_A strange Sleeping-place.--The Tent.--The View astern.--Rolling Waters
in Pursuit.--Morning.--Astonishing Discovery.--The solid Land moving
towards the anchored Ship.--How to account for it.--What Land is
this?--Various Theories.--Every one has a different Opinion.--Solomon
driven from the Cabin.--Drawing nearer.--An iron-bound Coast._
THEIR sleep that night was somewhat disturbed, for the novelty of their
position prevented them from having that placidity of mind which is the
best promoter of slumber. At times through the night they awaked, and
were sensible of the rush of waters about the ship’s quarter, and
also of a greater motion of the vessel, accompanied by all manner of
creakings and groan-ings. The tarpaulins hung over them, having been
secured in such a fashion as to form an excellent tent, opening towards
the stern, and closed at the other end by the mizzen-mast and the
barrels of biscuit and other things around it. Through the opening
astern they could see at times, as the ship sunk, the phosphorescent
gleam of foaming billows rolling around them as if about to break over
them. Most of these did dash themselves against the ship, but none fell
upon the quarterdeck; all that the boys felt was the fine spray which
floated under their resting-place, and saturated everything.
None of them, however, attempted to rise and go forth until daybreak.
There was no cause for doing so; their sleeping-place was the most
comfortable now left in the ship, and the scene without had no
attraction strong enough to draw them away. Day dawned, and still there
was some hesitation about getting up.
This day was the fifth since the departure of the Antelope. Their
situation was now quite serious; but they had not yet seen any signs of
Captain Corbet. They looked forward towards seeing him on this day, but
the disappointment of the two previous days made them despondent, and
each one dreaded to look out, for fear that his forebodings might
be confirmed. This was the waking thought of each, and each one also
perceived that this day was worse than any they had known yet. If the
Antelope still kept away, they scarcely knew what to hope for.
At length they went forth, and looked around. All over the sea the
waves were larger, and rougher, and fiercer. The motion of the ship
was greater than ever. It seemed as though the billows, that raced and
chased about in all directions, were hurrying to overwhelm her. The deck
below was all covered with white foam, and at times the bows plunged
so far under water, and remained there so long, and were overwhelmed by
such floods of rolling billows, that it seemed as though the ship would
never again emerge. The quarterdeck was now more than ever like an
island; but every moment lessened its security, and brought it more and
more within reach of the ravenous waves that surged around on all sides.
Such was the sight that met their view, as they took their first look
around.
But for all this they had been prepared during the long night, by all
that they had felt, and heard, and seen; and therefore this did not
affect them so much. It was the long, eager look which they turned
towards the distant sea, the sharp, scrutinizing gaze with which they
swept the horizon, that brought the deepest trouble; for there, over the
wide surface of the waters, not a single sail was visible; and the fifth
day, while it brought fresh calamities, brought no Antelope, and no hope
of relief.
Suddenly Pat gave a loud shout.
“What’s that?” he cried; “what in the wide wurruld is it that I see over
there? Sure it’s draimin I must be.”
All the boys looked in the direction where Pat was pointing.
“It’s land!” cried Bruce, in tones of amazement. .
“Land!”
“Land!”
“Land!” burst from the other boys, who, with inexpressible wonder,
looked at the unaccountable sight, and scarcely were able to believe
what they saw.
Yet it was land--most unmistakably. There it rose, a long, blue line,
apparently about fifteen miles away. It was a rugged shore, and extended
along the horizon for some distance. For such a sight as this they had
not been in the slightest degree prepared; in fact, they would have
expected anything sooner; for how could the land move itself up to their
fast-anchored ship? Yet there was the fact, and before that fact they
were simply confounded.
“I don’t understand it at all,” said Bruce. “If it had been foggy during
the last few days, or even hazy, I could then understand it; but it’s
been particularly bright and clear all the time.”
“I wonder if it can be something like mirage,” said Arthur.
“No,” said Bart. “The mirage never appears, except when the sea is
perfectly still.”
“My opinion is,” said Arthur, “that the ship’s been dragging her anchor,
and has been drifting all these five days; or, at any rate, ever since
the wind rose.”
“Perhaps she has broken loose,” said Tom. “The chain may have had a weak
link. I remember the anchor went down with a tremendous jerk.”
“For my part,” said Phil, “I’m half inclined to believe that the anchor
never got to the bottom. I don’t know how deep the water is in the
middle of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, but I remember thinking at the time
that it was a very short chain to reach to the bottom of the sea. I
remember wondering that the gulf was so shallow, but I thought that
Captain Corbet knew what he was about; but now, the more I think of
it, the more sure I feel that Captain Corbet did _not_ know what he
was about, but dropped anchor, and let things slide, after his usual
careless fashion. He confessed, over and over, that he knew nothing at
all about these waters; and he never once took the trouble to sound, or
to try and hunt up a chart. No; he has dropped anchor, and the anchor
has never begun to get near the bottom. The consequence is, we’ve been
drifting along ever since he left us, and are now ever so many miles
away from the place where the anchor was dropped. And, what’s worse, I
dare say the Antelope was back there two days ago; but we were gone, and
so, of course, Captain Corbet’s lost us, and has no more idea where to
look for us than a child.”
