner, who, in some respects, was the most remarkable boy at Grand Pré School. His career there had been a highly eventful one. His father was a merchant of the town of St. John, and Bart had gathered, from the atmosphere of his native place, a passionate desire to go to sea. With the idea of curing him of this fancy, his father had taken him to Grand Pré School. Bart had gone very good naturedly, and had been formally entered as a scholar. The first acquaintances which Bart made were the Rawdon boys; and on the very first evening after his arrival he confided to them his determination to quit the school immediately. This determination Bart was not very long in putting into execution. Two days after his father had left, Bart was among the missing. Inquiries were made everywhere, but in vain. At length the worthy head master, Dr. Porter, conjectured that he might have gone home; so he sent in the direction in which he supposed it most likely that the fugitive would go. The conjecture proved to be well founded. Bart was found, on the following day, at an inn about forty miles away. He made no objection to returning, confessed that he was on his way home, and made light of the whole affair. Dr. Porter extorted from him a promise that he would make no further attempts to go home, and Bart began his school life.

His restless disposition soon caused a new interruption. At the end of three weeks it was found that Bart was again missing. Dr. Porter was deeply hurt, for he feared that Bart had broken his word. Search was made everywhere, but in vain. A week passed away, but no discovery had been made. At the end of that time, Old Solomon, the cook of the boarding school, affected perhaps by Dr. Porter’s deep anxiety, came to him and disclosed the hiding-place of the fugitive. It appeared that Bart had struck up an eternal friendship with Solomon, and had gained his assistance in a new scheme of flight. This time he did not seek to go home, for he had promised Dr. Porter not to do so. His plan was to escape to the woods, and build a hut, while Solomon was to bring him provision and news from the outer world. The Rawdons had been taken into the secret, and Bart had been enjoying the life of a hermit, and thoughtlessly amusing himself with baffling the search that was going on for him. Dr. Porter at once made Solomon accompany him to the hiding-place; and finding Bart there, he sent Solomon back, and had a long conversation with the youthful hermit. What he said or did no one else knew; but his mode of treatment was so effectual, that Bart from that time forward gave up his wandering ways. A long composition was allotted him as a punishment, and Bart bore the penalty of his misdeeds like a man.

After this he diverted his active powers into a more legitimate channel, and rapidly became one of the best scholars in his class. His restlessness of temper and liveliness of disposition showed themselves in the invention of new games and sports for the amusement of his companions. He became a curious compound of intense earnestness and wild levity. In school no one was so utterly absorbed in study as he; and outside, on the play-ground, no one abandoned himself so completely to fun and merriment. He took prizes and threw balls with equal facility. He invented new modes of making balls, of shaping bats, and of fastening skates. He introduced new variations in the venerable game of marbles. He made beautiful little schooners. He even constructed a steamboat out of an old clock. He organized a military company, including all the boys in the school, with lath guns and wooden swords, and a band which played jew’s-harps and tin pails.

But the greatest of all his achievements was the organization of the “B. O. W. C.”

It arose-on this wise.

From the very outset he had formed a close connection with four other boys, and the attachment to one another grew stronger among them every day. After organizing his militia company, and adding to it its famous “Tin Band,” Bart looked around him for more worlds to conquer; in other words, for new ideas to put into practice. In a moment of inspiration he conceived the plan of a secret society, which was to include himself and his friends. No sooner was this suggested to the others, than they seized upon it with the greatest eagerness. The name was the first thing. At first they thought of calling it the “Pentagon.” Then they thought of the “Quintette.” Other names suggested themselves; but finally they decided upon the “B. O. W. C.” The use of letters gave a charming mystery. No one but a member of the society could ever penetrate the tremendous secret. But the time has at length come for divulging it. It shall be a secret no longer. Those mysterious letters, then, were intended to represent “_The Brethren of the Order of the White Cross_.”

As to the rest, the most charming ingenuity was shown in arranging the details. The officers had names of solemn import. They were,--

1. The Most Venerable Patriarch.

2. The Venerable Scribe.

3. The Right Worshipful Commander.

4. The Grand Scholastic.

5. The Venerable Warden.

Afterward another dignity was added.

It was arranged that each office should be held only for one month. This was calculated to satisfy the aspirations of all, since in this way each member had a chance of filling every office in due time.

The initiation ceremonies were tremendous; the only trouble about these being that they never had any persons on whom to exercise them. They remained, therefore, like so many beautiful dreams. The costumes have already been described. The most important thing among their furniture was the phrenological bust. This was the pride and delight of the “B. O. W. C.” It had been obtained from a young man who was studying medicine in the village, and who levied a heavy tax upon the purses of the society for so precious an article. They had the bust, however, and did not complain.

I have said that another dignity was added to the original five. This was in the person of the venerable Solomon. In consideration of his age, his color, his occupation as cook, and his eminent previous services to all of them individually, it was unanimously resolved that he should be admitted to the society. With very great delicacy they excused him the terrific initiation ceremony. Perhaps the idea that he might object to some of the details influenced them in this. Be this as it may, Old Solomon became a member, and a new dignity was created especially for him. In a full meeting of the society, it was unanimously voted that he be created _Perpetual Grand Panjandrum_.

II.

_Grand Pré and Minas Basin.--An astonishing Procession.--Encampment of Brigands.--Break-up of Encampment and Flight of the Inmates._

THE Grand Pré Academy, under the presiding care of Dr. Porter, was a highly popular and very efficient boarding school. In choosing such a place for the Academy, Dr. Porter had shown that ardent love of nature which always distinguished him. It was situated in a place which yields to no other in the world for varied charms of land, sea, and sky, and which can never be forgotten after it has once been seen. Standing upon the slope of a hill, the Academy, with its broad portico and lofty cupola, looked down upon a scene whose loveliness has been described in Longfellow’s exquisite verse:

“In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,

Distant secluded still, the little village of Grand Pré

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the

eastward,

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without

number.

Dikes that the hands of the farmers had reared with labor

incessant,

Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood

gates

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o’er the

meadows.

“West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and

cornfields.

Spreading afar and unseened o’er the plain; and away to the

northward.

Blomidon rose, and the forests old; and aloft on the moun

tains

Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty

Atlantic

Looked on the happy valley, but ne’er from their station de

scended.”

Looking from the portico of the Academy, the eye rested upon a broad expanse of dike land immediately in front, which extended far away for many miles on either hand. These the old Acadian farmers had first reclaimed from the sea, and afterward their successors had reared new dikes and reclaimed wider districts. The broad meadows immediately in front were bounded by the Cornwallis River, a stream which at high tide can float the largest ship, but which at low tide is so nearly empty that but a slight rivulet runs through its channel. It runs into the Basin of Minas, where are the highest tides in the world.. Here the sea carries in its salt waves up to where the dikes rise against them, and afterward retreating, they go back for miles, leaving vast tracts of mud flats exposed to the view. For many miles all around there are rivers that run into this bay, all of which are subject to the same tides, and experience the same great vicissitudes, changing twice in the twenty-four hours from shallow rivulets at the bottom of valleys of mud, to vast rivers which flow with swift and full streams. Twice on each day the stream, which can scarce float a canoe, will grow to a mighty volume of water, where navies might pass. Twice each day may be seen the startling spectacle, once used as a formula for the impossible, of rivers running from the sea up their channels; and twice on each day the scene on Minas shores changes from a wide expanse of red mud to a vast sheet of deep-blue sea.

All that is wonderful and all that is sublime in nature may be found here, side by side with all that is most sweet and beautiful. Behind the hill on whose slope the school stands lies the valley of the Gaspereaux, an Eden-like retreat, shut in by high hills and watered by a winding river, sequestered from the world, full of that strange charm of repose that may so seldom be met with in this busy age. Before the hill there spreads away for many a mile the broad vale of Cornwallis, through which there flow five rivers, whoso waters are all chained up at their mouths, so that their beds may serve for verdurous dike lands to the farmers of the valley. Far away on the other side extends a long range of hills, which push themselves forward into Minas Basin till they end in a precipitous cliff, whose towering form is the centre of attraction for many and many a mile. This is the famous Cape Blomidon, whose position is so peculiar, and whose shape is so striking, that it forms the central object to spectators all around the shores of the bay. Here is a channel opening into the Bay of Fundy outside, and this channel is the gate-way through which the disturbed and impetuous waters of the two seas forever rush backward and forward.

In that outer bay there are fierce tides, and swift currents, and iron-bound shores, and lonely rocky isles; there are dense fogs, sharp squalls, and sudden storms. The mists that prevail there are kept away by that lofty wall which terminates in Blomidon, and cannot penetrate into the well-protected country within. The mists and the fogs seem like baffled enemies, long beleaguering, but never victorious. From the sunny plains of Cornwallis and Grand Pré they may be seen crowded and piled up on the top of Blomidon, frowning darkly and menacingly upon the scene beneath, as though eager to descend. But Old Blomidon guards well the land which he protects, and the mist and the fog that cross his crest are broken and dissipated into thin air.

