_The aged Schooner.--The Ancient Mariner.--The Waste of
Waters.--Perplexity.--Solomon and the Saw-dust Soup.--The decrepit
Compass.--The baffled, Navigator.--The despondent Boys.--A sudden
Squall.--The Sails come to Grief.--Captain Corbet to the Rescue.--No
Use! Too far gone!--The Antelope at the Mercy of the Winds and Waves._
THE waters of the Atlantic Ocean were reddened far and wide by the rays
of the rising sun. The glorious beams had flashed over tract after tract
of the watery expanse as they came from the east, until at length they
poured in a full blaze upon a certain gay and gallant bark which lay
tossing upon the tide somewhere within a hundred miles or so of the
shore of the western world.
Yet though undeniably gay and gallant, the hand of time was visible on
that bounding bark. For her buoyant hull was worn, and torn, and aged,
and weather-beaten, and in fact decrepit. Aloft, over that battered
hull, whose dilapidated sides, covered with bruises and bare of paint,
showed gaping seams, from which the oakum protruded, rose the rickety
masts and rotten old rigging. The sails, all torn, and worn, and rent,
and patched, were spread to catch the breeze, while on high floated a
gallant but dingy flag, bearing the blazonry of a now undecipherable
emblem, together with letters now half effaced, which looked like “B. O.
W. C.”
Such a disreputable craft, and such preposterous sails, had surely never
before met the eye of the astonished sun in these waters, and great
must have been the hardihood, or else the ignorance, of those who
dared commit themselves and her to the merciless ocean. Whether bold
or ignorant, however, there they were, all of them--Captain Corbet,
the mate, Solomon, and the boys of the “B. O. W. C.;” and these now all
stood on the deck of the Antelope, looking at the reddening dawn.
At the helm of his gallant bark stood her bold commander, as wise, as
vigilant, and as care-worn as ever, shading his venerable brow with his
hand, while, with eagle eye, he sought to make out some floating object
or some friendly shore. But to that eagle eye the wide waste of waters
showed nothing of the kind; and so it came to pass that, at length,
the aged Corbet heaved a gentle sigh, and his eyes rested with mournful
meaning upon his young companions.
“Well, captain,” said Bart, who was standing near him, “we don’t seem to
have made land yet--do we?”
The captain shook his head slowly and solemnly. “Kine o’ curous, too,”
he ejaculated, after a thoughtful pause.
“I don’t suppose you have any more idea of where we are than you had
yesterday.”
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “not to say much of an idea; but I’m kine o’
comin round, an mebbe I’ll get the hang of it yet.”
“Well, why not head her west? We’ll be sure to come in sight of land
then.”
Again the captain shook his head.
“Wal, I don’t know,” said he, “about that. Thar’s currents, an thar’s
eddies; an thar’s the Gulf Stream to be considered. Now, if we’d kep
straight on at fust, when we got out o’ Canso, we’d been all right;
or even after we left Louisbourg, ef we’d only kep along the coast, in
sight--but thar’s the mischief of it. I let her git out o’ sight o’ land
that night, an she got kine o’ slewed round, and ’s kep kine o’ cantin
round every which way, until at last she’s in this here onfort’nit
position. An now I’m all teetotally aderrift!”
“O, I shouldn’t think that we can be more than a hundred miles or so
south-east of the Nova Scotia coast.”
“Wal, I don’t know; seems to me we may jest as well be off Bermudy as
anywhars else.”
“Bermuda!” exclaimed Bart, in amazement. “You don’t mean that.”
“Wal, I don’t see why not. Here we air, after a kerrewsin around a
whole fortnight every which way, driven up an down by wind an tide, an
canterin along with the Gulf Stream; an whenever, we ventured to hail
a passin vessel, only gettin the finger o’ scorn a pinted at us for our
pains, an the laughter of frivolous an light-minded men. So what’s to
hender us from bein anywhars?”
“Well,” said Bart, “don’t you think it would be better to take some one
course, and stick to it?”
“Ain’t I done it?” said the captain. “Ain’t I done it every day? Every
day I took some definite course, and stuck to it; an what’s the result?
Young sir, if you seek a answer, look around.”
“But something must be done,” said Bart, “or else we’ll find the
Antelope becoming a second edition of the Flying Dutchman. A fortnight
of this sort of thing’s no joke.”
“Who ever said it was?” said Captain Corbet. “An what’s wuss, every
passin vessel will pussist in makin it a joke. They think we’re a fishin
schooner, bound to the banks; an if we ask a honest question, they won’t
do anything but yell out jokes that ain’t got any pint that ever I can
see. Wal, this sarves me right, for ever ventrin outside of old Fundy.
