XII.
On the Track again.—Fishing for a Duck.—Asking for Bread, and getting Stones.—Pat shines as Cook.
AT receiving such startling intelligence, both Messrs’. Simmons and Long looked horrified and bewildered, and neither of them said one word.
“At any rate, the mate’s on board,” said Mr. Long at last.
“The mate! That’s the wrorst of it. He got his breakfast only a half an hour go. He slept in my barn.”
“And where has the vessel gone?” cried Mr. Long, in great distress.
“I can’t tell. I rowed out for a mile, but didn’t see any signs of her.”
“We must go after them at once,” said Mr. Long. “Can’t we get a sail-boat somewhere?”
“I suppose I can rig up a sail in my boat; but she’s only a punt, and I don’t think wo could manage her at all among the currents out there.”
“I wonder if they know anything about sailing?”
“No doubt they do,” said Captain Pratt.
“O, they’re all right,” said Captain Corbet, confidently. “I said, when they went adrift before, that they’d turn up right side up—and up they turned. Besides, the weather’s fine, and there’s no danger in life.”
“Still we must do something,” said Mr. Long, anxiously. “Even if they do understand sailing, they can never get back here again.”
“It’s jest what I’ve been expectin’,” said Captain Corbet, after a profound silence, and with a tone of deep conviction.
“What?”
“Why, that there anchor.”
“What did you expect?”
“Why, that it would break off short. You see there’s been a crack in it for nigh two years, an’ every time I used it, I said, says I, it’s bound to go this time.”
“But why in Heaven’s name did you let it go so long, if it was cracked?”
“Wal, to tell the truth, I never gave it a thought, ’cept when I had occasion to anchor,—and then, of course, I couldn’t get it mended.”
“And so you’ve been trusting your own life, and the lives of other people, to that old, cracked anchor,” cried Mr. Long, indignantly.
“Wal, it held on well down thar at Five Islands, and off on the mud-flats. You know that. It did jest as well as a bran new one, and didn’t break fair this time, nuther.”
“Didn’t break fair! What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean the schooner has kind o’ sot on it when she was aground, and broke it that way.”
Mr. Long turned away.
“Captain Pratt,” said he, “I won’t conceal from you that I’m very anxious. Those boys may understand sailing, but I’m not sure that they do. I must do something. Can’t you suggest anything?”
“Well, I was just going to take my glass,” said Captain Pratt, “and go down to that there pint,” pointing to a headland a few miles off. “That pint commands a view of pooty nigh the whole bay, and I shouldn’t wonder if we’d see the schooner. I was just going there when you came. Besides, we can get a boat down there,—a good deal better than mine.”
“We’ll start off at once, then,” said Mr. Long. “These boys can wait here till We come back. I hope we won’t need to trouble your good nature long, Captain Pratt.”
“Trouble! Why, sir, it’s the greatest pleasure I have to see a strange face here occasionally.” After a few words of warning and good advice to the boys who were to remain, Mr. Long, together with Mr. Simmons, went with Captain Pratt, while Captain Corbet, with Bogud and Billymack, followed after them. The party of six set out in the direction of the headland mentioned by Captain Pratt, while the five boys who remained sauntered down slowly to the shore, where were the boxes and baskets which had been landed there on the evening of the arrival at the cove.
The boys felt the hours hang heavily upon their hands. The absence of their companions made them all feel dull; the fare at Captain Pratt’s had grown distasteful, for pork and Indian meal and molasses are things that are sometimes not wonderfully attractive to the youthful taste. So these things palled; and when, at twelve o’clock, they were summoned to dinner by amiable Mrs. Pratt, she found that they had lost their appetites—a thing which she attributed to their grief about their lost companions; and so she set to work to condole with them and comfort them. After escaping from this kind-hearted old lady, they went down to the point again, and watched the water as it flowed in. Captain Pratt and his companions had not comeback, and they were prepared for a long absence on his part. The thought made them more disconsolate.,
“What can we do?” said Sammy.
“We’ll starve,” said Johnny Blue.
“We’ll have to do something,” said Jiggins, who was a very grave, earnest boy, and always spoke in a very grave, earnest manner.
“Well, what?”
“For my part,” said Jiggins, “I’ll go fishing. Who’ll come with me?”
“I will,” said Muckle.
“And I,” said Johnny Blue.
“I don’t think there’s any chance,” said Pat; “so I’ll stay here and fish for ails in the mud.”
Pat could never get rid of “a taste of the brogue,” which clung to him, and proclaimed his nationality.
Sammy showed no inclination to move; so the three went fishing, leaving him and Pat behind.
