turkeys and chickens here,” said Bruce. “How that fellow and Johnny Blue
managed to get through with them all, I can’t understand.”
“Pooh! those two fellows did nothing else but stuff from the time they
came on board till they got to Pratt’s Cove. Captain Corbet and the mate
helped them, and so did Pat, too, no doubt. I haven’t any hard feeling
against any of them, but I must say I wouldn’t be sorry if their food
didn’t agree with them.”
“Hallo! What’s this? Hurrah!” cried Tom, suddenly.
“What, Tom,--what is it?”
“See here,” cried Tom, triumphantly. “Arn’t we in luck? Don’t ever fret
again, boys. Here’s a half loaf of bread that I found in the corner.
It’s rather stale, a little too dry, and too hard,--but I think it’s
about the nicest morsel I ever saw. We’ve got our dinner provided for
us, and we needn’t hanker after raw fish from the wiers any more.”
Tom’s joy was fully shared by all; and the half loaf of hard, stale,
dried-up bread was quickly divided into five pieces, and eagerly
devoured by the famished boys.
“And now,” said Bruce, “I feel like a giant refreshed. I’ll go on deck
and have another look at the situation. My private opinion is, however,
that if they’re coming after us, they’d better come. The tide’s getting
higher every minute; and if they get here after we’ve fastened her to
the shore, and got her high and dry, they’ll have to wait for twelve
good hours before they can get her to float off again,--not to speak of
spring tides. Do you know, Bart, if this is spring tide?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Bart.
“Well, then, we’ll have to trust to luck, I suppose. At the same time
I’ve a great mind to go ashore and reconnoitre.”
“I’ll go too,” said Bart.
“And so will I,” said Arthur.
“And I,” said Phil.
“I’ll go too,” said Tom. “But oughtn’t some of us to stay on board?”
“Stay on board? What for?”
“O, to watch the vessel.”
“Why, what good will that do?”
“She may drift off.”
“Well, why should any of us want to drift off in her?”
“I don’t believe there’s any chance of her drifting off while the tide
is rising,” said Bruce; “and if she does drift off, I think we’re all
better out of her than in her. So if one of us goes ashore, we’d all
better go. It’s not more than three feet deep at the bows, and there’s a
sand-spit over there within easy distance.”
“I wonder if there are any quicksands.”
“O, we’ll have to run the risk. There are a couple of boat-hooks there,
and two of us can go ahead and try the ground with them. It’s not far to
the spit.”
“We’ll have to strip and carry our clothes with us,” said Phil.
“Yes. It would be a great joke if we left our clothes behind, and the
vessel drifted off with them.”
The boys now proceeded to undress themselves, and prepare to go ashore.
Each one tied up his clothes in a compact bundle. Bruce and Bart took
each a boat-hook, which lay in the schooner; Arthur took a handspike,
and Tom and Phil found a stout stick each. Thus equipped, they prepared
for the journey.
It was about one o’clock, and the tide would not be high for two hours
yet. In front of them, and between them-and the bank, lay a broad
expanse of mud flats, separating them from the bank by at least a
quarter of a mile of distance. On their right, however, was a place
which gave them a chance of a much better foothold than that which was
offered-by the slippery and treacherous mud. This was a long sand-spit,
which stretched out from the bank, and ran down across the mud flat and
into the water. It approached to within a hundred yards of the schooner,
and afforded not only a good walking-place, but a much nearer chance of
dry land than was possible anywhere else..Running down over the flat,
it rose above it to a height of from twelve to twenty inches, and was
covered with sand, gravel, and round cobblestones. It was to this place
that they intended to go.
Bruce led the way. Descending carefully over the bows, he dropped into
the water, which he found up to his armpits. The others followed, and
found it deeper for their shorter stature. It was over the shoulders
of Bart and Phil. Bart, however, took his place by Bruce’s side, and
prepared to walk ahead with his pole. Their first object was to get into
shallower water, and so they walked in the direction of the shore until
the water was not above their waists. Then they turned to the right,
toward the sand-spit.