Phil’s theory was so plausible, that it was at once accepted by all the
boys. It seemed the most natural way of accounting for everything,--for
the absence of the Antelope, and the appearance of this strange shore.
For a time a deep gloom fell over all, and they stood in silence,
staring at the land.
Out of this gloom Tom was the first to rouse himself.
“I tell you what it is, boys,” said he, at length, “I don’t know that
it’s so bad a thing after all. The more I think of it, the better it
seems. I’d ten times sooner be near some land, as we are now, than be
far away out in the midst of the sea, with nothing to be seen, day after
day, but sky and water. It seems to me that we must be drawing nearer to
the land, and before evening we may be close enough to see what sort
of a country it is. If the worst comes to the worst, we can launch the
boat, and go ashore. It’s a little rough, but, after all, not too rough
for the boat. I’ve been out in an open boat when the water was quite as
rough as this. It seems rough to us, because the ship is water-logged,
and is drifting every way--end on, side on, and so forth.”
“I wonder what land it is,” said Phil.
“If we only knew how the wind has been, we might guess how we have been
drifting,” said Bruce; “but the wind has changed once or twice, and I’ve
never kept any account of it.”
“Sometimes,” said Bart, “it has been blowing from the bows, and
sometimes from the quarter.”
“O, of course, and every other way,” said Arthur; “for the simple reason
that the ship must have been turning about, first one way and then the
other, as she drifted.”
“I’ve got a strong idea,” said Phil, “that this land is Newfoundland.”
“O, no,” said Tom; “my impression is, that it’s Prince Edward’s Island.
For this to be Newfoundland, the wind should have been from the south
or the south-west; but it seems to me that it has been generally from a
northerly direction.”
“I don’t think anything of the kind,” said Bart; “I think it’s been from
a westerly direction, and that this is some part of Nova Scotia or Cape
Breton.”
“Sure, an I agree with Tom,” said Pat, “about the wind, only I don’t
think that this is Prince Edward’s Island; it’s too high--so it is--and
it’s meself that wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it should turrun out to
be the Magdalen Islands after all.”
“O, no,” said Bruce, “it’s too long in extent for the Magdalen Islands.
I think it may be some part of the New Brunswick coast, perhaps
Miramichi,--for it seems to me that the wind has generally come from the
east.”
“So it seems to me,” said Arthur; “but, Bruce, an east wind couldn’t
take us to Miramichi; it would bring us a good distance to the north
of that, from the place where we were. It seems to me that this must be
Gaspé,--and if so, we won’t be very far away from the Bay de Chaleur.”
“Well, well,” cried Pat, with a laugh, “sure it’s the whole surroundin
coasts that we’ve gone over, so it is, an every one of us has put her
in a different place from every one else. One comfort is, that some of
us’ll have to be right, an so I’ll stick, so I will, to the Magdalen
Islands, an if it is, why sure we’re certain of good intertainment, so
we are, ivery one of us.”
“Well, boys,” said Bruce, cheerily, “perhaps, after all, this is about
the best thing that could have happened to us.”
“I don’t see why,” said Tom.
“Why, you know the very reason that Captain Corbet went away was to get
sails to bring this ship to some land. The very thing we all wanted was
to get her to some land. Well, here we’ve been drifting along, and now,
lo and behold! here is the land that we wanted to reach.”
“Yes; but how can we get her to any port? We’ve got no sails, and we
can’t steer her.”
“O, when we get nearer, some pilots or fishermen will come off.”
“Yes; but will they be salvors too?” asked Phil, anxiously.
“Certainly not,” said Bruce, in a lofty tone; “they shall be nothing of
the kind. We’ll hire them to help us bring her into port. We’ll pay them
liberally, of course.”
“Yes,” said Bart, “and we won’t let Captain Corbet’s absence make any
difference. He shall have his share all the same--for his not being here
isn’t his fault.”
“My idea is,” said Arthur, “that we’d better make a contribution, call
it the Corbet Baby Fund, and add it to his share for the sake of old
times, and all that sort of thing.”
“Our profits,” Bruce went on to say, in the same lofty tone, “will
depend very largely upon the sort of place we can bring the ship to. If
this is Miramichi, they ought to be very large,--in fact, the ship’ll
bring as large a price there as anywhere; but if it’s the Magdalen
Islands, why, of course we can’t expect to do quite so well. Still we
ought to do well in almost any case.”
“I should like to know how we can get word to Captain Corbet again,”
said Arthur. “I’m afraid he’ll feel anxious about us.”
“O, that’s easy enough,” said Bruce. “On landing, we can telegraph to
the Magdalen Islands, and they’ll get word to him somehow.”
“But there isn’t any cable to the Magdalen Islands.”
“Doesn’t the Newfoundland cable pass by there?”
“O, no.”
“O, well, we’ll telegraph to various places, and he’ll be sure to hear
sooner or later.”
“I wonder what’s become of him?” said Phil.
