despair, not knowing what to do about the minerals. He was confident
that they were somewhere--but where? No one knew, and he couldn’t
imagine.
“It’s too bad,” he cried, as his indignation grew irrepressible. “It’s
too bad. Our expedition has been ill organized. I don’t blame anybody,
but we’ve certainly had very bad luck. With only a week we have wasted
or lost every day but one. Last Monday we were kept all day and all
night at the wharf.”
“Wal, Mr. Long,” said Captain Corbet, “I s’pose you’re kind o’ blamin’
me; but what could I do? Ef a man has a babby, mustn’t he nuss it?”
“No, he musn’t,” said Mr. Long; “he must make his wife attend to
household matters, and keep his engagements.”
Captain Corbet stared with a look of horror and astonishment at Mr.
Long.
“Wal, sir,” he said, with modest firmness, “in my humble opinion, sir,
a babby is a babby, an’ flesh an’ blood is flesh an’ blood; an’ I
don’t care who says they ain’t. Ef you’d see that there babby, sir,”
he continued, warming up in a glow of fond parental feeling,--“ef you’d
a-seen that there babby, as I’ve seen him,--a crowin’, an’ a pullin’ of
my har, an’ a sayin’, Ga-ga-ga,--‘you’d--
“Mr. Simmons,” said Mr. Long, suddenly, “have you hunted for the
stones?”
“O, yes, everywhere.”
“And did you find nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“There it is,” resumed Mr. Long. “A whole week worse than lost. We lost
Monday. We started Tuesday, and sailed nearly all day. We had about
two hours’ work, and then the boat went adrift. All Wednesday wo were
wandering about the bay. Thursday came, and we didn’t find the boys till
the day was well gone, and then stopping at O’Rafferty’s and coming here
took up the remainder of the time.”
“Well, we had Friday to ourselves,” said Mr. Simmons, with a pleasant
smile. He was an amiable man, and always looked on the bright side of
things.
“Yes, we had,” said Mr. Long, “but unfortunately we accomplished
nothing. We had a long journey, and came back empty-handed.”
“At any rate, we had the time.”
“But that time was lost.”
“O, well,” said Mr. Simmons, “it was one of those days which everybody
must expect to have. We tried hard, but were unsuccessful. I don’t,
by any means, call such a day lost. We gave ourselves up thoroughly to
science.”
“Well, call it a well-spent day,” said Mr. Long, “and what of it? We
will count it in; but after that--what? Saturday came, and we had to go
after the boys again; now our time’s up, and to-night we must go back
again. We have had a week; and out of it we have been able to spend, at
the very utmost, only one day and two hours. Well. I don’t know how it
strikes you, but I call it hard.”
“It would, indeed, have been hard if things had turned out as we
feared,” said Mr. Simmons.
“O, of course I feel all that. I am only lamenting that these accidents
should have happened, and that, when we came for a certain purpose, we
should have been unable to carry it out. And see how things have gone
on. We are out of provisions, and have to lay in a stock of meal, and
molasses, and pork.”
“I’m sure, meal makes very good food,” said Mr. Simmons. “Hot corn-cake
is rather a delicacy, and molasses is very good to eat with it.”
“After all, I don’t care anything about these things,” continued Mr.
Long. “What I do care about is the loss of the minerals.”
“O, they’re not lost.”
“Yes, they are. No one knows anything about them. No one has seen them.
No one can find them. They’re lost, Mr. Simmons, beyond the possibility
of redemption.”
“O, I hope not.”
“Well, I’m going to make a final search. Captain Pratt has asked every
man, woman, and child in the place, but no one knows anything about
them.. I’m now going to question every one over again. I’ve asked
Captain Corbet already. He knows nothing. Captain Corbet, where’s the
mate?”
“Sound asleep in the barn, sir.”
“Then I’ll go out and ask him.”
