XVII.
On the briny Deep, and on the muddy Shore.—The Fisherman’s Boat.—Reappearance of old Friends.—Remonstrances, Explanations, and Confessions.
MEANWHILE,—even while they were speaking,—every moment drew them farther away from the shore. They saw Tom and Phil standing on the beach, which they had reached by this time, and waving their hands with frantic gesticulations. They heard them, shout, “Come back! You’re adrift!” and other words not intelligible. They shouted back again to encourage them, though they, themselves had but little hope.
“We haven’t any anchor, boys,” said Bart; “but let’s put down what we have. It may hold, or, at least, prevent our drifting so fast.”
“Well, there’s nothing else to be done,” said Bruce; “so I suppose we may as well try it. Come along, boys. We must do what we can.”
Saying this, he led the way to the windlass, and the remnant of the anchor was let go.
They waited a little while to see what effect this would have, but in a few moments saw that very-little was produced.
“No go,” said Bruce. “Suppose we give her the whole chain.”
“Yes,” said Bart. “It may hold her if it is all out.”
“At any rate,” said Arthur, “it will prevent her drifting somewhat.”
“Down she goes, then,” said Bruce, as the chain ran out. Soon it was out at its fullest extent, and they again watched to see what effect would be produced. By this time they had gone very much farther from the shore, and Tom and Phil were just discernible.
“It checks her a little,” said Bart, “yet very little. As to holding her, that is out of the question.”
“And yet there can’t be much of a current here.”
“I don’t know as to that. It is difficult to tell anything about it. There are currents in all sorts of places around the bay.”
“Perhaps, if we let it drag for a while,” said Bruce, “it may catch somewhere and hold. I’ve heard, of such things.”
“There’s very little chance, I’m afraid,” said Bart, in a despondent tone. “If we only had half a fluke I wouldn’t care; but as it is, we have no fluke at all, and that’s why we can’t do anything.”
Waiting thus, and wondering what they could do next, the three boys looked sadly toward the receding shore. The quilts which they had thrown around them had been fastened at the waist with rope-yarns, and these, in the exercise of letting go the anchor, had fallen from their shoulders, leaving them exposed from their waists upward. They looked ruefully at one another as they thought of this, burst out laughing, and then drew the quilts, toga fashion, over their shoulders again.
“It was bad enough this morning,” said Arthur, at last, “but it was a joke to this. What can we do for something to eat?”
“There’s not a morsel on board.”
“The last mouthful of bread we ate before we waded ashore.”
“If we only had a fish-hook we might hope to catch something.”
“Fish-hook! Why, man, we haven’t any kind of bait.”
“Well, all we’ve got to do is to hope for some one to pick us up.”
“Is that all? No,” said Bart. “I, for one, am not going to sit down and float away, goodness knows where. I move that we up sail and go somewhere.”
“Up sail!”
“Of course. Why not?”
“But can we—can you—?”
“O, we can scrape along. I’d rather have a small accident than drift off in this style, doing nothing. You all understand my knowledge of sailing, for you’ve had a fair specimen of it, and if you’re willing to risk my steering again, I’m ready to take hold; if not, then you or Bruce take hold, and I’ll keep at the sails. It don’t make any difference, though, which of us is captain, for I suppose one knows just as much as another. But, at any rate, I’m bound to have the sails up.”
“So am I,” cried Bruce, “whatever happens.”
“And I too!” cried Arthur.
“Bart, you be captain, old fellow. We won’t take your office from you. You’ve had more experience than we have had, at any rate, for you’ve steered her already. But we must get up the piece of an anchor first.”
“Of course we must, and the sooner the better.”
Upon this they all went to work at the windlass. It was hard work, but after some time it was successfully accomplished. By this time they had drifted out several miles, and the beach still lay before them, but it was faint in the distance. The headland was then somewhat toward the right, and this served as an excellent guide. The vessel’s head was still turned toward the shore, in the way in which she had drifted out.
“My idea,” said Bart, “is, that we sail straight back again.”
“It’s a pity we hadn’t the other fellows on board,” said Bruce, “for we might try some place where there might be houses.”
“Well, in that case, I’d give you the helm,” said Bart. “As long as I’m here, I will only go where I know my ground. I don’t care to try the Five Islands again, nor would I like to turn the schooner. It’s lucky for us that she’s heading in shore. So come, boys, let’s hurry up with the sails, or else she may turn off in some other direction; and then how we can get her round again, will be more than I can say.”
Hoisting the sails was arduous work, but they succeeded. The wind had moderated, and the vessel glided slowly back toward the beach. Bart was so anxious to rejoin Tom and Phil, that he did not venture to try any experiments in sailing, but simply kept the schooner’s head toward the place where he supposed they might be standing. The wind was favorable, the vessel drew nearer and nearer, and at last the beach again became distinctly visible.
A shout of joy escaped them as they recognized Phil and Tom again.
“I wonder how they felt when they saw us drifting,” said Bruce.
“They must have given us up for lost.”
“1 wonder whether they expected that we would raise the sails.”
“I don’t believe they thought of that.”
“That’s not surprising, after all; especially as we didn’t think of it ourselves till the last moment.”
“That’s odd, too. It seems now as though it ought to have been the very first thing to think of.”