If it had not been for the bundles, they could have varied their
progress by swimming; but as it was, they had to wade, and feel the
way cautiously, for fear of air-holes and quicksands. The surface mud
beneath their feet was very soft; but they did not sink very deeply,
and with every step they acquired fresh confidence. As they neared the
sand-spit, the bottom grew sensibly harder, and shoaled rapidly, till it
was not much above their knees. At length it became a sandy bottom, and
they walked along more rapidly, no longer feeling their way.
Suddenly they were startled by a wild shout from Arthur. He had been
walking behind with Phil, and was some distance from the others, when
rapidly, between him and them, darted the form of a large fish, which,
in that shoal water, was as visible as if it were on land. At the cry
which he gave, Bruce and the others turned, and saw Arthur with his
handspike in the air, and the fish floundering and splashing close
beside. For a moment the blood of all of them froze with horror; the
next instant Arthur sprang forward, and dealt a tremendous blow with his
heavy handspike full on the head of the fish.
The monster splashed and struggled, and moved back into deeper water for
a few feet.
“Run, run!” cried Arthur. “It’s a shark! Run for your lives!”
The boys all set off as fast as they could toward the sand-spit, which
now was close by them.
But the fish was not to be easily escaped. In a few minutes it’s dark
form was beside them, and soon it crossed immediately in front of Bruce
and Bart. Mechanically, and in utter horror, both the boys swung up
their boat-hooks, and dashed them wildly against the dark figure.
Both struck home. There was a fearful splashing and writhing. Bart’s
boat-hook was wrenched from his hand, and the fish darted forward into
shoaler water.
[Illustration: 0201]
“Run, boys, run!” shouted Bruce, holding his boathook toward the fish,
and slowly retreating, so as to keep the monster in sight. Away they
went, Phil and Tom first, then Arthur. Bart moved forward, and then,
seeing his pole floating a few feet on one side, made a rush for it and
secured it. Then he kept by Bruce’s side, ready to help him in guarding
the retreat of the others.
The fish continued to splash and writhe about, either because he was
bewildered by the shoal water, or else because he was suffering from the
wounds which had been inflicted. As he did not pursue, Bruce and Bart
took fresh courage.
“Let’s finish him, Bruce!” cried Bart.
“Pitch in, then!” cried Bruce; and rushing at the fish, he drove his
boat-hook point deep into his side, while, at the same time, Bart,
raising his into the air, struck down, so that the hooked part
penetrated and held.
“Hook him, ‘Bruce!” shouted Bart. “Let’s drag him ashore.” Bruce raised
his pole to do so; but at that instant the struggling, writhing fish
turned towards them with furious energy, and moving over on its side,
it tried to twist Bart’s hook out of its flesh. The water was so shallow
that it could not have full exercise of its strength, and Bart held on.
The fish, in its struggles, opened its gasping mouth, showing wide rows
of sharp, triangular teeth. At that instant Bruce lowered his pole, and
drove it straight into the open mouth; forcing it deep into the throat.
The monster, in its agony, closed its jaws, and held it with a deathlike
tenacity.
A cry of triumph burst from Bruce and Bart.
“Hurrah, boys! We’ve got him!” they cried. “Pull, Bruce, nearer the
shore--into shoaler water.”
The water was already too shoal for the fish, which had so carelessly
thrown himself into it, and his resistance could not prevent the united
energies of Bruce and Bart from dragging him forward a few paces. But
that was all. Rousing himself, the monster tossed, and writhed and
struggled, and lashed the water into foam. Bruce and Bart could no
longer drag him. It was a struggle between them; but the boys had
now got their blood up, and they would have been dragged back to the
schooner rather than loose their hold.
The fish, in its fury or its agony, still kept its teeth closed on
Bruce’s pole, and strove to wrench it out of his grasp. His tremendous
efforts were prevailing against their united strength, and were
dragging them farther out. Bart’s hook had already been thrown off, and
he was plunging the pointed iron again and again into the fish’s side.