Captain Corbet went out with him, and after much trouble they roused
the sleeper, who, however, could tell them nothing whatever about the
stones.
Then Mr. Long asked all the boys in succession. He had asked them once
before, but he was determined to try it again. There was no result. No.
one knew anything about it. At last, all had been examined but Pat. Mr.
Long felt sorry for him, and would have left him untroubled; but his
intense desire to investigate thoroughly was too strong, and’ so he
resolved to ask him.
Pat was trying to get some sleep, and with very little success. Mr. Long
asked him kindly about his feelings, and spoke cheerfully to him for a
few moments. At length he asked him,--
“Pat, I had two baskets of specimens, and they’ve been lost. Do you know
anything about them?”
“Two baskets of what, sir?”
“Specimens.”
“Spicimins, sir?”
“Yes.”
“What are spicimins, sir?”
“Why, mineralogical specimens. Minerals, you know.”
“Minerals? Sorra a one o’ me knows what that same is,’ sir. I never saw
one in my life.”
“Never saw a mineral? Nonsense! What we were gathering on the island--”
“Gatherin’? Was it minerals, then?” said Pat. “Is it anythin’ like
o’--like shrimps, sir?”
Mr. Long laughed. He knew Pat’s wonderful ignorance about some things,
but he was hardly prepared for this. As for Pat, the poor fellow found
he had made a mistake, and colored violently from shame and vexation.
“Do you really mean to say that you don’t know what minerals are?” asked
Mr. Long.
“Sorra a bit of it thin, sir.”
“Well, they look like little stones. Didn’t you see us breaking little
pieces from the rocks?”
“I didn’t notice, sir.”
“That’s no way to do, Pat. You ought to keep your eyes open, or you’ll
never learn anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, these minerals looked like common little stones. They were
in two baskets. Each one was carefully wrapped in paper. Now those two
baskets of stones are missing, and I can’t find out anything about them.
I want you to try and remember if you’ve seen anything of that kind, or
if you’ve seen any little bits of paper that may have been around them.
Do you understand? Little stones, you know.”
And Mr. Long smiled encouragingly, so to give Pat a chance to collect
his thoughts.
“Little stones?” faltered Pat, as there flashed over him an awful
suspicion that he had done an irreparable mischief to somebody, and to
Mr. Long in particular. “Little stones, sir?”
“Yes, Pat, little stones. Dirty little stones. You might have seen them,
and would suppose that many of them were worthless, unless they were
wrapped in paper and carefully packed.”
“Dirty little stones, sir?” said Pat, in an imbecile way.
“Yes,” said Mr. Long.
“And aich one wrapped in paper, sir?” said Pat, whose voice died away
into a mournful wail, while he cast an imploring glance at Mr. Long.
“Yes..Tell me,” cried Mr. Long, “have you seen them?”
“I have, sir,” said Pat, dolefully.
“When? where? Where are they now? Where did you put them?”
“I--I--” He hesitated.
“Quick! It’s late. I want to get them. You brought them to the house, I
suppose; or did you put them on board of the vessel?”
“I--I--”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what you did with them?”
“O, sir, it’s heart-broken I am this minute, sir! It’s fairly dead wid
grafe I am, sir! You’ll niver forgive me! an’ I’m afraid to tell you,
sir.”
“What? What’s all this? What have you been doing? What is it?” said Mr.
Long, sternly.
“No, sir, I thought it was a trick, sir, that the boys played on me,
sir; and I pitched them over the mud into the bank, sir.”
“You what!” cried Mr. Long, in an awful voice. Hereupon Pat, with many
sighs and tears, and entreaties for pardon, told him all. Mr. Long heard
him through without a word. Then he asked minutely about the spot where
they had been thrown. After this he rushed from the house down to
the point. The tide was down below that place, leaving the mud flat
uncovered. The sun was just setting. Mr. Long stared wildly about.