From all this there arise wondrous atmospheric effects. Here, when the fog is piled up in gloomy masses over Blomidon, and the sun is setting behind them, may be seen a spectacle so gorgeous that, if it could be portrayed on canvas, few would believe it to be a copy of nature. It would be deemed the fantastic vision of some artist mad from love of deep gloom and vivid color; for the colors here at sunset are sometimes as numerous, as varied, and as vivid as those of a rainbow. The whole west glows with indescribable glory, when out of black clouds and voluminous folds of whirling fog-wreaths there beams a gorgeous red, forth from which shoot up innumerable rays far into the zenith, formed of every hue and shade, which shift and change like the rays of the Aurora Borealis, and cast upon all the sky and upon all the earth something of their own splendid radiance.

Early on the morning which followed the meeting of the “B. O. W. C.,” a singular scene was presented in front of the Academy. A crowd had gathered there surrounding a very remarkable group. There was a cart containing a number of baskets and some pots, in which was harnessed a quadruped which charity might consent to name a horse, but which looked more like a skeleton of one of the extinct species. Seated high and dry in an old arm-chair was the venerable figure of Solomon in his robes of office, that is to say, his office of Perpetual Grand Panjandrum. He had an old college cap and gown, and a master’s hood, while the spectacles that bestrided his nose, and the altitude of his shirt collar, were of themselves sufficient to strike awe into the beholder. Behind the cart were the “B. O. W. C.,” robed in the red shirts and plumed hats which Bart had found for them. Bart had a pistol in his belt. Each one had something, if it were nothing better than a case-knife. But the centre of all eyes was the flag. This Bart had generously handed over to Bruce Rawdon, who was the Most Venerable Patriarch for the month of May. As the wind caught it and unfolded it before the astonished eyes of the other boys, the skeleton head grinned benignantly at them from his airy home, and a loud shout of admiration burst forth from all.

Solomon cracked his whip. The procession started. The noise, the laughter, and the joking were wonderful. Heads appeared at all the windows of the house where the teachers lived. There were the laughing faces of Dr. Porter and his family; there was the wondering gaze of Mr. Simmons, the mathematical teacher; and there, at another window, the long, solemn physiognomy of Mr. Long, of the English department. Thus the procession went on, followed by all the boys, and the centre of admiring interest. It was a proud moment for the “B. O. W. C.”

In this fashion they went up the hill behind the Academy, and at length reached the woods. They passed several cavities in the ground which had once been cellars of the old Acadian houses. They passed through an orchard where the old, neglected apple trees still spoke of the Acadian farmer who had planted them and cleared the forest around.

The road entered the woods, and they went along for some distance. At last, in the midst of the woods they turned aside to the left, and after a hundred yards or so they stopped, and the cart was unloaded.

At this place there was a steep descent on the right through the thick woods. Down this the “B. O. W. C.” carried the articles which they had brought. On reaching the bottom, they emerged into a space clear of trees, where a brook ran babbling on. About twenty yards up, a dam had been built, and a pond of water formed, at one end of which was a large camp made of spruce and fir. Shut in among the woods, with the little pond in front of it, and the brook babbling behind it, it formed as secluded a place as could be desired. This spot was once the hiding-place of Bart during his second flight, and had ever since been a favorite resort of his. There were many camps and pleasant arbors through the woods, but the newly-made pond had given to this place the undoubted preeminence. It had all been done very secretly within a week, and all the other boys now saw it for the first time, and gave utterance to their feelings in low murmurs of surprise and admiration. But the “B. O. W. C.” had much to attend to. First of all, they had to carry down their provisions. Then they had to arrange them, and finally they had the most important duty of all to attend to, which was no less momentous a thing than hoisting their flag. Soon the moment came. A pole had been already prepared. The ropes were attached, the pole was nailed to a corner post of the camp, and the flag was hauled up to its place with loud cheers, in which all the other boys joined with the greatest vigor.

After this the “B. O. W. C.” flung themselves down and rested for a time. The other boys inspected the place closely, and questioned the owners of the camp as to their intention.

“Are you going to sleep here?”

“O, yes.”

“What’ll you sleep on?”

“Brush, of course.”

“And will you cook?”

“O, yes.”

“Have you a fireplace?”

“No, but we’re going to make one to-day.”

“What’ll you do if it rains?”

“Grin and bear it.”

“Pooh! You don’t mean to say that you’d stay here if you got wet through.”

“Wouldn’t we, though? You see.”

“Dr. Porter wouldn’t let you.”

“O, yes, he would. He always says it don’t hurt boys to get wet.”

“O, he means by day. He wouldn’t let you sleep here in a storm.”

“Why not? The camp is good enough.”

“Good enough? It can’t keep the rain off.”

“O, yes, it can.”

“You haven’t enough to eat here--have you?” asked others.

“Plenty.”

“Nonsense! It will all be gone before two days.”

“Well, can’t we easily get things? I’ve got a pistol, and mean to shoot hares and things.”

Bart proudly displayed his pistol, and the sight of this formidable arm silenced all controversy.

“Besides,” said Bart, proudly, “we’ve got a gun.”

“A gun!” repeated the others, in low tones. “Yes; we expect to be attacked.”

“Attacked? Who’d attack you?”

“O, the Gaspereaugians.”

(“The Gaspereaugians” was a name given by the boys to the inhabitants of Gaspereaux.)

“Do you think they will?”

“Of course; but if they try it, they’ll find us ready for them,” said Bart, fiercely. “We’ve hoisted our flag, and I’d like to see the Gaspereaugian that would dare to pull it down.”

“Well, if it comes to that, you’ve got us, you know. We’ll be on hand.”

“Of course,” said Bart, gravely. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do: we’ll send out scouts, and if we see any signs of an attack, we’ll let you know. I’ve got a trumpet here, and when I blow three times, you’ll be along to help. See.”

And Bart stepped back to a bundle, out of which he pulled a long tin horn, of the kind known among ‘longshoremen as “fog-horns.”

“But we won’t blow it till we’re hard up, you know,” he continued. “We’ll only blow it if they come in a great crowd, you know.”

“O, yes; of course.”

The boys now broke up into little knots, and proposed all sorts of plans. A mania for camping out set in strong among them all. The example of the “B. O. W. C.” in damming the stream was to be imitated at once. Each little knot of boys had places peculiar to themselves along the same stream, some of which were the work of predecessors, and had something like a history. After a time most of the boys went back for spades, pickaxes, shovels, axes, and whatever else might be needed for the great work of camp-building. The “B. O. W. C.” then turned their attention toward the completion, of their own camp. A fireplace had still to be built, and brush cut for beds. To this they devoted themselves very vigorously, and worked till about ten o’clock, when their labors were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Dr. Porter and Mr. Simmons. They stood for some time looking with a smile at the busy scene, before they were noticed. As soon as the boys recognized their visitors, they came up laughing, eager to describe the beauties of their camp. Dr. Porter was much amused, particularly with the flag, which floated from the mast.

“Boys,” said he at length, after he had asked about everything, “I have come up to make you an offer.”

“An offer? What is it, sir?” cried they all.

“How would you like to give up, for the present, your bandit camp, take away all your provision, haul down your flag, and go away?”

“What, sir!” cried the boys in consternation, and a cloud of gloom passed over their-faces.

“How would you like me to charter a little schooner, fill it with provisions, turn the hold into a sleeping-place, and start off for a week’s cruise around the Basin of Minas, going ashore at the Five Islands, at Parrsboro’, at Blomidon, and at any other, place where we might wish? What do you say to that? Ah, ha!” cried the doctor, as he watched the changing faces of the boys, where the gloom had vanished instantly, and given place to the wildest delight. “Ah, ha! that suits you--does it! Well, that’s what I’ve come to propose.”

“O, Dr. Porter! Are you really in earnest? Do you mean it?--a schooner--a schooner?--a cruise round Minas Basin? O, good! good! good! Hurrah! Three cheers!”

A hundred incoherent shouts and words like these burst from the boys as they dashed about in wild and frantic delight, overwhelmed with joy at this proposal to all of them. It seemed a thing so glorious that nothing of which the mind could conceive was to be compared with it. A cruise round Minas Basin! What did not that involve? Adventures of a hundred kinds; drifting about in wild tides; getting lost in dense fogs; running ashore on wide mud flats, or on precipitous cliffs, or on the edge of perilous breakers; landing on lonely headlands, or on solitary islands; penetrating far forests; camping out in wildernesses; living pirate fashion in their own schooner, where all would be given up to them; shooting, fishing; hunting for gulls’ nests;--it meant not sham adventures, but real ones--with real dangers environing them instead of fancied ones. They could cease playing at Robbers, and play what to them seemed the nobler part of Pirates; the skull-and-cross-bones flag could adorn the schooner, and the fog-trumpet could sound forth amid the echoing cliffs of Blomidon. It meant anything and everything, and far more than even their vivid fancies could very well portray. To most boys the sea always promises more adventure than the land; there is always something of the joy of discovery in every new voyage, and so all these boys felt now; but to Bart, most of all, was the prospect most delightful; for he had already known to the full that longing for the sea which many boys have, and that which his father had prevented him from realizing, now seemed to come to him. In some respects this seemed to be better than the voyage which he had formerly dreamed of; for though it would not be long, yet it would be varied and eventful, and not free from danger. Best of all, it would be made in company with the other boys.