At this instant Arthur came dashing through the foam. Raising his heavy
handspike in the air, he poised it for a moment so as to take sure
aim, and then, with tremendous force, the weapon descended full on the
monster’s head. It was a crushing blow. The struggles and writhings
ceased, and changed to feeble motions and occasional convulsive
vibrations. It resisted no longer. It was powerless.
They dragged it upon the dry ground of the sand-spit, and examined their
conquest.
The fish was about five feet long, very broad at the head and shoulders,
with a very wide mouth, armed with several rows of saw-like teeth. The
nose was rounded, and the jaw was underneath. Its back was a dark slate
color, and its belly white.
“It’s what we call a Shovel-mouth Shark,” said Bruce, as he looked at
it, and admired its proportions.
“They call it a Dog Fish with us,” said Bart.
“It certainly, is a kind of shark,” said Arthur; “and as that sounds
better, we’ll call it by that name. Boys, we’ve fought and killed a
shovel-mouth shark! Let the ‘B. O. W. C.’ remember that!”
“We must keep his jaws as a trophy,” said Bruce. “Let’s cut him up and
get his jaws. Who’s got a knife?”
“Here,” said Arthur.
Thereupon, with the aid of the knife, the fish was dissected. In the
stomach they found a fish quite as remarkable as the one which had
swallowed it. It was a sculpin, a fish whose bony covering, and spiny
back, and horny head, and wonderful voracity, make it seem like those
primeval fish that swam in the waters of the world in an age when all
the inhabitants thereof were formed on a similarly monstrous model.
“What a fish,” cried Bart, “to swallow a sculpin! He must be a real
shark, after all, for a shark could not beat that. I thought that it
might have been by accident only that he met us, but it seems now as
though he was ravenous enough to mean mischief. ’Pon my word, if
I’d known about that sculpin, I think I would have run away instead of
staying to fight.”
After examining the fish, the jaws were removed, and, carrying them,
they walked up the sand-spit to the shore. Then dressing themselves,
they sat down and rested for a time. Then Bruce and Bart climbed to the
top of the bank, and went in different directions to explore. On coming
back, each had the same story. They had met with nothing but fir trees
and alder bushes, and had not seen a sign of any house whatever. On this
they all decided to go to the top of the bank, and wait patiently until
the tide was high, then fasten the schooner as well as they could, leave
a message on board to indicate their course, and set off along the coast
in search of inhabitants. With this decision, they climbed the bank to a
conspicuous position, and there waited.
The tide rose higher and higher. Each increase in the depth of the water
allowed the schooner to approach nearer to the shore, though there was
a sidelong drift, which, from time to time, changed her position,
sometimes presenting her bows to the beach, at other times her side.
The water was rising higher and still higher. The mud flats extended
close up to the beach below, but the beach itself was formed of sand and
gravel, and rose, by a steep slope, from the mud flat to the base of the
bank. By two o’clock the water had reached the edge of the gravel.
“It will take an hour more,” said Bruce, “before it gets to high-water
mark. One hour more, boys, and then off we must go to explore the
country.”
XV.
_Scratching for Clams.--How not to eat them.--Fearful Consequences of
Folly.--A formidable Medicine Chest.--Prevention better than Cure._
MEANWHILE the people at Pratt’s Cove waited for the return of the
captain and his company. The boys had excited the deepest sympathy of
Mrs. Pratt by their loss of appetite, and she was anxious about the
lost vessel. They had not eaten anything for tea; and after the meal was
over, they walked down to their old place. It was about half past six
o’clock, and a large part of the cove was already uncovered by the
receding tide.
“I wonder if there’s any duck left,” said Jiggins, with a sigh.
“Or roaster,” said Muckle, with another sigh.
“No,” said Pat, mournfully. “Sammy and Johnny have disposed av thim.”
Sammy and Johnny both looked innocently down, and by their silence
acknowledged the soft impeachment.
“I’ve a presentiment,” said Jiggins, “that I’m going to be very hungry
before bed time.”