There was not a trace of a Single specimen; for the heavy stones had
sunk in, and the soft ooze and slimy mud, closing over them, had shut
them from sight.
Mr. Long looked around in despair. He had hoped that he might recover
some of them, but was not prepared to see all traces of them obliterated
so completely. Besides, to add to his disappointment, the sun set before
he had begun anything like a search; and the shadows of evening came
on rapidly. What was he to do? Could he thus give up the results of his
expedition, and consent to lose those precious specimens for which he
had done so much? The thought was intolerable. He would go back and
interrogate Pat afresh. It was possible that Pat had directed him to
the wrong place. It was scarcely possible that every stone could have
vanished so completely, if this were really the place where Pat had
thrown them.
Such were Mr. Long’s thoughts and hopes, under the stimulus of which he
at length retreated from the bank and returned to the house. Thus far
he had kept Pat’s performance a secret, out of consideration for Pat
himself; for he was not willing that so glaring a case of dense and
utter ignorance should be made public. But now he was compelled to tell
it to all of them, so as to get their assistance in the search; so,
after once more questioning Pat, and getting from him fresh particulars
about the place where he had thrown the stones, and finding, to his
dismay, that it was no other than the very place where he had been, he
went to summon the rest’ of the boys.
Gathering them together, Mr. Long began to unfold to them the fate of
the long sought for, but still missing, stones. As he began, his native
generosity made him desirous of sparing poor Pat; but as he proceeded,
the sense of his own wrongs overcame the dictates of generosity. He
concealed nothing, he kept back nothing, he palliated nothing. All was
made known. Finally, he implored the assistance of every one of them in
finding the lost treasures.
Of course, after such an appeal, there was no chance for refusal; and so
they at once prepared to follow him. Bart insisted on procuring
torches, and his inventive genius readily suggested an excellent mode
of obtaining light. This was by stripping the inflammable bark from the
huge piles of birch firewood that lay near the house; and folding these
up in compact scroll-like sticks. A large number of these were made; and
with these, with lanterns, and with pine knots, the whole band followed
Mr. Long to the bank. Here they took off their shoes and stockings, and
prepared for their task.
The mud on the surface was very soft to the depth of several inches,
and into this they sank; but sinking thus far, they found a hard clay
bottom. Proceeding in this way, they all sought with earnest scrutiny
for signs of the buried stones. For some time nothing could be found.
At last, with a cry of delight, Bogud plunged his hand into the mud, and
drew out something, with which he instantly hurried to Mr. Long.
“Here’s one of them!” said he.
He held out a lump, at which Mr. Long and all the rest eagerly looked.
It seemed more like a small lump of mud or clay than anything else.
So they all said.
“Pooh!” said they; “a little lump of clay.”
“It’s not clay,” said Bogud; “it’s the amethyst. I know it by the way
it feels. It’s covered with mud, though, and ought to be washed
immediately.”
Saying this, he rubbed the clinging mud with his fingers, disclosing at
last something with an oval surface and a dirty-gray color.
“It’s the amethyst,” repeated Bogud, triumphantly. “I know it by the
oval back. I picked the amethyst myself. Wait till I get the rest of the
mud off. See here!--but--what--hallo!”
His confident tones ceased, and changed to an exclamation of doubt, then
disgust. The boys had crowded around to see the exhumed treasure, and to
catch the secret of Bogud’s luck. As he held it forth and wiped off the
last lump of mud that adhered to its edge, it stood revealed to all.
“A clam! a clam! a clam!” was the instantaneous shout, followed by a
peal of laughter.
In fact, so it proved. It was a clam-shell filled with mud which Bogud
had drawn forth so triumphantly.
After this they sought for some time longer. It was a striking scene.
The boys without shoes, with their trousers drawn up above the knee,
with their torches flashing through the shades of evening, as they
were waved overhead, with the flakes which fell every instant from the
torches into the mud, with their laughter, and noise, and jesting,--all
formed a scene in the highest degree wild and picturesque.
