a milestone, an’ owdacious in opposition to the tender babe. Human
natur’,” he continued, elevating his patriarchal head, and regarding
Mr. Long’s back with a severe dignity,--“human natur’ might exult in a
administerin’ of a rebewk to sich langedge; but I’ve learned a better
lesson. Yes, boys. I’ve sot at the feet of my babby. The aged Corbet
has received insterruction from a mild infant. Now, I regard all that,”
waving his hand toward Mr. Long, “not with anger, not with re-perroach,
no, but with kimpassion. I pity him. I feel sorry for him. To him is
unknown the holiest feeling of the hewman boosum; sich as _I_ feel, sich
as every feyther feels when he’s a-nussin’ of his _peressh_us babby.”
XXI
_Blomidon, insulted, avenges himself.--A Victim devotes himself to
appease his Wrath.--Original Views of Captain Corbet with regard to the
Archaeology and the Science of Navigation._
THE schooner went on drifting, and drew near to Blomidon again. The
giant cliff frowned darkly overhead, its sides all scarred and riven by
the tempests of centuries, its base worn by the fierce tides that never
cease to sweep to and fro. Standing as it does, it forms one of the
sublimest objects in nature. Other cliffs are far higher, and every way
more stupendous; but Blomidon is so peculiar by its shape, its position,
and its surroundings, that it stands monarch of the scene, and rises
always with a certain regal majesty, seldom appearing without its diadem
of clouds. All around are low lands, wide meadows, and quiet valleys,
and the far spreading sea, into which this rugged height is boldly
projected, terminating an abrupt rocky wall. From the shores, for many
and many a mile around, wherever the eye may wander over the scenery, it
rests upon this as the centre of the view.
“Blomidon,” said Bart, “looks more magnificently than ever, and we have
an excellent chance for a close inspection.”
“I confess,” said Bruce, “that I would rather not have so good a chance
just now. I’d rather be near the mud flats of Cornwallis than this
majestic cliff.”
“It’s my opinion,” said Phil, “that Blomidon is taking it out of us.”
“How?”
“How? Why, because we slighted him. We started with the intention of
landing here, and instead of doing so we’ve been almost everywhere but
here. So now he has got us, and he will keep us.”
“Well, if we only had something to eat, I wouldn’t care.”
“I can’t eat pork.”
“And I always hated Indian meal.”
“.And I’m getting tired of molasses candy.”
“Besides, I don’t believe that it’s healthy.”
“And then, you know, it’s always burnt.”
“But it certainly takes away one’s appetite.”
“Yes, that’s a consideration. What would become of us if our appetites
were left?”
As they spoke, Mr. Long drew near. They were within a stone’s throw of
the cliff, and were drifting slowly by. He looked up at the summit,
as it. towered far above him, and then ran his eye along the black,
tempest-torn sides.
“Boys,” said he, with a smile, “you’re right. Blomidon feels his
majesty to be slighted. He’s avenging himself on us. He’ll keep us here
till he gets a victim, or at least till some apology is made. Now, I’m
going to appease his sullen majesty.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“By offering up a victim. And who do you think it will be? It will
be--myself.”
“You, sir!”
“Yes. I’m going to land.”
“To land!”
“Yes. One of you can take me ashore, and leave me. I know the place well
enough, and will walk to the nearest village. I can get a horse easily
enough, and be home before sundown.”
“Can’t some of us go with you, sir?” asked Bart, eagerly.
“O, no. It’s better for you to stay. You had better remain together;
besides, the walk will be too rough. For my part, I wouldn’t go if I
could help it. But I must go. My work demands my presence at once. And
then--I really can’t stand this any longer. I could, perhaps, endure the
delay, but I can _not_ stand Captain Corbet and his--ehem!--his baby.”
As he said this, he looked toward Captain Corbet, who was out of
hearing, and was standing discoursing, with a pleasant smile, to Bogud
and Jiggins.
“Bruce, will you put me ashore?” asked Mr. Long.
“Certainly, sir, with the greatest pleasure. But I’m very Sorry that
you’re going.”