“1 shouldn’t wonder if some of the rest of us were like you,” said
Muckle.
“And now,” said Jiggins, in a grave and solemn tone, “what ought we to
do?”
“We haven’t much time left,” said Muckle, suggestively.
“Something must be done,” said Jiggins, emphatically.
“And soon, too,” added Muckle.
“Deed, thin, an’ why don’t ye go aff an’ do somethin’?” said Pat,
energetically. “Come, now, whatever ye do, I’m yer man. Is it another
duck ye mane?”
Jiggins shook his head.
“It would hardly do--”
“Do--it jist wud, thin.”
Jiggins shook his head.
“The fact is, I have my doubts about it. I don’t think it’s altogether
right.”
“Thin what made ye ate it for?” said Pat. “There wor others that thought
it was all right--they did.”
“I felt badly while eating it. I felt it was--not--right.”
“Do ye mane it wasn’t done right?”
Jiggins shook his head.
“Well,” said Pat, “if ye didn’t like the duck, how did ye like the pig?
Ye’ll not be findin’ fault with that, I think.”
Jiggins shook his head.
“I have my doubts.”
“O, botheration take your doubts. Why didn’t ye doubt before ye sat
down?”
Jiggins shook his head.
“I tell you what,” said Muckle; “I’ve got an idea.”
“What?” cried all.
“Clams!” said Muckle.
“Clams?” said Jiggins.
“Look,” said Muckle, waving his hand over toward the flats; “do you see
that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s full of clams.”
“Why, of course--of course,” said Jiggins. “Why, so it is. What do you
say, boys?”
“I say yis,” cried Pat. “Hurroo, boys! if we can’t have a duck, or a
roaster, again, we’ll have clams.”
“Hand along a basket then, Sammy,” said Jiggins.
As Sammy gave him one, he said,--
“Now, you two, are you coming?”
“Well--no--we don’t care about it,” said Sammy.
“Well, you wait here and kindle the fire, and get a pot ready. We’ll
cook them the moment we get back.”
“All right,” said the two boys.
Upon this Jiggins, and Muckle, and Pat started off after the clams.
Before leaving the shore, they got some sticks to use for scraping up
the sand, and then directed their steps toward the creek. The creek ran
through the middle of the cove, and on each side of it the wide flats
extended up to the shore. These, toward the lower part of the cove, were
formed of soft mud, but at the upper part they consisted of sand, in
which appeared a multitude of little holes, which are generally called
breathing-holes, about these parts, under the impression that they serve
this purpose for the clams. By digging where these little holes are
seen, the clams may be found buried in the sand and mud.
Toward the upper place they walked rapidly and eagerly, and looked
anxiously around for the “breathing-holes.”
“Here,” said Muckle. “There are lots here.”
Both went toward where he stood.
“See,” said he, pointing to the sand, which was dotted with little holes
all around the place where they were standing.
“That,” said Muckle, “is a sure sign.”
“So it is,” said Jiggins.
“Well, let’s go in.”
“An’ is there oysters here, too?” asked Pat.
“No; only clams.”
“It’s sorry I am for that same, thin. Oysters are a dale betther.”
“O, clams ain’t bad,” said Muckle, “when you can’t get oysters. So pitch
in, Jiggins.”
And Muckle, taking his stick, began to scoop up the sand.
Jiggins began to do the same; and for some time both worked diligently.
“Pooh!” said Jiggins, at last. “That stick’s no good.”
“No good? Why not?”
“It won’t hold the sand.”
“Mine does very well.”
“Well, I might as well have nothing. It’s like trying to eat rice with a
chopstick, Chinese fashion. I’m going to try another plan.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, like the hens. I’m going to scratch for my food,” said Jiggins.
“What were fingers made for?”
And saying this, he began scratching up the sand.
“Bedad! an’ if you’re the hen, I’ll be the chicken, an’ ate what you
scratch up.”
“Will you?” asked Jiggins.
“I will thin.”