It was some time before the boys were able, in their excitement, to get any clear idea of what Dr. Porter was telling them. At length they learned that Mr. Simmons and Mr. Long wished to visit Blomidon and the Five Islands in search after minerals, with which the cliffs are filled. They had concluded to get a schooner, and take the larger boys with them. They expected to spend about a week, and take provisions sufficient for that time. Dr. Porter would not be able to go himself, but would intrust the boys to the care and the jurisdiction of Messrs. Simmons and Long. Such was the plan.

Moreover, the schooner was already engaged. It was the Antelope, Captain Corbet; and it was proposed to leave, if possible, that very afternoon, so as to be on the other side of the bay, or at least near Blomidon, by sundown. As it was then ten o’clock, there was no time to lose, but everything should be prepared at once, and taken on board the schooner. One thing only was insisted on by Dr. Porter; and that was, that they should take no firearms. Bart pleaded so hard for his little pistol, however, that the doctor let him keep it, and satisfied himself by making them leave the gun behind.

III.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

Mr. Long looked around in despair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: 0050]

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

“Captain Corbet!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Mrs. Corbet?”

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

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

Captain Corbet shook his head solemnly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Long turned abruptly away.

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

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

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

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

“Well, when can you go?”

Captain Corbet shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This proposal the boys received with three stunning cheers.

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

“Good morning,” said Mr. Long.

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

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

“And we will wait,” said Mr. Long.

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

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

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

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

“No, I didn’t!” yelled Corbet.

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

Here Mr. Long stepped forward.

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

“What!” cried the owner of the fence. “I say it is _not_ all right; and it _is_ matter. Bring me back my fence!”

“I’ll bring it back.”

“I’ll have the law of you!”

“All right. We’ll replace it.”

“Bring it back!”

“All right.”

“Bring--back--my--fence--!”

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

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

And all the boys greeted it with a cheer.

IV.

_Blomidon.--Tides and Fogs.--Songs and Seasickness.--The Five Islands, and a Race up a Précipice._

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we land at Blomidon first?”

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

“Where are the highest tides of this Basin?”

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

“Yes.”

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

“Do you believe it rises ninety feet?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” screamed Bart.

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

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

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

“O, my name is Captain Kidd,

As I sailed, as I sailed;

O, my name is Captain Kidd,

As I sailed.

O, my name is Captain Kidd,

And much wiekedness I did,

And a heap of gold I hid,

As I sailed.”

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

1st Verse. (Brisk.)

“Three blue-bottles,

Three blue-bottles,

Three blue-bottles sat

On a milestone.”

Recitative.

“One flew away.”

2d Verse. (Slow.)

“Two blue-bottles,

Two blue-bottles,

Two blue-bottles sat

On a milestone.”

Recitative.

“Another flew away.”

3d Verse. (Slower.)

“One blue-bottle,

One blue-bottle,

One blue-bottle sat

On a milestone.”

Recitative.

“That one flew away.”

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

“No blue-bottles,

No blue-bottles,

No blue-bottles sat

On a milestone.”

Recitative.

“One came back.”

5th Verse. (Less sad.)

“One blue-bottle,

One blue-bottle,

One blue-bottle sat

On a milestone.”

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

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

“O, the sky was black, the day was cold,

And the winds did loud-ly roar,

When cold and sad there corned a lad

Into a farimier’s door.

“‘Can you tell me,’ says he, ‘if any there be

Who want to give emplo-o-o-o-o-o-y

For to plough and to sow, and to reap and to mow,

And to be a farmier’s bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-y--

To--be--a--farmier’s bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-y?’”

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

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

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

“A life on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep,

“Where the scattered waters rave,

And the winds--and the wi-i-i-i-inds--and the w-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-nds

their re-e-e-e-e-vels keep!”

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

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

“Hurrah! Hurrah!”

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

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

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

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

“Let go!” he cried.

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

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

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

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

“Why not?” asked Captain Corbet.

“Why, she won’t hold us.”

“Yes, she will.”

“O, no.”

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

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

“Of course.”

“O, that quite alters the case.”

“Bless your heart, of course it does.”

“Will we want any provisions?” asked Bart.

“Provisions! What for?”

“Are we going to camp out?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

V.

_Exploring a desert Island.--Tumbling over a Cliff.--Peril of Bruce.--A mad Row over the waves.--Adrift in the Fog._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O, God! Who is it?” he groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arthur!” cried Bart.

“Well.”

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

“Yes. I’ve got hold.”

“Now then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right,” said Arthur.

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

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

“Whew!”

“What’s the matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boys, I--I’m dying!”

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

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

VI.

_Up Anchor and after them.--Blast of the Foghorn.--A long Search amid Mists, and Darkness, and Storms._

AS the boat drifted away from the schooner, horror for a time seemed to have struck dumbness into all on board. From this stupor Mr. Long was the first to rouse himself.

“Captain,” he cried, “we must up sail and after them.”

“Which way shall wo go?”

“After them any way. Follow the poor lads before they get any farther. Come, boys, up with the anchor! Corbet, up with your sails!”

The way that anchor was walked up was a wonder. In an incredibly short space of time the schooner was dashing through the water, swept on by wind and tide.

“Which way does this current take us?” asked Mr. Long.

“Well, right round the island, and down to Biomidon, and then out into the Bay of Fundy.”

“I can’t see the island.”

“No; the fog’s too thick; but it’s right off there,” said Captain Corbet, waving his left hand.

“I suppose the poor lads couldn’t work ashore.”

“Not with, their bare hands. Their oar’s gone--that’s the mischief of it.”

Mr. Long looked gloomily around.

“The only thing, then, is for us to follow on where they may be drifting.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head, sir. There’s nothin’ else for us--not a hooter.”

“How far is the main land from here?”

“Several miles.”

“Does the current strike near it anywhere?”

“No, _sir!_ It goes straight in a bee line for Blomidon.”

“After leaving this island, then, Blomidon is the nearest land for them.”

“Yes, or Parrsboro’.”

“How long will it take them to drift there?”

“About three hours.”

“How far will they be likely to drift?”

“Let me see. It’s seven o’clock now. It’s nearly dead low tide’. It’ll be on the flood soon, and by the time them there lads get to Blomidon, there’ll be a flood tide.”

“And how will that be for them?”

“It’ll drift ’em back.”

“In which direction?”

“Wal, sir, it would take a man with a head as long as a hoss, tail and all, to answer that there pint. Lor’ bless you, in this here bay there’s no knowin’ where the tide ‘ll drift a man.”

“If it weren’t for the fog, there’d be no danger,” said Mr. Long, musingly.

“That there’s an ondeniable fact, at any rate.”

“Do you think the fog will continue?”

Captain Corbet screwed his head round in the direction of the wind, and drew up his face into a most extraordinary grimace.

“Well, I rayther think,” said he, slowly, “that you’ve got me there.”

“You don’t know, then, anything about it,” said Mr. Long, impatiently.

“Not a hooter.”

Mr. Long walked away, and looked mournfully out over the dim sea.

Deep sadness and sore anxiety now reigned over the little vessel. Mr. Simmons said not a word, but sat staring fixedly at the fog. The boys stood in silent groups. Not a word was spoken.

Mr. Long walked forward to the bows, and looked out. The wind was increasing, and the sea was growing rougher. Evening was passing away, night would come--and then, what! To think of those poor lads in the boat was anguish. He walked back again to Captain Corbet.

“Where are we now?”

“Wal, we’re just roundin’ the island.”

“I can’t see it.”

“No, I have to give her a wide berth. It’s low tide, and the ledges are dangerous.”

“Do you think the boat may be drifting out here, or nearer in shore?”

“Wal, accordin’ to my cal’lation, they’d oughter be out here somewhere. Jedgin’ by the direction the boat took, I should say I was followin’ pooty close in their track, though there’s no knowin’ for sartin.”

“Oughtn’t we to be up to them by this time?”

“Wal, I don’t know. You saw the pace they went off at. Geeracious! Talk of race-hosses! Why, that boat went off at a rate to beat all creation holler!”

“But we’re going faster. We have the same current, and we’ve got sails up.”

“Never a truer word; but then it took some time for us to get a start, and in that time, gracious ony knows where they’ve got to. The ony thing that we’ve got to do, as I can see, is to keep follerin’ our noses right straight on, and keep in the current.”

Suddenly a thought struck Mr. Long. Rushing down into the cabin, he returned with a fog-horn, and raising it to his lips, blew a long, piercing blast.

“That’ll fetch ’em, if anything does,” said Captain Corbet.

“Silence!” cried Mr. Long, listening intently, while all others on board stood listening for the return cry.

But no sound came back.

“They’ve got a pistol, and if they hear us, they would fire. Have you a gun, captain?”

“Nary gun.”