“I wish you’d let all of us go, sir,” said Arthur.
Mr. Long shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You see it will be easy enough for one to get a horse to
take him over, but so many could not do it. So I’ll go alone. I’ve been
there before, and I know my way.”
“It will seem worse than ever when you go, sir,” said Bart.
“O, you’ll have a wind before long. You won’t be home as soon as I am,
for the tide won’t let you; but, I dare say, you won’t be much behind
me. Take care of yourselves, and don’t try the boat again.”
Saying this, Mr. Long went to Mr. Simmons, to announce his
determination. That gentleman was much surprised, and endeavored to
dissuade him. But Mr. Long was not to be dissuaded. Captain Corbet said
nothing. He merely elevated his eyebrows; and there was that in his face
which seemed to say, “There, I knew it. I’m not at all surprised. I’m
sorry for him, but not surprised. He’s capable of any piece of wildness.
He can’t appreciate babbies. What more would you have from such a
man?” All this his face fully expressed, but not a word of all this did
Captain Corbet say.
Mr. Long shook hands with all the boys. Bruce was in the boat waiting,
and soon he jumped in.
The line was cast, off, and Bruce sculled on over the smooth water
without much difficulty. The tide was running rapidly, but there was
plenty of coast before them; it was not far away, and before long the
boat had reached the beach.
Mr. Long jumped out, and as his foot touched the shore, he gave a sigh
of relief.
“Ah!” he exclaimed; “here I am at last.”
“Which way are you going, sir?” asked Bruce. “Well, I’ll walk along the
shore for two or three miles, and after that I can find my way to a
road.”
“You know your way I suppose, sir?” asked Bruce, anxiously.
“O, yes. I’ve been here often. I know all about it. I’ll make very good
time if I don’t get attracted by the minerals. That’s my only danger
here. Good by.”
He wrung Bruce’s hand, and walked off. Bruce then returned to the
schooner, and reached it without difficulty. The boys on board watched
Mr. Long for some time. The vessel was drifting down the strait, and he
was walking along the shore in an opposite direction. They watched his
black figure till he turned around a curve in the shore, and passed out
of sight.
For some time the vessel continued to drift under the same
circumstances, without any signs of wind, or oven the prospect of a
friendly mud flat on which they, could be quietly and comfortably
stranded. This time they drifted below Spencer’s Island, and looked ont
into the Bay of Fundy with a vague fear of being borne away into its
waters, and carried off for immeasurable distances. But the tide soon
turned after they had reached this place; and though the dark form of
Ile Haute towered up gloomily from out the waters of the Bay of Fundy,
yet they came no nearer-to it.
On the turn of the tide they drifted back once more. This gave them much
relief, for as long as they were within the Basin of Minas it did not
seem so bad. As they drifted along they came to the place where Mr. Long
had landed, and they watched anxiously to see if there were any signs of
him. They found none.
“If we only had a glass,” said Bart. “Captain Corbet, haven’t you a
glass?”
“Yes--a kind of a one.”
“Where?”
“It’s in the cabin.”
“May I have it?”
“O, yes.”
Bart went down and looked for some time. At last he returned
disappointed.
“1 can’t find any glass, Captain Corbet,” said he.
“Why, it’s jest in front of yer nose,” said Captain Corbet. “Come down.
I’ll show you where it is.”
Down went Bart after Captain Corbet, and, the latter pointed to the
wall. .
“There,” said he. “I wonder you didn’t see it.”
“Where?” asked Bart.
“Where? Why, there,” said Captain Corbet; and saying this he put
his horny finger on a small triangular fragment of what was once a
looking-glass, which small triangular fragment was fastened to a post,
on one side of the cabin, with brass trunk nails.
“There it is,” said Captain Corbet. “You don’t seem to have any eyes in
your head, though you’re sharp enough sometimes, gracious knows.”
“That!” cried Bart. “That! Why, it’s a spyglass I want.”
“A spy-glass no, yes. Wal, I hain’t got none.”
“You haven’t any!”
“No; never owned one in all my born days.”