Pat then went into the woods and cut a long fishing-pole, after which he went fishing for “ails.” He had no success, but kept at it bravely for more than an hour, unwilling to give up. At last his patience was worn out, and he returned to the point. On his arrival there, Sammy was not to be seen.
Pat seated himself disconsolately on the shore, and watched the tide, which was now running out, for some time. Then his roving eyes were attracted by the baskets and trunks. To these he directed his steps, in the hope that something might be found there with which he could satisfy the cravings of his appetite.
He found most of the trunks empty. Some of the baskets were filled with plates, others with cups and saucers, others with knives, forks, and spoons. All these excited his disgust to an unmeasured degree. In one of them he found a ham-bone, the remainder of their last repast on the shore. This had nothing on it whatever—a fact which excited such indignation in Pat that he flung it into the water.
At last he came to the baskets containing the minerals. Opening these, he found a large number of parcels inside. Hoping that these would afford something eatable, he opened one or two of them, but found, to his unspeakable disgust, that they contained nothing but stones.
Pat was a very original character, who had drifted, by some extraordinary chance, into the school. With a very strong desire to get an “edication,” he had come there and begged Dr. Porter to admit him, offering to pay his way by working.-Dr. Porter found that the Irish boy had already learned a good deal, and that he had an exceedingly strong desire to be taught more. He could read and write well; and so earnest were his entreaties, that the kind-hearted doctor consented to admit him. His industry and application soon gained the good will of the teachers; while his flow of good spirits, his oddities and whims, made him popular among the boys. In many respects he was intensely ignorant, and had not been long enough at the school to acquire anything like the general information which the rest of the boys possessed. At first they had wondered or laughed at his blunders; but afterward Pat had been more cautious about expressing his opinions on anything, and thus, by exhibiting his ignorance less, was supposed to have surmounted it. Taking him all together, he was a very remarkable boy, and promised, in time, to surpass many of his companions.
At present, however, he was far inferior to them all. He had been asked to go on the trip of the Antelope from a very kindly desire to give him all the advantages possible. He had not the remotest idea what the real purpose of the trip was, but supposed it to be a kind of pleasure party. It is true he saw Messrs. Simmons and Long hammering, rocks; but with his usual caution about committing himself and exposing his ignorance, he had not asked anything about it, nor had he looked at their work. While they were hammering rocks, he was climbing them, or running about the beach. He had not noticed the baskets, but supposed them to be full of provisions; nor had he seen Messrs. Simmons and Long in their tender tare of their specimens after landing on this place. The stones, then, which Pat discovered, wrapped in paper, were utterly unintelligible to him, and the sight of them only seemed to cap the climax of the indignation which was growing in his breast.
“Well! well well!” he exclaimed, as he looked at each stone on taking it from the paper. “What’s this? A stone—a muddy stone! By the powers, but isn’t this like a boy askin’ for bread, and gettin’ a stone.”
In fact it was no better than a dirty stone in Pat’s eyes. Two very beautiful specimens of moss agate they were; but it would need grinding and polishing to bring out these peculiar beauties. As yet they were concealed.
Another and another paper was opened. One contained a white stone, like quartz, enclosing some amethysts; another a piece of sandstone, with peculiar marks on it, very highly prized by Mr. Simmons. These Pat threw on the ground with great indignation. Then he took the rest out without opening them, knowing by the touch and the weight of them what they were. He had a strong hope that something eatable might yet be in the bottom of the basket; but at last all was empty, and there was nothing to eat.
His indignation could no longer be repressed. He had a vague idea that some one had done this so as to play a trick on him, and this thought only heightened his passion. So, without thinking of anything but his own wrongs, he seized the unoffending stones by handfuls, and angrily threw them over the bank into the water. Then he sat down gloomily, and tried to conjecture which of the boys it had been who had wrapped all those stones in paper for the sake of tricking him. At first his impulse was to go around among them fiercely and inquire; but at length, from fear of being laughed at, he decided to say nothing about it, but wait and see what would turn up.
He was roused from his reverie by a touch on the shoulder.
He started hastily, and saw Johnny Blue, looking very mysterious, with something under his jacket.
“Hallo! Where, are-the others?” said Pat. “Couldn’t you catch anything?”
“The others are up the brook, fishing. I caught something,” said Johnny, with a more mysterious look than ever.
“What is it? What, have you got under your arm?”
“See,” said Johnny, triumphantly; and lifting his jacket, he displayed, to Pat’s astonished gaze, the form of a duck.
“A duck!” cried Pat, with a shout. “Where did you get it?”