But the search was useless. Perhaps the finding of the clam disheartened
them; perhaps it was really not possible to find what they sought.
At any rate, after half an hour, even Mr. Long himself despaired, and
called off all the boys to return to the house.’
XX.
_How to waken a Sleeper.--Off Home.--A weary Way.--Baffled like the
Flying Dutchman.--Corbet pines for his Bobby.--“The Wind at last!
Hurrah!”_
AT midnight the whole party left Captain Pratt’s, in order to make
preparations for embarking in the Antelope, as soon as the tide would
serve. Pat had regained very much of his former strength and spirits;
the pain had, in a great measure, left him, and the reaction from his
misery exhibited itself in occasional peals of wild laughter, which
broke very strangely upon the silence of the night. He was quite able to
walk down, and joked with the other boys about his mishap. Trouble
had been anticipated in getting him down to the vessel; but the
anticipations, which had proved baseless in regard to him, were more
than realized in the case of the mate. This worthy had spent almost all
the time in sleeping on Captain Pratt’s haymow; and now, when the time
had come for departure, it was found absolutely impossible to rouse him.
At ten o’clock, Captain Corbet had called him, but with no result.
Then he had used other modes of rousing him, which had all ended in a
failure. Mr. Long had exerted himself, and with a like result. As a
last resort, he had commissioned the hoys to do what they could toward
rousing the slumberer. They very willingly undertook the commission.
Ranging themselves round him, they kept up a prolonged shake at his
shoulder, his head, and his feet. By this means they succeeded in
rousing him so far that he would utter words in a dreary way in answer
to their cries.
“Get up! Get up!”
“Ye-e-e-e-e-e-s,” was the reply, ending in a long snore.
“Get up! Hi, hi, hi!”
“In--a--mi--i--i--n’t.”
“Hallo! Up! Get up! The schooner’s off!”
“Hey?”
“The schooner’s off!”
“Hm-m-m--”
“Here! No sleeping! Get up! You shan’t sleep any more! Get up!” and amid
loud cries and yells the recumbent form was shaken from head to foot.
The mate gaped, and yawned, and blinked, and opened his eyes with a
glassy, dreamy stare, dazzled by a candle-light, which flickered in his
face, and confused by the uproar. He was like a bat suddenly plunging
into a lighted parlor full of noisy children--out of the midst of a dark
night. Only he wasn’t quite so much awake as a bat might be.
“My--name’s--Wade,” he ejaculated at last, in a slow and solemn tone.
“Hi, hi, hi! Yah, yah, yah! Hi, yah! h-o-o-o-o! Get up!”’
“My ole ’oman’s name’s Gipson,” continued the mate, in a dreamy voice,
as though amid his dreams he was still following out the one train of
thought which seemed to engross his mind during his waking hours.
“Ya, ya, ya, ya! Get up! Get up! Hal-l-o-o-o-o-o! Bow-avoav-wow!
Ba-a-a-a-a!” and with yells and shouts like these, with cock-crows, with
all the cries of a crowded barn-yard, the boys returned to their effort
at rousing him.
“An’ ye’ll not find many of that name in this country!” said the mate,
with a tone, to which he seemed struggling to give a sleepy emphasis.
Up rose the barn-yard cries again, mingled with yells, shrieks,
bellowings, cat-calls, hoots, and roars.
“Come, come,” cried Bart, shaking his head violently. “Won’t you get
up?”
“No, sir!” said the mate; but whether if referred to his dream, or was
intended as a reply to Bart, did not very clearly appear. The boys began
to despair, and at length, after further endeavors, they were compelled
to give up. They accordingly returned to Mr. Long, and informed him of
their utter failure.
Mr. Long’s eyes glared wildly.
“Very well!” said he, sternly, and with a dark frown. “Ve-e-ry well! I’ll
see if I can’t wake him this time. I’ve been humbugged long enough; and
if words are of no use, I’ll have to try what virtue there is in cold
water.”