“That’s odd, too. I thought every sea captain had to have one.”
“Wal, no. There ain’t no great use for sich. They’re a kind o’ luxury,
you see. I don’t have any call for them. There’s other machines, too,
that they talk about, sech as quadrupeds an’ sextons; but I never bother
my head about, ’em.”
“Why, how do you manage to sail your schooner?”
“How? Why, jest up sail an’ let her slide.”
“But what do you do when you’re out of sight of land?”
“Never git out of sight. Ef I should, I’d steer straight back for the
land agin.”
“What do you do in the fog?” asked Bart.
“The fog? I jest do the best I kin. Any ways, I don’t see what use a
sexton would be in a fog, nor a quadruped nuther. Then them sort o’
con-sarns have to be worked by the sun. So, you see, they’re no manner
o’ use in these here waters, nor in no waters at all. People git along
jest as well without ’em. Why, here am I, an’ I bin sailin’ this forty
year, an’ never tetched a sexton nor a quadruped; and me bin all the way
to Bosting. Besides, did Noah make his vyge in the Ark with a quadruped?
No, _sir_. Did Solomon have one in the ship that he sailed to Ophir?
Agin I say, no, _sir_. So I conclude that what the prophets, an’
patriarchs, an’ wise men of old,--an’ a darn sight better men than sea
captains are as they go these times;--what they did without, we can do
without.”
“But you have a compass?”
“Course I have.”
“They didn’t have a compass in those days.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Excuse me--they didn’t have anything of the kind.”
“Excuse _me_, young sir,--bein’ a man old enough, to be your feyther,
an’ a seafarin’ man, too, an’, what’s more, a man that reads his
Bible,--but they did.”
“I should like to know how you make that out.”
“Did you ever read Acts?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever happen to hear tell of the vygo of the ‘postle Paul, young
sir?”
“Yes; but what’s that got to do with it? You don’t mean to say that he
had a compass.”
“That’s the very pint that I’m a drivin’ at.”
“What! that the apostle Paul had a compass?”
“Course he had.”
“Why, the compass wasn’t known till the fourteenth century. Flavio
Gioja, of Amalfi, is the one that they say invented it.”
“So that’s what they teach you over there at the Academy--is it?” said
Captain Corbet with a look that would have been one of scorn if it
hadn’t been so full of pity. “So that’s what they teach--is it? Wal!
wall wal! If I ever! I never did! However, I’ll show you at once what’s
the wuth, the terew wuth, of your lamin’, when it’s put fair an’ square
in opposition to facts. Look here now, an’ listen, an’ don’t forget. In
the account of that vyge, it says distindtly, ‘So we fetched-a compass.’
What have you got to say to that, now? hey?”
And Captain Corbet drew himself up, and watched the effect of this
startling piece of intelligence.
[Illustration: 0293]
Upon Bart the effect was instantaneous, though not of the kind which
Captain Corbet expected. A light broke in upon his mind, and a smile
burst forth, and spread like sunshine over his lately puzzled face. He
said nothing for some time, but looked away so as to take in the full
flavor of what he considered so good a thing.
“O, yes,” said he at last. “I see. I understand. I never thought of that
before. I must let the fellows know I’ll tell them all at school, from
Dr. Porter down to the smallest boy in the primary department. And I’ll
let them all know that it was you that told me. They’ve all got an
idea that it was invented either by the Arabs, or the Greeks, or the
Italians; but now they shall hear Captain Corbet’s theory.”
“Yes--do--do,” said-Captain Corbet, eagerly.
“An’ tell them that _I_ told you. Tell Dr. Porter. I’d like to know what
the doctor’s got to say.”
“Say! He’ll say nothing--he’ll be dumb. But I must hurry up. It’s
strange, too. I was sure you had a spy-glass. You had one in the boat
when you came after us the time we were aground.”
“So we had, but it wan’t mine.”
“Whose was it?”
“Captain Pratt’s.”
“O, then, that accounts for it. I’m sorry too. I hoped to be able to
find out where Mr. Long was.”