“This horn, then, is the best thing. Shouting is of no use,” said Mr. Long; and he blew another blast.

Again they listened, and again there was no response. To their waiting ears, as they listened in an anguish of expectation, there came no answering cry, no shout, no pistol shot--nothing but the plash of waves near by, the singing of the wind through the rigging, and the boom of the surf on some distant beach which the fog hid from view.

On went the schooner, and Mr. Long blew unweariedly, clinging to this horn as something by which he still might gain access to the lost boys, and finding in this occupation something of that antidote to pain which action of any kind yields to the energetic nature. But time passed on, and only the winds heard these shrill blasts, and only the winds responded to the signal.

So darkness came upon them, and night; and the darkness of this night was intensified, by the thick fog, so that it became a darkness which might be felt.

“Ef we want to save the boys,” said Captain Corbet at last to Mr. Long, who stood dejectedly near him, “my opinion is, that we’d better keep afloat ourselves; but at the rate we’re goin’, it’s my opinion that before long we’ll be high and dry. And we may thank our blessed stars if we light on a mud flat, and don’t get dashed to small bits on Blomidon. Them’s my sentiments.”

“Why, don’t you know where you are?”

“No more idee where I am than the man in the moon.”

“I thought you knew the coast.”

“So I do--like a book.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Why, if it was only the fog, I wouldn’t mind; but, mind you, there’s the tides. The flood tide ’ll be coming along soon, and then where’ll we go to? We may get twisted up into an eddy, and find ourselves on Cape Split; or we may glide up to Windsor, or get thrown on the rocks, goodness ony knows where. There’s no knowin’ where these tides may take it into their blessed hearts to drift us to. So the long and the short of it is, I move we anchor.”

“But isn’t it a common thing for schooners to drift about here?”

“Not in the Basin of Minas, thank you. No, sir. Not if they can help it. Out in Fundy it’s different. Fundy hain’t got no bottom to anchor on, except near the shores. Fundy ain’t one universal mud bank, nuther. Out in Fundy every skipper cal’lates on driftin’, jest as a sea captain cal’lates on navigatin’ by scientific observation. Driftin’ in Fundy is a science by itself, and vessels make v’y’ges back’ard and for’ard by a new patent driftin’ process. But in here nobody drifts. It’s no go.”

Mr. Long gave a heavy sigh.

“At any rate, let’s drift a little longer. I cling to hope of coming up with the boys.”

“Comin’ _up_ with them! Law bless my heart alive, we’ve comed up with ’em and passed ’em long ago. We’ve got on different tracks somehow. Ef they’d been afloat, they’d never missed hearin’ that everlastin’ trumpet you’ve been a-blowin’ on so like all possessed.”

Now all this time since they had left the anchorage the wind had been blowing strongly. As the darkness increased, Captain Corbet had taken in his foresail. The water grew rougher, the little schooner labored heavily, and pitched, and tossed, and rolled about, while the waves dashed over her bow. Mr. Simmons had retired to his berth with the bodily pangs of seasickness superadded to his mental anxiety. One by one the boys had disappeared below, and for an hour or more none were left on deck but Mr. Long, Captain Corbet, and the mate. A light had been hoisted, and Mr. Long still blew the fog-trumpet.

But he no longer blew it with any hope. Captain Corbet had presented full before him a palpable fact, and that was, that they must be far away from any place where the boat could possibly be. They had sailed on and passed beyond them. They could not have been near the beat at any time. Some other current must have carried it away in another direction. Had it not been so, they must assuredly have heard those shrill yells, and in that ease they would have responded. Either they had been caught in another current, or else that had happened to them on which he dared not think. But then, even so, if they had got into another current, could it avail them? For that boat to drift out into this sea would be sure destruction.

“Captain,” said he, “are there more currents than one about those islands?”

“As many currents as there is hairs on a hoss’s tail.”

“Then it’s quite likely they got into another one.”

“It’s sartin.”

“Can you conjecture how they may have gone?”

“Wal, you see the current we came by was a kind of inside one that took us round the nighest island. Now, outside of that there was another current that kind V goes round the next island, which is a bigger one than the one we were at. I’ve been turnin’ it over in my head, and I cal’late that that there boat, jedgin’ by the course she took as she shot by us, got swept into the outer current, and was driven away around the outer island.”

“We couldn’t have been near her at all, then.”

“It seems not.”

“Where could they have been when we began to blow?”

“As near as I can cal’late, jedgin’ by the natur’ of the currents, and the course they took, they might have been off the farthest end of the other island.”

“How far away from the place where we were?”

“Over two miles--yes, more’n three miles.”

“How far can you hear one of these fog-horns?”

“About a mile.”

“So they couldn’t have heard us?”

“Couldn’t have heard a note. No, sir. And that accounts for their silence.”

“Where does the current go to, after going round that island you speak of?”

“Wal, there’s a good many, but there’s two main currents: one goes round the island, and returns and jines the one that we come down by.”

“And if the boat came by that, it would be behind us.”

“Jes so.”

“About how far?”

“O, ten miles or more by this time.”

“If so, every moment now takes us farther from them.”

“That’s about it, anyway you take it. But the flood tide’s catching us now, and where it’s takin’ us to’s more’n I know.”

“It will take the boat too.”

“Yes; of course.”

“You spoke of another current.”

“Yes, the other current sweeps around farther up, nigh unto the main land, and takes a turn and comes down, till it jines the gen’ral current along with the others.”

“So, if they had drifted into that, they would still be behind us.”

“Of course.”

“Where do you think we are now?”

“Can’t tell. Somewhere near Blomidon, though perhaps I’m jest as near Horton Bluff.”

“How far would the boat drift till the tide turns?”

“Wal, they would have time to drift nearly to Blomidon.”

“And when the tide turns, you can’t tell where they’d go?”

“No, _sir_--nor nobody else.”

“What chance would there be of the boat keeping afloat?”

Captain Corbet shook his head.

“It’s rough--precious rough. Ef it had been any other boys than them there partic’ler boys, I’d have my doubts. They’d all be swamped, sure as a gun. But them there boys is oncommon lively creeturs. An’ they’ve got a great idea of a rowboat, though they don’t know nothin’ of sailin’. They’d manage to keep afloat as long as anybody I know of. They’d make a precious hard fight of it afore they’d knock under, mind, I tell you. They’re boys that are up to snuff. They mind me of my babby. My babby is the cutest little creetur that ever I see in all my born days. Why, that there infant last week--jest a week ago to-morrow--that there infant--hallo--O--ah--hur--why, I declare--Mr. Long--why, he’s gone, ah’ hasn’t heard about the infant.”

It was a fact. Mr. Long had gone, and had lost the story of the infant. A moment afterward the shrill blast of the horn sounded out over the deep.

“Captain,” said he, as he came back again, “I won’t object any more to your anchoring. Do as you choose. God alone knows what is best to do. He alone can save those dear boys. I must try to trust them to him.”

A few moments after, the vessel was swinging at her anchor in twenty fathoms water.

Captain Corbet and the mate calmly retired to sleep, leaving the schooner to take care of herself. But there was one who slept not all through that night. Mr. Long could not leave the deck. The air below was stifling to one so full of anxiety and suspense as he was. All night long he paced the deck with unwearied footsteps,--all night long,--stopping at times to sound his trumpet; stopping again to peer through the thick darkness that hung around like a funeral pall over the grave of the departed. There, too, over and over again in the darkness and the gloom of that night, he knelt down on that deck, and poured forth all the anguish of his soul, calling forth out of his despair unto Him who alone is able to save. After each prayer his soul would grow calmer, and the storm of his agitated heart would cease for a time, till, gradually reassuming its strength, his grief would once more return, to be once more dispelled by prayer. So, amid vigil, and fasting, and prayer, and grief, passed, the night away; and when the dawn came, there stood this man looking out over the sea, with a face pale from suffering, and eyes dimmed with unfamiliar tears.

The dawn of day brought at least one comfort. The wind had changed during the night, and the fog had gone. The wide sea once more unfolded itself, and as the light grew stronger, Mr. Long eagerly scanned it in all directions in search after the lost ones. At last, rousing Captain Corbet and the mate, he urged them to set sail once more.

Captain Corbet came on deck, and looked round in great curiosity to see where he was. He had gone to sleep in beautiful ignorance of his whereabouts, and it had been an interesting problem as he dozed off to sleep.

The moment he looked around, he uttered a cry.

“Good gracious!”

Mr. Long looked inquiringly at him.

“Ef I ain’t back at my own door! Don’t you see it, Mr. Long? Why, darn me, ef we haven’t drifted clean back to Grand Pré!”

Mr. Long looked in wonder to where Captain Corbet pointed, and there, to his surprise, he recognized the familiar shore. A cloud came over his brow. The thought of the lost ones came to him more vividly as he saw the place which might possibly be doomed to know them no more forever.

“Ef it warn’t-dead low tide,” said Captain Corbet, “darn it ef I wouldn’t have a good mind to tie up the old Anty to the nighest stump, and take a run up to see the babby.”