Put me in old Fundy an I’m all right; out here I ain’t any good, an
hadn’t ought ever to dreamt of comin.”
From this it will be seen that the ill-fated Antelope was once more in a
most unpleasant predicament, and the company on board appeared in danger
of encountering adventures of as unpleasant a kind as they had known in
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, if not worse. And certainly the prospect was
dark indeed, when the captain himself could go so far as to hint at
Bermuda as being by any possibility in their neighborhood. So Bart
thought; and as he walked away there was a shade of anxiety on his brow.
As he walked forward he saw Solomon drawing some water for breakfast out
of one of the barrels.
“Solomon,” asked Bart, “how are we off for provisions this time?”
The sable functionary raised his aged form, and, holding the water-pail
in one hand, with the other he slowly scratched his venerable wool.
“Wal, Masr Bart,” said he, “dis yar time we ain’t got no ’tiklar cause
for ’ziety. Dar’s a barl of salt pork, an two barls of biscuit, an dat
ar’s ’ficient for de ’quirements of dis yar company. Lucky for us,
too, dat Cap’n Fuggeson cars for us. He put this pork an biscuit aboard
for extry, an say dat we all boun to come to roonatium some how. An dat
ar am de very ’visiums dat we got to lib on now.”
“But haven’t we got anything better than salt pork and biscuit left?”
asked Bart, in a rueful tone.
“Well, notin ’tiklar. Dar’s a drawin or two ob tea--an a grain or two
ob flour--an some red her’n; but, law sakes! child alive--what you mean
by frettin and pinin so long’s dar’s lot to eat? Neb-ber you mind. I’ll
cook up dis yar pork so ’s you’ll blieve it’s roast turkey. Will so.
You don’t know me yet. Tell you what,--wait till you see how I cook up
dis yar.”
“O, I know,” said Bart; “I believe you could feed us on saw-dust soup,
if you hadn’t anything else. It wasn’t that.”
“Saw-dust soup!” cried Solomon. His eyes rolled fearfully. His aged
figure bent double. He put the pail of water down, and then seated
himself on the deck, where he proceeded to shake his venerable sides,
and swing his body backward and forward, while chuckles, and giggles,
and choking laughter burst from him. Every little while, as he could
get his breath, he would roll up the whites of his eyes with a look of
ecstasy, and whisper to himself, “Saw-dust soup!--saw-dust soup!--dat’s
so. Tell you what! takes ole Solomon to do it. He’s de boy. Is so! Yah,
yah, yah!”
From this outburst of African sentiment Bart turned mournfully away, and
stood apart, looking pensively upon the water. The other boys seemed to
feel as he did, for they all had on their faces an expression of anxiety
and disappointment. They all knew how they were situated, and the
situation was not agreeable to any one of them. Whatever novelty there
may have been in it had gone off long ago, and there was nothing now
left but impatience and vexation of spirit.
The wind had been freshening during the night; and now, as the day
advanced, it grew more and more boisterous.
“It’s blowin a leetle mite too fresh,” said Captain Corbet to Bruce,
“for to contennew on this course; so I’ll jest come round, an run afore
it. Arter all, it’s the best course,--for it’s west, an had ought
to fetch us up somewhar eventooly, though I ain’t got overly much
confidence in this here compass.”
“Compass! Why, what’s the matter with the compass?” asked Bruce.
“Wal, yesterday at sunrise,” said Captain Corbet, in a gentle tone of
regret, “I noticed that, accordin to the compass, the sun was a risin
in the nothe, an that was agin natur. So I knowed that either the
sun was wrong or the compass, and nat’r’ly concluded that it was the
compass. So I jest examined it, an sure enough, I found the needle all
rusted up; an I’m a leetle mite afeared it ain’t no more good, jest now,
than a rusty nail. Consequently, I don’t feel like settin any very
great confidence on her. Wal, for that matter, I never thought much of
compasses, an don’t gen’rally go by them when I’m in old Fundy, though
here-, abouts they might p’aps be some use.”
At this fresh instance of Captain Corbet’s way of navigating, Bruce was
so overwhelmed that he could not say a single word. A flush passed
over his face. His lips parted as though he was about to speak; but he
checked the rising remark, and walked forward, where he began to talk
earnestly with the other boys.