“Mr. Long? Don’t bother about him. He’s all right. He’s among his
native rocks. A man like that; a man that’s a stranger to the charms
of a gentle smilin’ babby; a man that gets mad with others, who are
nat’rally pinin’ for their absent offspring--such a man has a heart that
is a rock, an’ had oughter make up his abode among rocks. I see now why
it is that he spends all his time a gatherin’ of ’em. Why, I told him
some of the most affectin’ things about my babby. But what did he say?
_He!_ He almost swore! Can any parient be willin’ to put his son to
be taught by a man like that--a man whose heart is as hard as a nether
milestone?”
“He’s very kind to us,” said Bart. “All of the boys at school love Mr.
Long dearly.”
“That ain’t the pint,” said Captain Corbet. “The pint is, how does he
feel about a babby? Doos he yearn over ’em? Doos he delight in their
little pooty ways? Doos he crow over ’em? Doos he nuss ’em an’
dandle ’em? I jedge of a man that way, an’ by them there signs; an’
I call that, by a long chalk, the most entirely jodgematical way of
readin’ an’ interpretatin’ human natur’. Read by that light, Mr. Long
ain’t a succumstance. He’s left us. I’m glad. Let him wander among the
rocks and stones of Blomidon!”
With this, Captain Corbet turned away, not caring to pursue the subject
further. Bart went on deck again, to spread among his companions
Captain Corbet’s peculiar views on the subject of spy-glasses, sextants,
quadrants, and compasses.
These new theories created an immense sensation; and whatever opinion
there may have been had before about the captain’s seamanship, there was
no question now as to the perfect originality of his views.
XXII.
_Being jolly under creditable Circumstances.--Songs, Medleys, Choruses,
Cheers, Laughter, Speeches, Responses.--The Mud again.--Hard and
fast.--What’ll you do now, my Boy?_
MR. LONG had gone from their gaze completely, and could be seen no
more. While trying to find him, the boys made conjectures as to where
he might be. Giving up all idea of his being on the beach, they imagined
him wending his solitary way far up the coast, or, perhaps, scaling the
mighty cliff itself in some more accessible place. Gradually the vessel
drifted farther and farther away, until at length it was far up in Minas
Basin.
“Well, boys,” said Bart, “this is getting to be monotonous. We’re like
ferrymen, going forever between two points.”
“Yes, or like the pendulum of a clock, vibrating always, backward and
forward.”
“One more night of drifting is before us.”
“More meals of pork and molasses.”
“Or burnt Indian paste.”
“Or smoky molasses candy.”
“The worst of it is, that we have nothing to amuse ourselves with.”
“It’s a pity we couldn’t start some game.”
“Bart, tell a story.”
“A story?” said Bart. “Who could tell a story under such circumstances?”
“I don’t believe,” said Bruce, “that a calm was ever known to last so
long in the Basin of Minas. Was it, captain?” he added, appealing to
Captain Corbet, who had just emerged from the cabin.
“Wal,” replied Captain Corbet, “it’s not usual to have a calm in the
month of May; still, we do-have ’em sometimes.”
“I should rather think we had,” said Bart.
“I’ve known ’em last a week,” said Captain Corbet, solemnly.
“A week?”
“Yes, a hull week; but that was in July. Still, there’s no knowin’. It
may be in May this year.”
“Then we’ll have to go ashore in the boat tomorrow. I will. I’ll mutiny,
and start off.”
So spoke Bart, and the rest all declared that they would do the same.
“O, we’ll have wind to-night,” said Captain Corbet, in a tone of
vague encouragement. “Yes, yes, we must have wind to-night, or before
morn-in’. We’ve had about calm enough. You feel anxious, no deoubt, all
on ye,” he continued, with a superior smile; “but if you feel so, jedge
what I must feel--me, with, my babby. Why, every minute,--yes, every
mortial minute,--the voice of that there smilin’ babe is a-soundin’ in
my ears. Sometimes he says, ‘GGa-ga-ga,’ and sometimes ‘Da-da-da;’ and
sometimes the cunnin’ leetil human creetur emits a cry,--a favorite
one of his’n,--that sounds jest like ‘Bo-rax! Bo-rax! Bo-rax!’ Isn’t it
odd?”