Mr. Long turned upon him with so terrible a frown that Captain Corbet was awed.

“O--I didn’t mean it. I--I ony made the remark. Of course I didn’t mean it--it’s ony a leetil outbust of parential affection.”

“Come, make haste!” said Mr. Long, sternly. “There’s no time to lose. We must scour the bay till we find the boys.”

The anchor went up, and up went the sails, and the Antelope once more spread her wings to the blast, and went over the waters.

But where could they go?

That was the question which it was difficult to answer. Where, or in what direction, east, west, north, or south?

Through all that day they sailed about. First, they went down the straits past Blomidon; then, turning back, they stretched away far over to the farthest extremity of the bay. They spoke what vessels they met. They watched every floating object, and it was with a feeling of relief that each one resolved itself into a chip, or a shingle, or a log, and never into a hat or the seat of a boat.

So passed the day.

Searching in such a way, without any clew, it was difficult for them to feel that they were doing anything. While they were searching in the east, the traces of the object, of their search might all be in the west; and while they were examining the north, the boat might be drifting in the south; or, while they were in the Basin of Minas, the boat might be helplessly carried about by the currents of the Bay of Fundy.

One thing there was to comfort them; and that was, the departure of the fogjdhe clear atmosphere, the pleasant breeze, the bright sunshine. Several vessels had been met with, and all had promised to keep a lookout and engage other vessels in the same service. On such a sea, and under such a sky, there could be no danger, if the boat had survived the night.

But _had_ the boat survived the night?

Alas! and alas! who could answer that!

Mr. Long, at any rate, would not give up. As though in defiance of fate, he would not haul down that flag which Bart had hoisted, but kept it flying, in the fond hope that it would once more greet their eyes.

VII.

_Lost in the Fog.--At the Mercy of the Tide.--The last Rock.--Wanderings on a lonely Shore.--A great Discovery.--A new Mode of Cooking._

MEANTIME, what had become of the boys? Was the “B. O. W. C.” thus overwhelmed beneath the dark wave? Were all the grief, and the watching, and the tireless search of the noble-hearted Mr. Long to be unavailing?

We shall see.

As the boat sped away, dragged on by the swift current, the boys sat in astonishment and consternation. Bart supported Bruce’s head, and Arthur hurried to the stern to assist. They wet his pale brow in silence; while Bruce, in a faint voice, told them that he had been seized with a sudden spasm. He soon felt better, though unable to exert himself.

By that time the fog had closed in around them, and both the schooner and the shore had been shut out from their view. They were drifting swiftly on, they could not tell where. For a long time they sat watching and waiting--how long they did not know. In seasons of suspense, moments are prolonged to hours; and so it was here. On they went, and still on. Each one well knew all the possibilities of the danger that lay before them. There was a wide and a wild sea, overspread with fog-clouds, where the waves were rising and the night was coming down. Into the midst of all this they were being borne by swift currents. This they all knew, yet not a sound of dismay escaped any one of them. Whatever each one may have felt of fear, he sat in silence and gave no sign. There were stout hearts that beat in those slender, boyish breasts, that awaited, undismayed, the terrors of the deep.

Bart was the first to rouse himself.

“Boys,” said he, drawing forth a tin pail from under the seat, “we must fight for our lives, and make up our minds to pass the night here. Well have to use this concern, I think.”

“Here’s something, too, that may be of use,” said Arthur, drawing out a narrow plank from the bottom of the boat. “Phil, there’s another one; just draw it out.”

Phil reached down for it, but Tom Crawford dragged it out first.

“I’m stronger than you, Phil,” said he. “If there’s to be any paddling, I’ll do it.”

Meanwhile Arthur drew his knife, and began cutting at the plank so as to fashion it into an oar. Tom did the same.

Soon they were interrupted by a shout from Bart.

“Hurrah, boys! Land! land!” he cried. “Look! look!” and he pointed to the left.

True enough, there was the dim outline of black cliffs rising high not far away. Past these they were drifting. In an instant Arthur and Tom put out their planks, and began to use them as paddles, in the Indian fashion, heading the boat toward the shore, and putting forth all their strength. Bart, too, tried to use his dipper for a paddle.

The boat drifted on; but the current swept them in nearer and nearer. Some progress was also made by the paddles, rude though they were.

Borne on by the tide, the boat every moment drew nearer to the shore; yet every moment it was swiftly drifting by, and it now became a question whether it would be at all possible for them to reach, the land. Already they could see the end of the island, a precipitous cliff, not far away, toward which they were drifting. A few minutes more, and they would be there.

The cliff was high. At its base there was a ledge of rocks, which ran down into the water. At this low tide the ledge extended for a long distance, and terminated in a projecting mass, which was covered with an immense growth of sea-weed.. Around this point the current passed, and it was to this that the boat was speeding.

And now all their exertions were put forth to extricate the boat from the central grasp of the current. Already, thanks to their former exertions, they had forced it from the centre to the edge of the tide, and a few more vigorous efforts might bring them to the shore.

But so swift was the tide, that it seemed about to snatch them away from that shore when it was just within reach. It seemed as though they could almost have waded ashore if they had jumped overboard. But that, of course, could not be done, for the power of the current would have swept any one away who should try it.

To every stroke of the rude paddles the tide brought a counteracting influence; and for every six inches of forward motion, there were two feet of sidelong drift. The boat’s head was toward the shore, but her motion was broadside; and so the shore seemed ever near, yet inaccessible, and most unattainable when most within reach.

And so on past the whole length of the island, until the cliff at the farthest extremity was reached and passed. They were but ten feet from the shore. The rocky ledge, covered with sea-weed, still extended before them. It was to this that they now tried to force the boat.

Ten feet! Only ten feet! And the ten feet lessened to nine, and the nine to eight, and the eight to seven, and the seven to six.

But six feet between them and the shore!

But six feet! Would they--could they--fail at last?

Six feet only! But the tide was wild and strong, and now, at this last crisis of their fate, seemed like some living monster, fearful that his prey was escaping from his power. It was as though his grasp was fastened on them with a fiercer clutch and a more desperate tenacity,--as though, at this supreme hour, he had risen in his might, and, even at the very gate of his domain, had seized them, and was trying to draw them to destruction.

But six feet! Yet between them and the rock of their hope, even in those few feet of watery distance, what risks and dangers lay--what chances of loss--what baffled hopes--what despair!

The suspense was anguish.

On they went with the fury of the torrent. “O, why haven’t I a paddle!” groaned little Phil Kennedy. Bruce raised himself, and looked around, with his pale face and staring eyes. Arthur, and Tom, and Bart put forth their last energies.

Four feet!

Not a word was spoken. The tightly compressed lips, the resolute eyes, the frowning brows of the struggling boys, spoke of their resolution; their panting, heaving breasts told how heavily they labored with their clumsy, unwieldy oars.

A roar sounded in their ears to the right. It was the rush of the current as it swept past the extreme verge of the ledge. There was the open sea. There lay their last chance; beyond it--destruction.

They knew it--they felt it. That sound struck on their ears like the knell-of doom. One last effort--one superhuman struggle. Nearer came the boat; although even then trembling on the extreme verge, yielding to the current, it turned slightly, bringing its head closer to the rock.

It was done.

In an instant, arms were outstretched, and Bart’s hands were clinging to the sea-weed. For a moment the boat was checked.

Tom Crawford and Phil Kennedy grasped the sea-weed also; and at that instant, Arthur, seizing the boat’s rope, sprang ashore. His leap jerked the boat, which, caught by the tide, was swept off, leaving masses of sea-weed, torn from the rocks, in the hands of the boys.

A cry of despair arose.

But Arthur held the rope wound about his hands. As the boat moved, he steadied his feet for the struggle. The swift tide bore it off. As the rope tightened out, the fury of the current, driving against the boat, contended with the strength of that one boy. For a moment it was the boy who lost. At the first jerk, his feet slipped on the treacherous sea-weed. He fell. He was dragged toward the water.

No sound escaped from those in the boat,--not a word either of fear for themselves or of encouragement or warning to Arthur. Well they knew that Arthur would die on the rocks, or be drowned in the sea, rather than lose his hold of that rope, which, in his desperate purpose, he had twisted round his hands.

For a few moments Arthur could not recover himself. On that slippery sea-weed there was no foothold. He was drawn nearer and nearer to the water. He looked around hastily. At last he saw the round top of a boulder a little on one side. To this he managed to work himself, letting the boat yield to the tide still more as he did so. A few steps, and he was there. He plunged into the water, he pressed his feet against that stone, and then, drawing himself back, he pulled with all his strength.

The boat yielded. The power was now in his hands. Grasping the rope nearer, he drew the boat in more closely, and at last it touched the-shore.

They were saved at last!

Out leaped Bart into the water, and, holding the boat, he added his strength to that of Arthur. The others followed as quickly as possible. Bruce had begun to regain his strength once more, and was able to get out without help. The unparalleled exertions which he had undergone on the cliff had given a severe strain, which, in his final struggle to reach the schooner, had resulted in a spasm of his heart. From this he was now rallying once more. Joy at reaching the land did much to restore him, and he was soon able to start wherever the others wished to go.

