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.”