And he looked at the boys with that mild face of his, whereon was
intermingled an expression partly made up of a father’s affection, and
partly of tender enjoyment of his little cherub’s innocent ways.
“And what does he mean by Borax?” asked Bruce.
“What does he mean? Why, a’most everything. It’s a pet name he gives to
me, you know. That and ‘Ga-ga’--”
“I suppose he doesn’t know the English language yet.”
“No, he hain’t larned it yet; but he’s a-gettin’ on. Why, I could stand
here for hours and tell you words of his’n. He’s uncommon spry, too.
He--”
“Bart,” cried Bruce, suddenly, “start up a song. Sing ‘Uncle Ned.’”
At this Bart started up a song, which was a medley, made up of “Uncle
Ned” and “The Mermaid.” The first verse was as follows:--
“There was an ole nigger, and he sailed on the sea;
And he lived not far from the land;
And he had no wool on de top of his head,
And a comb and a glass in his hand.
Chorus.
“O, the sto-o-o-o-o-o-o-ormy winds, how they blow!
So take up de shubbel an’ de hoe,
While we poor sailor-boys are climbin’ up aloft.
He has gone whar de good niggers go--‘gers go--‘gers go--
He has gone whar de good niggers go.”
This astonishing production was sung with uncommon energy and spirit.
At its close Bart retired below, while the others went on singing; and
after a short time he returned with a piece of paper in his hand, and a
triumphant smile on his face.
“Hallo, Bart! what have you got there?” cried Bruce. .
“It’s an original song,” said Bart.
“By whom?”
“Myself,” he replied, meekly.
“Hurrah! Go it! Sing it! Give it to us!”
“All right; but you must all join in the chorus.”
“Of course. What’s the tune?”
“‘Auld Lang Syne.’”
“Go ahead, then, young feller! Propel! Shoot away!
Beady--present--fire!”
Waiting for the noise to subside, Bart stood in the midst of them, and
after the cries had ceased, he began:
“Should Capting Corbet be forgot,
A-sailin’ o’er the sea!
O, no! when we get back to school,
We’ll often think of he.
Choruss.
“We’ll often think of he, my friends;
We’ll often think of he.
O, yes! when we get back to school,
We’ll often think of he.”
“What’s that?” cried Captain Corbet, with a smile of pleasure wreathing
his venerable face. “Why, it ain’t--why, railly--why, it is me, too!
Why, railly! An’ you made up all that? Wal, now, I call that rale cute.
I do, railly. On’y I do wish, sense you did take the trouble to make
up that there,--bein’ as your hand was in,--I wish you’d kinder added
a line interriducin’ the babby. We like to be kind o’ onseparable. It
seems kind of agin natur’ to separate us.”
“All right. I’ll introduce anything,” said Bart. “Here, boys, I’ll give
you another chorus.
‘We’ll often think of he, my friends;
We’ll often think of he;
The capting and his schewner gay,
Likewise his small ba-be-e-e-e-e.’”
This new impromptu chorus was sung with still greater enthusiasm.
Captain Corbet was affected to tears. Emotion overpowered him. As soon
as he could muster strength to speak, he exclaimed,--
“You’ve onmanned me--you have, railly. The mention of that blessed babby
kind o’ took away all my strength. But I’ll reward you, boys. When we
get back, I’ll make you all come up, and introduce you all to the babby
himself,--_sometime when the old woman’s away, you know,_” he added,
mysteriously.
“I will now occupy the time by continuing the hymn,” said Bart,
solemnly. Whereupon he proceeded:
“I love to go to Blomidon,
Its beauty for to feel;
But I’d prefer a better fare
Than pork and Indian meal.
Chorus.
“Than pork and Indian meal, my friends;
Than pork and Indian meal.--
O, I’d prefer a better fare
Than pork and Indian meal.”