Their first movement was to go away from the ledge farther up to the beach. The rocks were flat, and not very difficult to walk over. They towed the boat as they went, which was a difficult task, but successfully accomplished. After severe exertions, they at length brought the boat about a quarter of a mile up to a place where there was an indentation in the line of shore, and scarcely any current. Here they hauled it up some distance, and fastened it securely. After this they went up to the gravelly beach at the foot of the cliff, and sat down to rest for a while, and to consider the situation.

The fog was as thick as ever, and they could see but a little distance along the beach, or out on the water. The side of the island on which they found themselves was sheltered from the chill wind. As to the boat, it was impossible to draw it up any farther. It would be necessary to wait until the tide rose higher, before they could bring it into a place of safety. But little could be done, except watch it from time to time.

It was now late, and darkness was coming on rapidly. Soon they would’ be surrounded by the impenetrable shades of night. Bart and Arthur offered to go along the shore and find some place where they could pass the night, leaving the others to watch the boat, and see if there were any signs of the schooner.

But then the important question arose, what should they do for their suppers? For a time this puzzled all of them.

“I’ll tell you what it is, boys,” said Bart at last; “I think I know how to get something; We passed a place down on the shore where there were lots of mussels. Tom, you come along with me, and Phil can go with Arthur. Bruce may watch here.”

This plan was eagerly adopted; and as there was no time to lose, the boys set out. Fortunately, the place spoken of by Bart was not far away, and fortunately, too, the rocks were covered with shell-fish of different kinds, and the hollows of the rocks filled with them. Tom and Bart heaped them into their handkerchiefs.

“Hallo!” cried Bart, suddenly, in a joyous tone. “See here, Tom.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Tom went, and found Bart plunging his hands most vigorously into a pool of water, which the retreating tide had left in a rocky hollow.

“What have you got there?”

“I call them shrimps,” said Bart, holding one up in his hands. “They’re rather small, though. Go about and hunt up another hole.”

Tom went off, and in a short time called to Bart in a loud voice.

Bart started up.

Tom was walking toward him with a large, dark object in his hand.

“A lobster!” cried Bart. “A lobster! Hurrah! and hurrah again! Tom, you’ve saved us all from starvation. Good on your head. We needn’t wait here any longer, for it’s getting dark, and we’ll have to join the other fellows.”

On returning to Bruce, they displayed their treasures, to the great delight of all. Arthur and Phil had also been successful. Walking farther up the beach, they had come to the end of the cliff, and reached a steep, well-wooded bank. It was not far away, and there were fir trees, from which they could easily cut enough brush to make very comfortable beds. There was also plenty of drift-wood, with which they could make a fire.

Without any more delay, the boys all started off, first marking the place so as to know where to go for the boat. Beaching the bank, they gathered drift-wood, and logs, and fir-brush, with which they built a fire on the beach at the foot of the cliff, where it adjoined the bank. They had plenty of matches in their pockets, and soon the fire was lighted; the flames rushed fiercely through the inflammable brush-wood, and the boys kept gathering fresh fuel from all sides and heaping it on.

“And now to cook our tea,” said Bart. “Let’s get a lot of stones, and put them in the fire till they get red hot. Then we can draw them out, and roast all our shell-fish splendidly.”

This suggestion was at once acted on, and the boys gathered stones and threw them in.

After this they all went to work collecting driftwood from all sides, till a large pile was heaped up, sufficient to last them through the night.

Then, in turn, each one took the hatchet and went up the bank, and cut as much fir-brush as he considered necessary for a bed. The darkness had increased, and the fog intensified it; but the towering flames, as they leaped up, illumined the scene, affording them sufficient light to cut the brush, and throwing a strong glare along the beach as far as the place where their boat lay.

And next, they pulled out the stones from the fire, and arranging some of them in the sand, they laid the lobster on the top, and piled other stones around them, till the lobster lay buried in an oven as good and as serviceable as that of the best kitchen range. A number of shell-fish were thrown on other stones, and the shrimps were easily cooked by being laid on the top of a hot stone for a few minutes. While waiting for the lobster, they appeased their hunger by cooking and eating these smaller fry.

“I never ate baked lobster,” said Bruce; “but I’ve heard that it’s the best thing there is.”

“We’ll soon judge for ourselves,” said Bart. “Only before we fairly sit down to dine, let’s go off and draw the boat up farther.”

Four of them started off. They found that already the tide had risen so far that it was level with the bows. A long and vigorous exertion enabled them to draw it up farther, and then they went back to the fire.

By that time it was decided that the lobster had been baking long enough, and it was accordingly uncovered.

A cry of delight escaped them.

There lay the lobster, brilliantly red, as though red hot from the oven, and showing clearly the excellence of Bart’s contrivance.

“That’s the way the Micmacs manage,” said Bart. “And they wouldn’t look at a lobster that came out of a pot.”

Ranging themselves around the lobster, in front of the fire, the boys now began their repast. One and all pronounced it glorious. It was salt enough and juicy enough to satisfy the most delicate palate; and the severe exercise and long fast of the boys had given them appetites which would have made a worse dish acceptable.

“Well, boys,” said Bart, “here we are on a desert island, without a penny in our pockets; but it isn’t a bad place, after all.”

“I wonder if they will hunt after us.”

“Of course they will.”

“They ought to see this fire, at any rate.”

“I thought of that, and expected to see some signs of them before this.”

“Perhaps it’s too foggy.”

“O, if they were within a mile of us, they’d see that light.”

“I should think, if they came after us, they would have been within that distance.”

“O, we can’t tell. They may have got into another direction altogether.”

“Well, I suppose they’ll find us some time.”

“I’m sure I don’t care.”

“Nor do I.”

“Nor I.”

“Nor I.”

“We’ll have to prepare for life on a desert island. To-morrow we’ll explore it, and build Our camp. It’s lucky we have a hatchet and a pistol.”

“It’s lucky we have lobsters.”

“O, we’ll find lots of other things. There are sea-gulls’ eggs, I’ll bet.”

“And clams.”

“And perhaps oysters.”

“We’ll have to organize a government, and build a town. Wigwams will make the best houses.”

“No--spruce camps.”

“O, wigwams are the only things that will keep the rain off.”

“I wonder if we can find any birch bark.”

“We must explore to-morrow.”

“There’s one thing more to do to-night,” said Arthur. “For my part, I don’t want to have to run down to that miserable boat every ten minutes till high tide. I’ve had enough of her for one day. We must get her up now. There’s a lot of round sticks in that pile, and we can use them as rollers; so let’s go and get the boat up now.”

This proposition was at once acted on. Four good round sticks were found, and some others to serve as levers. With these the boys started off to move the boat.

They found it hard work, but practicable. The progress was slow, and it took a good hour; but at last they had the satisfaction of seeing the boat above high-water mark, and fastened to a piece of projecting rock.

Then they selected sleeping places, and spread their beds. After this they heaped up fresh fuel, and sat around the fire, making a hundred plans for their desert life. Arthur was the only one who did anything. He had found a piece of tough spruce, and with hatchet, and knife was busily shaping it into an oar.

At last they all retired to their beds, and slept.

VIII.

_Blue Sky.--Building a House.--The Signal Staff.--A fatal Disgust.--Mournful Forebodings._

EARLY the next morning the boys were all up, quite refreshed, in spite of their unaccustomed beds. They gathered the embers of the fire together, and heaping on fresh fuel, started it into a blaze. Then they proceeded to secure a breakfast. This could not be immediately attended to, however, for the tide was not at its lowest ebb, and it was necessary to wait for two or three hours. Enough shell-fish remained to stay their appetites till something better could be procured.

To their great joy, they saw that the fog had all gone. A warm, fresh breeze was blowing, the sky was clear and cloudless, and the sun rose brilliantly, casting his dazzling rays in a radiant flood of lustre across the sea. If there had been any feeling of discontent, it would have been dispelled by the grandeur of the scene.

Some eight or ten miles away they saw the main land. Far away, on the other side of the bay, they saw a line of hills, terminating in the familiar form of Blomidon, while, looking along the beach, they saw lying beyond this island the one on which they had landed the day before. They now knew that they had drifted past that, and had gone ashore on the adjoining one, and they could understand the whole of that course which they had made blindly through the fog. It was with much eagerness that they looked around for the schooner. But they saw no traces of her whatever. The place where she had anchored was plainly discernible, but she had gone. It was not difficult to know the reason of this, since it was the very thing which they expected would happen. But where was the schooner now? Which way had she gone? When would she return? How could those on board possibly find them out? All these were questions which it was not easy to answer.

While waiting for the tide to fall, they wandered up the banks in order to select some place suitable for a camp. It was not long before they settled on a spot which seemed very suitable. Near where they had built the fire, the cliff ended, and the side of the island became a wooded slope. About fifty feet above the fire, there was a broad, open platform, free from trees and covered with moss. Walking on beyond this, they ascended to the edge of the cliff, where it stood up two hundred feet above the shore. Here grew a solitary tree about fifty feet high, and very conspicuous from its situation. Around it the rock was uncovered in places.