Saying this, he seized a pail, filled it at the well, and strode to the
barn, followed by all the boys. Reaching the place, he advanced to the
mate, and mercilessly emptied the entire contents full upon his head.
That succeeded.
With a gasp, a splutter, and a shriek, the mate started to his feet,
looking wildly around as he tried to regain the breath which Mr. Long
had so rudely driven out of him.
“What--what--what--why, what--d’ye--mean?”
“I mean this,” cried Mr. Long, “that you’re wanted on board, and if you
don’t go, I’ll empty the whole well on you.”
The mate looked at him half fearfully, half reproachfully, and then,
shaking the water out of his dripping locks, he slowly wended his way to
the vessel.
At last all were on board; the baskets and boxes were in the hold, the
lines were cast off, the sails were hoisted, and the Antelope dropped
down the stream. Messrs. Simmons and Long retired, but most of the boys
remained on deck for some time, singing, and laughing, and joking with
each one about the peculiar mishaps which he might have incurred during
the last eventful week. At length all retired, and silence reigned over
the schooner and over the deep.
Early in the morning all were up. The sea, far and wide, was as smooth
as glass, except where long lines, and occasional ripples, showed the
meeting of opposing currents. Above, the sky was cloudless, the sun was
bright, and in the air not a breath of wind was stirring. Upon this Mr.
Long looked with extreme impatience, frowning darkly upon land, sea,
and sky. The schooner’s sails were flapping idly, her head was pointed
toward the Five Islands, and Captain Corbet was standing listlessly at
the helm.
“Captain, what’s all this?” asked Mr. Long.
“The schooner is heading toward the Five Islands. Are we going back?”
“No, sir. The schooner’s not particular just now whar she heads.”
“Why don’t you steer for Grand Pré?”
“Jest what I’d like to do, if she’d let me.”
“Let you?”
“Yes. There ain’t a mite o’ wind, an’ she’s, goin’ every which way.”
“Then we’re standing still, and doing nothing.”
“Standin’ still?” cried Captain Corbet. “Lor’ bless you, a couple of
hours ago we were ten miles up there;” and he pointed far away toward
the other end of the bay.
“Up there?”
“Yes. We’re not standin’ still; not by no manner o’ means.”
“What are we doing?”
“Driftin’.”
“Drifting?”
“Yes; goin’ ahead like a race-horse--head fust, tail fust, sideways, end
on, and every kind o’ way that a floatin’ craft kin move.”
“Where are we drifting to?”
“Down to Blomidon.”
“Blomidon!” cried Mr. Long, aghast.
“Yes; an’ farther too. It’ll be lucky if we don’t find ourselves out in
the Bay of Fundy before long.”
“But can’t you _do_ something? Can’t you sail for some harbor?”
“Jest what I’m a pinin’ to do, on’y I can’t come it, nohow. Ef I had
a steam tug-boat I’d clap a line on board her, an’ get into a place of
refooge; but bein’ as there isn’t any, we’ve got to drift.”
“Why don’t you anchor?”
“Anchor?” cried Captain Corbet, in surprise. “Why, the anchor’s broke.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Long, in bitter vexation, “haven’t you got
something--no sweeps?”
“Not a sweep, as I’m a livin’ Corbet.”
It was too true. There was no wind, and they were drifting at the mercy
of the tide. The vessel went every way, heading in no direction.
They had no anchor, and they could not sail into the shore. They were
completely helpless. By this time they had all hoped to be near their
destination; but it seemed, from appearances, that they were farther
away than ever.