This was sung earnestly and with very deep feeling. The recollection of
their melancholy condition caused a mild pathos to be infused into the
tones of all. Some of them seemed to be shedding tears. At any rate,
they held handkerchiefs to their eyes.
The next verse:
“I love to sail on Minas Bay,
Its beauty for to see;
To hunt for clams among the sands,
And put them into me.
CHorus.
“And put them into me, my friends;
And put them into me.
To hunt for clams among the sands,
And put them into me.”
The mild melancholy that characterized the last chorus here changed into
a livelier note, expressive of greater cheerfulness.
The next verse:
“Pratt’s Cove it has the biggest clams
That ever mortal saw;
But when we hunt for clams again,
We mustn’t eat them raw.
CHorus.
“We mustn’t eat them raw, my friends;
We mustn’t swallow them raw.
O, clams are good for human food,
But we mustn’t eat them raw.”
This was sung energetically, yet in a dignified manner. The chorus was
intended to convey a wholesome piece of advice to those who might
happen to be in need of it,--Pat, for instance,--and so it was sung with
dignity; at the same time, the energy with which it was rendered was
admirably adapted to enforce the advice and carry it home to the heart
and conscience of the hearer.
The next verse:
“We’ve got molasses for our food,
It came from Tri-ni-dad;
And when to candy it is boiled,
It really isn’t bad.
Chorus,
“It really isn’t bad, my friends;
It isn’t very bad.
Molasses, boiled, to candy turns,’
And really isn’t bad.”
A greater degree of liveliness prevailed here at the celebration of the
only eatable thing among the stores. There was an intention to do honor
to the molasses, and honor was accordingly done.
The next verse:
“Three cheers for Bogud, Billymack,
Three cheers for all the crew,--
For Jiggins, Sammy, Muclcle, Pat, .
And three for Johnny Blue!
Chorus.
Three cheers for Johnny Blue, my friends,
Three cheers for Johnny Blue,--
For Jiggins, Sammy, Muckle, Pat,
And three for Johnny Blue!”
Immense enthusiasm. Surprise on the part of all the boys whose names
were thus so unexpectedly “wedded to song.” Recovering from their
surprise, each one jumped up, placed his hand on his heart, and
acknowledged the compliment by a low bow; after which the song was sung
again; after which there came more bows; and it would have gone on thus,
with alternate bowing and singing, till the present time, had not the
boys themselves felt overpowered, and demanded another verse.
The next verse:
“Three cheers for all the boys on board;
For Corbet three times three;
And thirty more for the jolly black flag
Of the ‘B. O. W. C.’!
Chorus.
“The ‘B. O. W. C.’ my friends,
The ‘B. O. W. C.’
Ever so many more for the jolly black flag
Of the ‘ B. O. W. C.’!”
This last chorus was sung with a vehemence, an ardor, and an enthusiasm
that are absolutely indescribable. It included all, and identified all,
in the most delicate manner, with the “B. O. W. C.” It was sung over and
over, and over yet again, accompanied with any quantity of cheers for
everything under the sun. The special allusion to Corbet, in the last
verse, elicited a fresh display of emotion from that venerable and
highly-impressible party. He did not say much, however. He merely went
round among the boys, and shook hands most warmly with all of them, one
by one. He asked each one about his father, his mother, his brothers
and sisters, and his uncles and aunts. He asked their full names, their
ages, and the number of their blood relations. He then made a public
address to them, in which he freely offered, at any time, to take any
of them, or all of them, on a cruise anywhere, at a moment’s warning.
Finally, he reiterated his offer to introduce his babby to them all.
This formed a climax. Beyond this he could not go. And there, naturally
and inevitably, his eloquent oration ended.
So passed the time. And when you take into consideration the solemn fact
that all this time they were drifting, that the sea was smooth, that
there wasn’t a breath of wind, that there was no prospect of getting
home, or anywhere else, for that matter,--you will come to the
conclusion that these boys were jolly under creditable circumstances.
And you will be right in that conclusion; for it was in the very face
of calms, strong tides, empty larders, wanderings at sea, famine, and
privations of all kinds, that these boys stood up and sang their song.