“Whatever I scratch up?”
“Yes--if they’re clams.”
“But you’ll have to eat them raw.”
“Well, sure it’s raw I mane.”
“Why, man alive, it’ll make you sick.”
“I’ll risk it. Sick is it? Not a bit of it.”
“Did you ever eat any raw clams, Pat?”
“Av coorse. Why not? and raw oysters, too.”
“Well, you won’t blame me?”
“Is it blame? Not a bit of it. Niver fare.”
“O, well, I’ll scratch for you then.”
“Go ahead, thin.”
So Jiggins began, and scratched for some time.
“Here’s your first clam,” said he, throwing out one to Pat.
Pat opened it, and swallowed it with extraordinary celerity.
“Doesn’t that look as if I knowed how?” said he, biting off the black
tip of the clam, and throwing it down. “Scratch them along, my boy.”
“All right; here’s another.”
“An’ here’s to your very good health, an’ long life to ye,” said Pat,
as he swallowed it.
“Here’s another--and here--and here--and here, too--and here’s three.”
“Faith, thin, the more the merrier, and it’s meself that’s glad to see
thim same,” said Pat, as he seized and opened them, one by one, and sent
them flying after the others.
“How do you feel now?” asked Jiggins, after he had scratched for some
time.
“Sure I feel better than iver; an’ why not?”
“All right. Here are some more. Go it, Pat.”
“Go it it is,” said Pat, seizing the clams with undiminished avidity,
and devouring them.
“Here’s more, Pat. Don’t blame me if you see the ghost of your
grandmother in your dreams tonight. And here’s more. Don’t blame me if
you have the gripes, and have to stand on your head all night.”
“Niver you fare for me; but you go on wid yer scratching an’ let me ate
in pace.”
The clams now came forth fast and furious. Muckle had found a place
filled with them, and had heaped up his basket. Jiggins had a large pile
on the sand, in front of which Pat had taken his station, and was vainly
trying to keep up with Jiggins. But it was impossible, for Jiggins had
found large numbers closely packed together.
“What’s the matter over there?” said Muckle. “Have you filled your
basket, Jiggins?”
“Not yet. I’m busy filling Pat,” said Jiggins. “Hallo, Pat, you’re slow
about it.”
“Niver fare. Slow is it? Thin I’ll be up wid ye before long. On’y give
me time, as the schoolmaster said when they wor examinin’ him on the
alphabet.”
“All right. But while I’m waiting, I’ll put these in the basket,” said
Jiggins; and he began to fill his basket from the pile.
“How can I ate them when you’re putting them in the basket?” said Pat.
“I’ll dig up plenty more--enough to keep you going.”
But Jiggins was tired; and after digging up some more he found the sand
tinged red. To his amazement he saw that his nails were worn away, and
were now bleeding. His fingers’ ends began to smart with acute pain, and
he was compelled to desist.
“I think I’ll be off,” said he. “Pat, you may eat from the basket.”
“From the basket, is it? Not a bit of it,” said Pat; “I’ll only eat from
your scratching.”
“I’ve scratched the basket full for you, and that’s enough. In fact
it’s too much,” he added, as he felt fresh stings on his finger tips.
“Besides, I’ve my doubts about it.”
“Yer doubts, is it? and again? An’ what for this time?”
“Well, you see, I’m afraid it’s not altogether fair to you.”
“You’re a quare bird, wid yer doubts, an’ that’s all about it,” said
Pat.
They then went back to the bank, where a bright fire was burning, and
the pot was all ready, with sea-water boiling in it. Into this they
threw the clams; and sitting down around the fire, they waited.
Pat sat in silence. There was a peculiar expression on his face. He grew
moody and preoccupied. Frequent sighs escaped him.
“What’s the matter, Pat?” asked Jiggins.
“O, nothin’.”
Pat struggled against his secret grief most valiantly, but soon he could
struggle no longer. A deep groan burst from him, and he fell back
doubled up and writhing. His face was deadly pale, and big drops of
perspiration stood on his brow. In his pain he rolled over and over, and
moans and low cries escaped him.
