FAWN-GLOUCESTER.
“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.”