The discovery of these places filled them with delight. They had already decided to build a camp, and the platform first mentioned seemed to all to be very suitable.

“But we must find a spring somewhere,” said Bruce, who, after his night’s rest, declared himself as well as ever.

“So we must,” said Bart. “Boys, let some of us hunt up a spring.”

Off they went in different directions, and soon every one was shouting out a discovery of water. In fact, in that damp and well-watered country, springs can easily be found on every hill-side. The nearest one was the best, and by breaking away some of the earth and digging a hole with a stone in the clay of the bank, a well was rudely formed, which was suitable for all immediate needs.

By the time they had finished these explorations, the tide was sufficiently low to admit of a search for their breakfast. All the boys went off, since all were equally interested. The search was perfectly successful, resulting in the capture of thirteen lobsters and a great quantity of shrimps. Bringing back their prey in triumph, they heated a large number of stones and cooked all the lobsters together, partly for the sake of keeping them better, and partly that they might have a good supply of ready-cooked provisions on hand.

“Do you know, boys,” said Phil Kennedy, as they sat at breakfast, “I’ve got an idea?”

“Good for you. What is it?”

“Why, we ought to have a signal.”

“That’s true.”

“Well, my plan is to have a signal up there,” said Phil, pointing to the solitary tree on the top of the cliff.

“How can you manage it?”

“Why, turn that tree into a flag-staff by cutting off the branches., I can climb it, and if I can have the hatchet for a little-while, I’ll promise to get every branch off.”

“Well, now, Phil,” said Bruce, “I call that a first-rate idea. But where will you get a flag?”

“I’ll fasten my red shirt on.”

“Hurrah!” cried all, clapping Phil on the back. “Phil, you’re a genius.”

“Talking about signals,” said Tom Crawford, “a flag won’t be enough. We want something for nights and for foggy days. We ought to build a heap of dry brush and kindling, and be ready to light it at a moment’s notice. Perhaps it would be too much trouble to keep it going all night.”

“Yes; it would,” said Bruce. “The best thing would be to have a pile ready to light. But the first thing to do is to build our camp, and we’ll have lots of brush ready for the pile. Phil can have the hatchet to trim the tree after we have cut the poles and things for the camp.”

“What kind of a camp shall we have?”

“A wigwam.”

“Where’ll we get the birch bark?”

“Explore the island.”

“That’ll take too much time. We want a camp to-day, and a camp we must have. The best way will be to build an ordinary one of poles and spruce brush, and after that is built, we can look about for birch bark.”

“And then I’ve got my oar to finish,” said Arthur, who had been working on it at intervals all the morning.

“Well,” said Bart, “suppose we go to work at the camp first. We’ll want something to fasten it with. If you like, I’ll go and hunt after some roots that I know of. They’ll do first rate for ropes.”

“All right; and we’ll go and cut the poles.”

Off they went, four of them after poles and brush, and Bart after roots for ropes. The hatchet served to cut the poles, and the knives to trim them. Four industrious boys, working diligently at this, soon laid low a large number of straight, slender maple trees and an immense quantity of fir branches. These they all dragged to that platform which they had selected as the site of their house, and then looked about to find the best situation for the temporary camp. As they expected to build a better one, they chose a place which would not interfere with any future operations. It was at the rear of the platform. Four trees grew there, at nearly equal distances, in the form of a square. They determined to adopt these trees as part of the frame of the camp, and use them as corner posts. Bart had succeeded in finding an immense quantity of long, flexible roots, some of which were sassafras roots, others the long roots of willow trees, and all very tough and strong. First of all, they laid four of their strongest poles from tree to tree, the rear pole being about eight feet high, and the front one five feet. The side poles sloped up from front to rear. There they stuck a large number of poles into the ground in front, on the sides and in the rear, about a foot apart, leaving space for a door and a window. Then they laid poles over the top crosswise, so as to form a good foundation for a roof. All these were firmly fastened, so that at last, when the frame was completed, it was as secure as though it had been nailed together; in fact, much more so.

So far, all had been well and successfully accomplished; but the next task was a more difficult one. This consisted in interweaving fir brush between the poles, so that they should be firm and strong. Beginning at the bottom, each bush was carefully inserted and pressed as closely down as possible. It was a tedious process; but the five industrious boys worked unweariedly, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing the rear and the right side completed. Then they concluded to rest for a while and dine.

Cold lobster and cold water were all the fare that they could command; but they ate with a good appetite, and greatly enjoyed the brief respite from their hard work. After this was over, they returned to their task, and at length completed the front and the left side.

Now the roof remained. This was the most difficult task of all. Three boys went on the roof, and two below handed up brush as fast as it was required. They began at the lower side in front, and inserted the brush so as to lie along the slope of the roof like thatch. The butt-end of each bush was inserted, and the brush ends projected. The flat branches of fir trees are of such a nature that they will lie very close to any surface on which they may be placed. These brushes were all placed in double layers; each upper row overlapped the lower one; and thus a roof was formed thick and close enough to turn any ordinary fall of rain, though, of course, it could not be expected to keep out the water in case of a prolonged storm. After the roof was all covered, the last brush at the upper edge was intertwined with others which were placed across them, and these again were all securely fastened to the poles below.

Then their spruce camp was finished, and was almost an exact counterpart of the one which they had built in the woods. They had done it well and quickly, for long practice in this work in their own woods had given them great skill in the construction of such buildings as these.

The last thing to attend to was the beds. All the brush that remained was brought inside and laid lengthwise at-the rear of the camp. Then they went into the woods, and gathered an immense quantity of dry, soft moss, which they spread over the spruce brush. In this way they formed a bed large enough for the whole party, as soft as a hair mattress, and as good as anything can be for the repose of a weary frame.

This completed their work, and it was not yet sundown. They had worked nobly; and when they stood out on the platform, and regarded their handiwork, their delight burst forth in ringing cheers.

And now Phil claimed the hatchet, so as to carry out his cherished purpose of forming a signal staff. The others all went up to watch him at his work. Phil climbed up without any difficulty, and began at the upper branches, cutting away on a level with his waist, and using the lower ones to stand on. Phil was skilful with his hatchet; the branches were not large, and came tumbling down, beneath his strokes, with great rapidity. These the boys below gathered together, and heaped up in a pile, at a sufficient distance off to burn without injury to the signal staff, and yet in such a situation that any flame would be conspicuous to those on the sea. The work was soon accomplished; the last branch fell, and Phil descended to the ground. Where the tree had lately been there now arose a tall staff, naked, and ready to bear at its summit a red shirt, a pair of trousers, or anything else which the fancy of Phil might suggest as suitable to the place and the occasion.

Meanwhile Arthur had gone to the beach, and returned with an armful of shavings and choppings from the wood which he had been trying to fashion into an oar. They were dry and fine, and were intended to serve as kindling whenever the time might come for kindling the signal fire.

And now one thing more remained to be done. They had decided to have their fire on the platform in front of the camp--a place which was greatly superior to the beach for such a purpose, and which also would give them the advantage of a warm fire on a cool evening and a light close by their dwelling-place. So they went out to collect drift-wood, and carried up a large quantity to the place. Good stones were also selected for cooking purposes, and the cold lobsters were carefully brought from the beach, and deposited in the camp. But the labor of carrying the drift-wood up the steep bank showed them that it would be as well not to be too lavish with their fuel. In order to have the cheerfulness of brilliant light along with the gratefulness of warmth, they cut a quantity of brush, which they intended to throw on the fire from time to time. Thus, with a comfortable camp, and soft beds of moss, and plenty of fuel, and a pleasant fire, with food and drink, with fine weather and a charming view, the “B. O. W. C.” might be considered as tolerably happy.

And so they would have been, if it had not been for one thing--a thing which revealed itself to them during their evening repast, and soon threw a gloom over their prospects.

It was dark; the fire was lighted, and threw out a cheerful glow; the cold lobster was brought out, and the boys began to partake. For some time nothing was said. At last, the silence was broken by Bart. He had been twisting a leg of the lobster fastidiously in his fingers, and nibbling little morsels of it, in a way which did not look very much like the fashion of a hungry boy who had done a good day’s work, when suddenly he flung the lobster’s leg into the fire.

“I can’t stand the abominable stuff any longer,” he cried.

“Neither can I,” said Bruce.

“Nor I”--“Nor I”--“Nor I”--said all the others; and the fragments of the lobster were all contemptuously thrown away.

“What are we going to do about it?” asked Tom Crawford, mournfully.

“I wouldn’t care if there was even a raw potato,” said Bart, “or a mouldy ship-biscuit, or an old dried turnip, or a bit of pork, or anything else to eat with it so as to take off the edge of it; but to eat nothing else but this everlasting lobster, lobster, lobster, is more than I can stand.”

“Tea last night,” said Tom Crawford, dolefully, “lobster. Breakfast this morning, lobster. During the morning I felt hollow--lobster. At dinner, lobster. For my part, I’ve had enough of it.”