“It’s the clams!” cried Jiggins. “O, I knew it. I had my doubts about it
all the time.”
“What can we do?” cried Johnny.
“We’ll have to get him up to Captain Pratt’s,” said Muckle:
But for a long time they could do nothing. He writhed and struggled so
that he could not be moved. At last Johnny Blue ran up for Mrs. Pratt.
The good lady came down with a basket full of infallible remedies, and
tended poor Pat for some time. At last he was easier, and they managed
to get him up to the house, and put him in bed.
Jiggins went back with the others, and finished the clams. All were
silent except Jiggins, who, every little while, would solemnly shake his
head, and slowly ejaculate--
“It was _not_ right. No, boys, it was _not_ right. I felt so, for I had
my doubts about it all the time.”
One thing surprised Mrs. Pratt when she was administering to Pat’s woes
on the bank; and that was, the very savory smell of that clam stew which
was simmering in a pot behind the bushes. She could not understand it,
but concluded that it must be some great delicacy among the vessel’s
stores lying on the bank, which had so very fragrant an odor. Afterward,
when her mind was less preoccupied,--when Pat had been well rubbed, and
poulticed, and blistered, and plied with herb tea, and all those other
medicaments which the “medicine women” of the rural districts love so
well; after all this had been attended to, then she began to think once
more about that fragrant odor. And gradually, as she thought about it,
there arose in her mind a conjecture as to what that odor might have
arisen from; and the conjecture gathered itself inseparably around the
idea of--“clams.”
To Mrs. Pratt that thought was a momentous one.
For what did that involve?
It meant that there was danger abroad,--danger which impended over the
young charges committed to her, and which she must counteract. It meant
that some of them had been eating clams in the month of May--an act
which, in her estimation, might produce consequences which could only be
called terrible.
In the face of this great possible danger, Mrs. Pratt gathered herself
up, and prepared to meet it boldly. Already all her doctoring instincts
had been roused into full play by the case of Pat, and having begun a
good work, it was not easy to stop abruptly. She had got her hand in, as
the saying is, and she wanted to finish her work. It did not take long
for her to come to the stern conclusion that the work must be fully
completed.
So she first of all brought forth her little store of medicaments of all
kinds, and ranged them on the kitchen table. They presented a formidable
show. There were,--
1 bottle Mint tea.
1 “ Essence of peppermint.
1 “ Ginger extract.
1 “ Cayenne pepper extract.
1 “ Paregoric.
1 “ Rum and onions.
1 “ Sulphur and molasses.
1 “ Sour cream.
1 “ Eye wash.
1 “ Pratt’s pain killer..
1 “ Hemlock water.
1 “ Tar water.
1 “ Poppy juice.
1 “ Essence of smoko.
1 “ Brandy and salt.
1 “ Castor oil.
1 “ Camomile water.
1 “ Mineral water.
1 “ Pratt’s antidote.
1 “ Hair wash.
1 “ Ear wash.
1 “ Toothache drops.
1 “ Creosote.
1 “ Rowland’s Macassar oil.
1 “ Cocoaine.
1 bottle Salt and treacle.
1 “ Antibilions mixture.
1 “ Arnica.
1 “ Opodeldoc.
1 “ Hartshorn.
1 “ Aromatic vinegar.
1 “ Sweet oil.
1 “ Benzine.
1 “ Grease eradicator.
1 “ Lye.
1 “ Tobacco water.
1 “ Wild honey.
1 “ Lime juice.
1 “ Alcohol.
1 “ Cod liver oil.
1 “ Neats foot oil.
In addition to these, she had,--
1 parcel Wormwood.
1 “ Camomile flowers,
1 “ Cardamum seeds.
1 “ Birch bark.
1 “ Spruce gum.
1 “ Bosin.
1 “ Dandelion.
1 “ Elm bark.
1 “ Elder berries.
1 “ Hops.
1 “ Gum arabic.
1 “ Catnip.