“H-s-s-s-s-h!” said Johnny, warningly. “I caught it.”
“Caught it?”
“Yes, with a fish-hook. I trailed the hook, baited with a bit of bread, and the duck bit—and here he is.”
“We’ll cook him!” cried Pat.
“That’s it; but we’d better get away where they won’t see us.”
“Sure nobody ‘ll see us here, at all, at all.”
“Won’t they?”
“Surely no. There’s lots of wood here, an’ I’ll start the fire in a jiffy. Come along. Hurroo, boys!”
So Pat and Johnny set the fire going, and then they picked the duck,—-which was previously killed, of course,—and they had him all ready to lay on the coals, when suddenly, their attention was arrested by a low, muffled, piteous squeal close by them behind the wood-pile.
“H-s-s-s-s-h!” said Johnnie.
“Botheration!” said Pat, hiding the duck under a log of wood.
“What is it?” said Johnnie.
“Sure it’s a pig—that’s what it is,” said Pat.
A rustle was heard now in the bushes, and then Sammy walked out from behind the wood-pile. His face had a bright expression of satisfaction, and he, too, had something under his arm.
“It’s another duck!” said Pat, with a wild laugh.
“Sammy’s been out fishin’, too,” and he went off into a peal of laughter.
“Stop your noise,” said Sammy. “I thought you were somebody else, and that’s why I had to come through the trees, and behind the wood-pile.”
“Is it a duck ye’ve got, thin?” asked Pat. “Sure, haven’t we one oursilves?”
Sammy said nothing, but drawing his jacket aside, showed the little white head and twinkling eyes of a pig of very small size—a roaster, in fact, in excellent condition.
“It’s a pig ye’ve got. Didn’t I know the squale of it? Didn’t I say it was? It’s me that knows the voice of a pig. Hurroo, boys! we’re goin’ to have a banquet, so we are. Where did ye get it, thin, Sammy, jewel?”
“Don’t talk so loud,” said Sammy, looking cautiously all around. “They’ll hear you.”
“It’s mum I’ll be, thin. But where did ye get it, darlin’?” said Pat, in a soft, coaxing whisper.
“Up there.”
“Where? Pratt’s?”
“No.”
“Where thin?”
“O, never mind. It wasn’t near any house. It was in a field. There were a dozen of them; and I was so hungry I couldn’t help it.”
“Faith, thin we may as well have the young roaster as the old pork,” said Pat. “Ye’re well here. We’re in luck this day. See here.”
And he pulled out the duck and showed it to Sammy.
“How nicely you’ve picked it and fixed it!” said he. “I wish we could manage the pig. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Many’s the pig I’ve kilt,” said Pat, loftily.
“Have you then? And will you do this one?”
“Will I do it? Faith, it’s me that will,” said Pat. “But won’t he squeal?”
“Squale is it? Not a squale you’ll hear.”
On this Sammy handed the pig to Pat, who disappeared with it among the bushes. No sound was heard; but after a short absence Pat returned in triumph, having accomplished his object.
“And now we’ll have two roasts, instead of one.” Driving two forked sticks into the ground, he made another with a sharp point, and ran it through the duck and the pig; then he laid the stick with its burden upon the two forked sticks, and knelt down by the fire.
“The coals are just right,” said Pat. “I’ll sit here an’ give it a turrun till I’m tired, an’ thin ye’ll relave me.” So he kept on turning the spit, and soon a rich aromatic fragrance filled the air.
“Isn’t there any salt?” asked Pat, after a time.
“Of course,” said Johnny; “and there’s pepper too. I’ll get the castors.”
“Do, thin, and quick too,” said Pat.
The castors were soon forthcoming, and Pat sprinkled a little salt and pepper over the roaster and the duck.
“That’s the way,” said he, “to bring out the full fleevour.”
At length they were done, and taken off the fire. The plates, knives and forks, upon which Pat had looked so contemptuously shortly before, were now brought forth. A pleasant place was found in a secluded spot, and here they sat down to dine.
They had scarcely begun when footsteps were heard. Pat went out to reconnoitre.
It was Jiggins and Muckle.
“Have ye caught any fish?” was his first address to them.
“No,” said they in a discontented tone; “and we’re starving.”
“Is it starvin’ ye are? Thin will ye just step in here, for we’ve got the most illegant dinner ye ever sot eyes on.” And saying this he led them to the little secluded nook, where the table was spread on the grass.
At six o’clock they went up to tea, and Mrs. Pratt sympathized deeply with the poor boys, who had lost their appetites from anxiety.