What brought their situation home most forcibly to all, was the solemn
fact that their provision was now limited to Indian meal and molasses,
with a little salt pork. If Solomon had only been on board, it would
not have been so bad, for the genius of the venerable cook would have
evolved even out of such unpromising materials as these a wonderful
variety of palatable dishes. But Solomon was far away, and the cooking
was intrusted to the clumsy hands of the mate. His attempts were so
deplorable that the boys were permitted to make experiments of their own
in the lofty art of cookery. The consequence was, that they spent the
whole morning in the cabin, and used up most of the molasses in making
candy, which, though very badly burned, was still more agreeable than
the burned paste of Indian meal which the mate laid before them as a
breakfast.
The hours of the morning passed, and neither anger, nor impatience, nor
hunger could have any effect upon the relentless tides. The schooner
calmly and placidly went drifting on, past Blomidon, past Cape Split;
and they would assuredly have drifted out into the Bay of Fundy, had
they not, very fortunately, encountered a side current, which bore them
into a bay by Spencer’s Island. There they remained embayed till the
turn of tide, and then they were borne out again, and up the channel, on
the way back into the Basin of Minas.
They were so near the shore that Mr. Long deliberated seriously about
landing, going on foot to Parrsboro’ village, and trying to get a
row-boat to take them to Cornwallis, or taking the steamer to Windsor,
or doing something else equally desperate. But Captain Corbet assured
him that the steamer would not come for two days, and that he would be
utterly unable to get any men to row him so far. So he was compelled to
stay by the schooner.
Captain Corbet bore all this with admirable equanimity, looking with a
mild concern at the impatience of Mr. Long, and regarding the boys with
the indulgent smile of a superior being. Leaving the tiller to take care
of itself, he mingled with them, and conversed freely with all. They
drifted far up into the Basin of Minas, and looked forward to nothing
better than a return to Blomidon and Cape Split, with, perhaps, an
excursion in the Bay of Fundy.
So the day passed, and night came. On the following morning they found
themselves still in the Basin of Minas, not far from the Five Islands,
and drifting toward Blomidon.
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “I’ve been a-thinkin’ that this here is just
like the Flyin’ Dutchman. You’ve heerd tell of him; course. They say
he’s a-sailin’ an’ a-beatin’ round the Cape of Good Hope, but can’t
never get round, nohow. That’s jest the pecooliarity of our position.
Here we are, almost in sight of home, you may say, an’ still we have to
go a-driftin’ an’ a-driftin’, an’ I shouldn’t wonder if we’ll get out
into the Bay of Fundy to-day. If that happens, it wouldn’t be a wonder
if we were blown off to Bosting.”
“Captain,” said Mr. Long, “I can’t stand this. I must get ashore. If we
get near to Blomidon again, I’ll take Bruce Rawdon, and go ashore in
the boat. I _must_ go, for it’s a matter of the highest importance. Of
course, it’s different with you. You wouldn’t care if you drifted here
till doomsday.”
At this Captain Corbet thrust both hands deep into his trousers’
pockets, and regarded Mr. Long with a fixed gaze.
“_Me?_” said he, in a mild and almost parental tone. “_Me_ not care?
_me!_ Look here, Mr. Long. Do you know what I am? I’m a parient! Your
books call you home, sir; but what is it that’s a-callin’ o’ me? My
babby, sir! That there tender infant has twined hisself round my boosom;
an’ what am I a-doin’? You don’t know, sir; but I’m a-yearnin’ an’
a-pinin’ for my babby. He’s the most wonderful babby that I ever see,”
continued the captain, in a faltering voice. “He’s got the pootiest
crow; and if you’d jest hear him say his ga, ga, ga--”
“O, bother your confounded baby!” said Mr. Long, with brutal rudeness,
turning away abruptly.
Captain Corbet looked after him with a puzzled expression. At first,
indignant surprise seemed to predominate, and those who stood near
anticipated an outburst of long-restrained feeling. But it was only for
a moment. Then Captain Corbet’s better angel came to his assistance.
Indignation vanished, and the face that was turned toward Mr. Long had
on it nothing but a meek, sad smile.
Captain Corbet shook his head.