But suddenly their conversation was interrupted. There was a sharp
crash, a wild flap, a dark shadow, and in an instant a large object
floated away through the air on the wings of the wind, while the noise
of flapping, snapping, and cracking still filled their ears. A hurried,
startled glance showed them all. As the Antelope was coming round, a
gust of wind more violent than usual had struck her. The old sails were
too weak to stand it. The mainsail yielded utterly, and was torn clean
off, and flung away upon the waters. The foresail had suffered but
little less injury, for it had been torn completely asunder, and now
showed a huge rent, while the two portions flapped wildly and furiously
in the blast.
“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “ef--this--here--don’t--beat--all!”
He was silent for a moment, and stood contemplating the ruin before him.
“Wal,” he continued, drawing a long breath, “what’s got to be must be.
I knowed it would come some day. You can’t fight agin the wind an storm
for more’n seventeen year without feelin it; and these sails has been an
had their day. I knowed it. I told you, boys, once--I dar say you
mind the time--that them sails might be stronger, and that they wasn’t
adapted to be hung on to a ship of a thousand ton. Still I did hope that
they’d stand this here vyge.”
“But what are we going to do now, captain?” asked Tom.
“Do?” said the captain. “O, wal, ’tain’t so bad’s it might be. We’ve
got the foresail yet; an me and Wade ’ll fix her; we’ll take her, an sew
her up, and make her as good as new; an we’ll work along some how. You
needn’t be troubled; it ain’t goin to make a mite of difference; an I
don’t know, after all, but what in the long run p’aps it’s a goin to
be better for us. We ain’t ben a doin much with the two sails, that
sartain; p’aps now we’ll do better with only one.”
And now the venerable captain and his noble mate prepared to obtain
possession of the sail. This was done without any very great effort, the
boys all assisting. Then the two navigators (master and mate), having
armed themselves with sail-needles and twine, proceeded to sew up the
rent, to patch, to mend, and, in general, to renovate the old, old
wornout sail. At length this last was happily accomplished; the sail
was restored to its place, and as it swelled out at the pressure of the
ocean blast, it seemed as efficient as ever. But either, in this case,
appearances were deceptive, or else its previous condition had been
deplorably weak. Certain it is, that after having sustained the blast
for about half an hour, the old rag of a sail began to give way again in
a dozen different places, and at length split up almost close beside the
former rent. At this Captain Corbet surveyed the tattered canvas with
melancholy resignation.
“This here wind,” said he, “is a leetle too stiff for her jest now. I
think we’d better save her from another time. She’ll do very well in
milder weather.”
By “she” Captain Corbet meant the sail, which he thus personified with
affectionate familiarity. As he said this, he proceeded to lower
the tattered canvas, and examine it in a pitying, compassionate, and
caressing sort of way, quite oblivious of any other duty.
Meanwhile the Antelope tossed and pitched about at the mercy of the
waves. There was nothing that deserved the name of a storm; yet,
nevertheless, the wind was boisterous, and the sea somewhat rough.
The position of the Antelope became, therefore, in the highest degree
unpleasant, and this last example of Captain Corbet’s helplessness and
incapacity served to complete the despondency of the boys. It now seemed
as though their last hope had gone. The compass was useless; the sails
were reduced to rags; they had no means of flight from their present
misery; and the only comfort remaining was, that the danger which
menaced them was not immediate, and might yet be evaded.
Nothing now was left to the boys but to watch with eager eyes the scene
around--to search over the waste of waters with the hope of seeing some
sail, or perhaps some sign of land. And to this they devoted themselves.
It was indeed a cheerless task, and one, too, which gave them but little
hope. Hours passed, yet no sail appeared. Dinner time came, and the
dinner was spread; yet the boys showed but little appetite. They
had been in far worse circumstances than this, yet still this was
sufficiently unpleasant to destroy all relish for Solomon’s cookery,
even if the banquet had been composed of greater dainties than salt pork
and sea biscuit.
Thus the guests at that banquet were not at all appreciative; and they
sat there in the schooner’s hold, not to eat, but merely to pass the
time, which hung so heavy on their hands. Yet even thus their impatience
did not allow them to spend much time at the dinner, for they soon
retreated, and took up their stations on deck once more, to stare
around, to scan the horizon, and to peer into empty space.
Hours passed. On that afternoon, the wind gradually went down, and there
seemed a prospect of calmer weather. Captain Corbet began to talk of
mending the sail, and hoisting it again; and at length, calling upon
Wade, he and his mate proceeded with needles and sail twine to patch up
as before. Into this occupation these two plunged, but the boys still
stood on the lookout.
At length, Bart directed Bruce’s attention to something which appeared
on the margin of the sea, far away on the horizon.
“Bruce,” said he, “don’t you see something out there that looks like the
mast of a vessel?”
Bruce looked eagerly in the direction where Bart was pointing, and the
others, who had heard the remark, did the same.