“What can we do?”

“I’m tired of shrimps.”

“Bother shrimps.”

“O for a good slice of bread and butter!”

“Or a good mealy potato!”

“Or a beefsteak!”

“Or crackers and cheese!”

“What are we going to do? We’ll have to eat lobster, or starve.”

“I feel,” said Phil, “that I’m growing to be a lobster myself; my skin is turning quite hard.”

“I’m beginning to lose faith in desert islands,” said Arthur.

“Yes,--they’re a failure.”

“But how do we know?” said Bart. “We haven’t explored yet. We don’t know half of what may be on the island.”

“We know pretty well what there is,” said Bruce. “Spruce trees, maple trees, moss, and rocks,--that’s about all.”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t a South Sea island, and so we can’t expect to pull cocoa-nuts from the trees, or have bread-fruit for our breakfasts. There are no mangoes, no bananas, no oranges, no grapes, no nothing, unless we choose to eat bark and fir cones.”

“The next time we try a desert island, boys, I move that we make tracks for the Pacific Ocean,” said Arthur.

“I second that motion,” cried Phil.

“It’s rather odd,” said Bart, “that all of us should get tired of lobster at the same time.”

“It would be odder yet,” said Tom, “if any of us had been able to stand it any longer.”

“That’s about the thing,” said Bruce. “And so the question remains yet,” said Arthur, “What are we going to do?”

No one answered. They all sat looking at the fire. Phil seized some brush and flung it on; the flames caught it, and crackled through it, and dashed up fiercely and brightly, lighting up five very hungry, very tired, and very discontented faces.

“Hurrah!” cried Bart at last, starting to his feet. “Hurrah! I have it!”

“What’s that?”

“Gulls’ eggs!” said Bart.

“Not bad,” said Bruce. “At any rate we can try it. Perhaps we may find some young gulls. They eat young rooks in England; why shouldn’t young gulls be good?”

“We’ll try it to-morrow,” said Tom.

“At any rate,” said Bart, “it all comes to this. We must explore the island. I’ve got my pistol. Who knows what may turn up. We may come across lots of rabbits, or, at any rate, wild fowl. Come, now, things are not so bad after all. Tomorrow will show us what the chances are for our dinner table.”

This was now the only consolation they had. The lobsters had grown abhorrent, and they could not think of touching them any more. Hungry as they were after all their hard work, they threw aside the only food that they could get. They were compelled to go supperless to bed, and there dream of more agreeable food. Fortunately, though they could not eat, they could sleep; and soon all were wandering far away in the land of Nod.

IX.

_Exploring.--A wild Walk.--On the Lookout for Prey.--What is it?--Is it a wild Goose?--Tremendous Sensation, the Explorers being as much astounded as Robinson Crusoe was when he discovered the human Footprints in the Sand._

ON the following morning, all were up by daybreak, and Bruce could think of nothing but gulls’ eggs. In the desperate extremity of hunger to which they were reduced through their dislike to lobsters, they determined to make a search along the cliffs for nests. They walked along, and at length came to a place where some nests had been built. They found a large number of eggs here, and appropriated them all. On cooking them, they found them of a peculiar flavor, yet eatable, and they congratulated themselves on their good luck.

They now determined to put into execution their cherished plan of exploring the island. One was to stay behind to attend to the signal, and lots were drawn to see who it would be. It fell on Phil, who at once accepted his task with great cheerfulness, and informed them that he would make an omelet on a hot stone. In this pleasing occupation they left him, and went into the woods.

They found the woods here precisely like those of the other island. Fir, and spruce, and maple grew densely together, and beneath all there was a thick underbrush, with fallen trees, and ferns, and moss. Progress, under such circumstances, was exceedingly difficult; but they knew that the island was quite small, and so they kept on their way. The grounds continually ascended for a long distance, and this, of course, added somewhat to the difficulty of the journey; but at last the ascent ceased, and they knew that they were on the summit of the island. Nothing could be seen, however. So thick was the forest, that it shut out all the view; nor was it of any use to climb a tree, ‘for all were of nearly equal size, and if they were to climb up as far as they could, they would only find the view obstructed by the tops of trees growing around. So they kept on their way, and found the ground descending continuously in an easy slope. The wood was as dense as ever, and no living thing appeared. They had started with vague ideas of meeting with hares or wild fowl, but thus far nothing had been visible except the gulls overhead. They began to think that there was nothing but gulls on the island. Bart, however, assured them that they could not judge as yet, and expressed his unshaken confidence that he would start a rabbit before the day was done. He had his pistol in his belt, and he was determined to use it before going home, even if he had to shoot a gull. So they kept on down the descent, expecting every moment to come in sight of the bay.

At last the woods grew thinner, and before them they saw the sky through the trees. Moving farther forward, the trees grew more scattered, and in a short time they found themselves at the top of a long, open ground, which sloped to the bay, and was overgrown with moss and low brushwood. At the farther end of the open, a small eminence arose, with some bushes on the summit. Before them the waters of the bay spread out, with the distant horizon skirted by a range of hills.

“Here’s the place for rabbits,” said Bart, “if there are any.”

“If there are any! Of course,” said Bruce; “that’s the point.”

They walked on through the brush-wood, and at length, reaching a mossy knoll, they sat down to rest. After a time, Bart started off alone to pursue his investigations. He had not gone far before he stopped, and shrunk back. Then he looked around with a triumphant expression. Then he moved forward in a stealthy manner.

“I wonder what’s up now,” said Bruce.

“Bart’s found something at last,” said Arthur.

“A hare, perhaps,” said Tom.

The three boys started after Bart. Scarcely had they moved a half dozen paces, when Bart took aim and fired. A loud cry was heard, a large white bird was seen jumping in the air, and falling to the ground, and then Bart ran forward and secured his prize.

The other boys hurried up to him. As they came, he turned to meet them, with a face flushed with triumph, and holding the large white bird by the legs.

“What is it?” they cried.

“A wild goose,” said Bart.

“A wild goose!” cried Bruce, who had reached him by that time. “A tame one you mean.”

“No it isn’t, either. How can it be a tame one? It’s a wild one.”

“No, Bart,” said Arthur, “it’s a tame goose--as tame as I am.”

“You’re a tame goose yourself,” said Bart. “Do you call that a tame goose? Why, it’s a wild one, of course. Look at its wings.”

“What about its wings? They’re tame enough. No, Bart, it’s the real original domestic goose of the civilized farm-yard.”

“Nonsense! as though I don’t know a tame goose when I see one.”

“Well, you see one now.”

“No, I don’t.”

“This is one.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“It is.”

“Pooh!”

“Bart,” said Bruce, “did you ever see a live wild goose?”

“No, I never did.”

“Aha! How do you know anything about them, then?”

“Why, I’ve seen pictures,--lots of thorn,--and they look just like this.”

“But I’ve seen wild geese living and flying,--and dead, too, lots of times,--and this isn’t one.”

“O, this is a kind that you are not acquainted with. Why, there are ever so many kinds of wild geese.”

But at this moment the boys were rudely interrupted.

“Aha! ye thafes of the wurruld, ye!” cried a loud voice close beside them. “Ye villains, ye. What are ye doin’,--a murdherin’ and slaughterin’ a poor man’s property. Ye blackgyards, ye! What d’ye mane by comin’ here and shootin’ my geese?”

Thunderstruck at this unexpected interruption, the boys turned, and found themselves face to face with an old, grizzled, red-faced little Irishman, whose furious gestures and angry eyes were directed menacingly toward them.

“Which af ye’s shot my goose?” he roared.

“1 did,” said Bart, quietly.

“Ye young villain! I’ll make ye pay for it,--and dear, too,--as sure as me name’s Denny O’Rafferty. What’r ye’s doin’ here, any how? What d’ye mane by shootin’ my goose? D’ye think I’m goin’ to be robbed be a gang of black-gyards? Be the powers! if ye think that same, ye’ll find ye’re mistaken, bad scran till ye!”

“Mr. O’Rafferty,” said Bart, “you’re quite mistaken. We’re honest boys, and came here by accident.”

“What did ye shoot the goose for, then, ye imp of mischief?”

“It was a mistake,” said Bart, coolly. “Of course I didn’t know it was yours,--in fact, I wasn’t aware that anybody was living here. I will be happy to pay you whatever you think it’s worth,-and am sorry for the mistake.”

At this speech O’Rafferty’s face and manner underwent a complete change.

“Ach, be the powers! if that’s all,” said he, good humoredly, “then we won’t say any more about it. But how did ye’s get here? I didn’t see any boat. Where did ye land, then?”

“Why, the fact is, we were brought here,” said Bart, who went on to tell him all about their adventure.

Dennis O’Rafferty listened to every word with intense interest, his face undergoing a perpetual change of expression, that spoke of conflicting emotions.

“Be the powers, then,” he exclaimed, as Bart ceased, “it was a narrow scratch that ye had of it. An’ ye’ve been ashore here two nights. Be jabers, it’s meself that’s ashamed of what I said till ye about the goose. Have ye’s had anything till ate thin, at all?”