“I dare say he’s cruising about the gulf everywhere, asking every vessel
he meets about us.”
“I only hope, then, he’ll meet with more vessels than we have.”
“It’s a very curious thing that we haven’t seen any vessels.”
“O, I suppose we’ve drifted out of the way of the fishing vessels and
the timber ships. I dare say the fishing vessels keep generally to the
same places, for fishes must be more abundant in some spots than
in others, and, as to the timber ships, they try to keep as much as
possible in one given course.”
“I wonder whether we’re drifting towards that land, or past it.”
“O, well, we didn’t see it yesterday, and we do see it to-day, which
proves that we have drifted towards it during the night; and from this
it follows that we will be likely to continue drifting towards it. When
we get pretty close we must contrive to get some of the fishermen on
the coast to help us; but I don’t suppose there’ll be any trouble about
that. They’ll all come piling on board as soon as they catch sight of
us, and see our situation.”
“I wonder what sort of people they are,” said Phil. “Along some of
these shores they don’t bear the best of characters. Some of the fishing
population are given to wrecking.”
“I don’t believe a word of that,” said Bruce, “and I never did. I dare
say if a ship breaks up they appropriate what they can in a quiet way,
and when the owners appear, they may be rather loath to surrender
their spoil; but wrecking, in its bad sense, is not known here on these
shores. Wrecking, as I understand it, means decoying vessels ashore, and
sometimes murdering the shipwrecked crews. And I never heard of a case
of that kind about these waters.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Bart, “they won’t feel inclined to recognize our
ownership. I confess I don’t feel myself a very strong confidence in our
claim.”
“Why not?” said Bruce.
“O, I don’t know. The claim don’t seem to be a just one; for instance,
now, if the owners were to appear in a steam-tug and hitch on, would you
order them off?”
“Yes, I would,” said Bruce, firmly; “of course I would. I would hire
them to tow our ship and cargo into port, and pay them liberally, of
course; but as to recognizing them as being owners, so long as we, the
salvors, were on board, I would do nothing of the kind. The moment the
captain and crew deserted the Petrel, that moment they lost all claims
to her, on their own account and on account of their employers. The
owners after that must look to the insurance companies, while we gain
the benefits of good fortune and our own boldness.”
Bruce spoke all this in the most cool and confident manner in the world,
and in the same tone as though the Petrel was lying in some safe harbor,
and he and the boys were contemplating her, and considering her from
a cosy nook on the wharf. Yet all the time the ship was pitching, and
tossing, and straining, and the waves boiled around, and the seas rolled
in foam over her deck.
The conversation was at length interrupted by Solomon.
His head and shoulders were projecting from the skylight. He was
standing on the cabin table.
“Ise ben a tryin, chilen,” said he, “an a deav-orin to git up some kine
ob a fire down heah, but I ben an made it six or seben times, an ebery
time de water hab stinguished it. Don know dat dar’s any sort o’ use in
tryin to kin’l it agin, specially as all de kinlin wood’s used up, an
de res ob it is soaked through an through. Pears to me we’ll hab to do
widout de tea an coffee, an drink cole water dis time, unless we can
manage to hist dis yer stove on deck. Only, if we do, it might turn out
to be a leetle mite tottlish.”
“Well, boys,” said Bart, “what do you say? Shall we try and get the
stove on deck, or drink cold water?”
“The stove on deck? O, nonsense!” said Arthur. “What’s the odds if we
don’t have tea and coffee? We’ve got enough to eat; we’ve got a precious
sight better supply than we ever had on board the Antelope--cold boiled
ham, mustard, biscuit, butter, cheese, potted meats, and no end of
things. Bother the stove, I say. Let it slide. What do we want with it
up here? We never could fix it in a tight place.”
This was the decision of all. In fact all saw that any attempt to hoist
up the stove would have been absurd. The ship was pitching and tossing
too much to make such a task practicable.
So Solomon came forth, having been driven from the cabin, as he had
formerly been driven from the cook’s galley; but not for this did he
lose any of his equanimity. He proceeded to lay out the breakfast as
well as he could upon the skylight, piling up the mattresses in a dry
place, and laying the table with a regard rather to use than to show.
He tacitly assumed that under the circumstances the breakfast would be
somewhat informal, and did not think it necessary to risk plates and
cups by putting them where they would be certain to be flung off by
the motion of the ship. The table was therefore rudely spread, but the
eatables were all that could be desired.
After breakfast the day went on, and the boys watched hour after hour
the distant shore. By midday it had grown much more distinct, and they
knew that they were drawing nearer. A few hours after they had drawn
still nearer.
But the nearer they came the less satisfaction did they feel in the
aspect of the land. The most careful examination through the glass
failed to show the slightest sign of life. No houses appeared, no tilled
fields, no pastures even, no clearings of any kind; but a rocky shore,
with a wooded country behind, was all that they could see.
“O, well, boys,” said Bruce, “this is the way it is almost everywhere
around these coasts; but I dare say Miramichi settlement is only a few
miles away, and we may find a fisherman’s hut in some cove close by.”