“On land,” said Bruce, gravely, as he looked at the strange craft, “the
Antelope and the Fawn are somewhat alike; but on the sea it strikes me
that there is a slight difference.”
The other boys said nothing, but there arose involuntarily in the mind
of each a feeling not exactly of envy, but at least a fervent wish that
the resemblance which Bruce spoke of should exist on the water as well
as on the land.
“I suppose it’s a yacht,” said Bart.
“Or a cruiser,” said Arthur.
“Nothin of the kind,” said Captain Corbet. “That thar craft ain’t
anythin more than a Gloucester fishing schewner.”
“A fishing schooner?”
“Course; an why not? Why, them Gloucester skippers make themselves
comfortable; they know how to do it, tew, an this chap is jest like the
rest. He makes himself comfortable, keeps his schewner like a palace or
a parlor, an don’t let even so much as the scale of a red herrin be seen
about.”
The boys went ashore in the boat. Bruce then returned for Captain
Corbet, who was touched by this small attention. As Bart and the rest
waited on the beach, they noticed a small, neat, freshly-painted boat
drawn up not far away, which needed not the name of Fawn on the stern
to assure them that it could belong to nothing else than the smart
schooner. While they were looking at it and admiring it, a man advanced
towards them, who regarded them with a puzzled and curious expression.
He was a man of middle age and medium stature, with clean-shaven face,
close-cut hair, and keen gray eye. He wore a dark-blue frock coat and
wide-awake hat, and did not seem at all like a seaman; yet somehow the
boys could not help feeling that this very neatly-dressed man must have
something to do with the Fawn. He came up to them, and looked at them
with a smile.
“Who in thunder are you, anyhow?” he exclaimed, at length. “I can’t make
you out at all. You belong to that queer-looking tub out there, I see;
but who you are and what you are after is beyond me.”
This style of address struck the boys as being rather uncivil; but the
good-natured expression of the stranger’s face showed that no incivility
was meant, and won their hearts at once.
“O, well,” said Bart, with a laugh, “you must never judge by
appearances, you know. We’re not a fishing vessel. In fact, we’re a sort
of chartered yacht, though we’re a very unpretending sort of yacht, and
we don’t go in for show. We’re a schooner, cruising about in a plain,
off-hand, homely manner for pleasure, and all that sort of thing.”
At this the stranger burst into a shout of laughter, which was so
cheery, and so hearty, and so good-natured, that the boys found it
impossible to resist its contagion, and at length they all joined in
also, though why they were laughing, or what they were laughing at, they
had not the smallest idea in the world.
“Look here, boys,” exclaimed the stranger, at length, as soon as he had
recovered from his laughter; “excuse me, but I can’t help it. I’ll knock
under. I cave in. I don’t understand it at all. Have you a looking-glass
aboard your tub out there? Has any one of you any idea what he looks
like? Or have you ever examined one another?”
At this the boys could not help looking at one another, and at
themselves, and at this survey they began to perceive what they had not
at all suspected--that they were one and all a most disreputable-looking
crowd. Their clothes were torn and stained with mud, and gave signs in
every seam and fibre of long scrambles through wood and water, and long
struggles with the elements. But, in fact, no one of them had thought
of this until this moment, when they found themselves confronted and
laughed at by this well-dressed stranger.
“It ain’t the shabbiness,” cried the stranger, “that upsets me, but
it’s the contrast--such faces looking at me out of such clothes! Do your
mothers know you are out? or, in other words, boys, do your parents know
the particular way in which you are moving about the world?”
“O, well,” said Bart, “we’re not a vain vessel, you know. We’re only a
plain, simple, matter-of-fact potato schooner, out for a holiday, and on
the lookout for a little fun. We’re not proud, and so, perhaps, being
a potato schooner, it’s just as well not to be too particular about
clothes. We’ve always been told not to think too much about dress; and
besides, this sort of thing is ever so much more convenient for roughing
it, you know.”
“Well, boys,” said the stranger, “I dare say you looked very well when
you started; and after all, clothes are not the most important thing. At
any rate, I’m glad to meet you! How d’ye do, all? I’m glad to see you!
How d’ye do? I’d like to know you. My name’s Ferguson, Tobias Ferguson,
and I’m skipper of that there craft, the Fawn.”
Saying this, he shook hands with every one of the boys in succession,
asked their names, their ages, their place of abode, the names,
occupations, and ages of their parents, and then proceeded to inquire
about their adventures thus far, and their intentions in the future.
By this time Bruce had returned from the vessel with Captain Corbet, to
whom Ferguson at once made himself known; and thus in a short time he
had come to be on intimate terms with all the party.
“I just dropped in here to Magdalen,” said he, frankly, “to fix up the
Fawn a bit. ’Tain’t much of a place, any ways. The people air a lot
of beggarly, frog-eating Frenchmen, that follow fashions as old as Adam.
When Adam delved and Eve span, as the old verse says, they had a plough
and a spindle, and that thar identical plough and spindle air still in
use here among these here French. You can’t make em use anythin else.
Why, I’ve been here dozens of times, and I’ve tried, to get em to give
up their old-fashioned ways, and be up to the age. I’ve showed em our
way of doin things. No go. Not a mite of use. Might as well talk to a
stone wall. They’ll never get out of the old rut. And see what they’re
doin here! Why, only look around you! Magdalen Islands! Why, this
locality is one of the most favored on this green earth. In the middle
of this gulf, right in the track of ships, it is in a position to enter
upon a career of progress that might make this place one of the most
flourishing in the world. They might control the whole fish trade; they
might originate new modes of fishing. Why, look at me! I’ve tried to get
em to start factories, build railroads, steamboats, common schools,
hotels, newspapers, electric telegraphs, and other concomitants of our
nineteenth century civilization. And what’s the result? Why, nothing. I
might as well talk to the wind. Railroads! electric telegraphs! Why, you
might as well ask them to build a bridge to the moon! Well, all I can
say is, that these here Magdalen Islands won’t ever be anythin till they
fall in with the sperrit of the age. Them’s my sentiments.”
“Railroads!” cried Bart. “Why, what could they do with a railroad?”
“Do?” exclaimed Ferguson. “Why, develop their resources, promote trade,
facilitate intercourse, and keep themselves abreast with the age.”
“But there are not more than a couple of thousand people on the
islands,” said Bart.
“Well, what’s the odds? So much the more reason for them to be up and
doin,” retorted Ferguson, with some warmth. “They’re all as poor as
rats; and a railroad is the only thing that can save them from eventooly
dyin out.”
The boys looked at the stranger in some perplexity, for they did not
know whether he’ could really be in earnest or not. But from Ferguson’s
face and manner they could gather nothing whatever. He seemed perfectly
serious, and altogether in earnest.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated, emphatically, “these here Magdalen Islands’ll
never be wuth anythin till they get a railroad. Them’s my sentiments.”