“Well, the fact is, we had such a tough time this morning off that headland,” said Bart, pointing to the dark rocks which were full before them on their right, “that it’s no wonder if we gave up all ideas of ever hoisting sail again. However, it’s all right. And now what ought we to do?”
“There’s only one thing that we can do.”
“What’s that?”
“What? Why, what else can we do but run ashore, just as we did before.”
“I suppose we can’t do anything else; but it’s a pity, too. Still we must take Tom and Phil. Though, if they were on board, we could at least find a better part of the coast. This is so remote, and I haven’t seen any houses near the place at all.”
Bad as it was, there was no help for it; and so Bart had to keep the schooner straight on. On account of the currents, however, and the loss of way, the Antelope could not come within a mile of her former landing-place. Phil and Tom saw this, and ran down the beach, carrying the bundles; and just as they came opposite to their companions, the Antelope grounded about a hundred feet from the beach. Without waiting another instant, Phil and Tom threw off their clothes, and waded out. They got on board without any adventures, and celebrated the restoration of their companions by dancing like wild creatures about the deck. Long explanations followed from both sides, after which they discussed their future prospects.
“Hallo!” said Arthur, as the schooner sank a little on one side. “She’s aground. No farther drifting till next tide. And now what can we do, or where can we fasten her?”
“We’ll have to try and use the chain and line, as we did before.”.
“I wonder if we are not too far out.”
“No; I think not,” said Phil.
“There’s a good stump up there to fasten a line to,” said Tom.
“I dare say we can get a line up. If not, we can bury the anchor in the mud, and put stones over it.”
“And what can we do about exploring the country?”
“Some of us must stay by the schooner to attend to the fastenings.”
“Two can stay, and three go.”
“No, three had better stay, and two go. It’s too hard work.”
“Pooh! two will be enough. But who will they be?”
“Well, we must toss up for it. That’s the only plan. We must do it at once. There’s no time to lose.”
“Suppose, before we do anything more,” said Bart, “that we all slip ashore and put our clothes on. For my part, I’m chilly; and though I could easily get some more quilts, yet it seems unnecessary to do so when I have my own clothes so near. Besides, here are Phil and Tom, whose teeth are already chattering.”
A loud laugh followed; after which they all sprang, one after the other, into the water, and hurried to the shore. There they dressed themselves; and as the vessel was fairly aground, with the tide rapidly going out past her, they threw themselves on the beach, and prepared to decide on the ones that would stay behind.
“There!” cried Phil, suddenly springing to his feet. “I knew it was!”
“What? what?” exclaimed all the others.
“A sail!—out there by the headland!”
“So it is,” said Bart. “Phil, you’ve got a good pair of eyes in your head.”
“It’s a sail-boat,” said Bruce.
“And heading this way,” said Bart.
“Hurrah!” cried Tom. “They’ve come for us at last.”
“Come, now, boys,” said Arthur, “don’t let us get excited again. I tell you that boat is some fisherman, and it is passing by here. Those on board won’t see us, and there’s no use doing anything. Let’s sit down and finish the toss-up, and send Phil to the top of the bank to watch, and make what signals he can.”
“Not a bit of it!” cried Bart; and springing forward, he dashed into the water toward the schooner with his clothes on. The water had fallen so far, however, that he did not get wet much above his knees. Clambering on board, he lowered the flag of the “B. O. W. C.,”—which had waved there through all their vicissitudes,—and tearing off his red flannel shirt, he fastened it close beneath the flag. Then he pulled it up and then kept lowering and hoisting, with the utmost rapidity, the extraordinary signal. Nor was this all. He had not yet lost confidence in his pistol, in spite of its signal failure in the case of the schooner some time before, but drew it forth now with a certain solemn decision. By this time all the others had come on board, and were waving all sorts of quilts and blankets from the stern. In the midst of all this agitation Bart fired his pistol. The smart pop! rang out bravely enough; but as the sail-boat was at least three miles away, it cannot be said to have produced any very extraordinary result. Bart, however, was satisfied. He had already given charge of the “ensign” to Tom, and, standing on the starboard quarter, he fired again. After this he rested for a while, and waited for the boat to come nearer.
Nearer she was certainly coming, in spite of the scepticism of Arthur. To guard against the pain of disappointment, Arthur was trying, with all his might, not to hope, and to prevent any of the others from hoping. Yet he could not help being as sanguine as the others, in spite of his efforts.
“Boys,” he cried, “be careful now. Remember this boat don’t see us, and don’t intend to. She’s a fishing-boat, out after sturgeon. She’s sailing straight across, past us, to—Hurrah! here she comes straight down to us.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Hurrah! She sees us! Up and down with the flag, Tom! Fire away, Bart! Bring up that fog-horn, somebody, and blow till you burst. I’ll content myself with a sociable yell.”
Whereupon a yell, so loud, so harsh, so penetrating, burst forth from Bruce, that it seemed to penetrate even to the boat. White signals certainly were waving from those on board, and a tall figure in black stood upright in the bows waving a hat.
“Ha, ha!” cried Bart, as he fired his pistol again, and danced joyously about. “And you call that a fishing-boat, do you, Arthur? So you think the fishermen here go out to throw their nets, dressed in black broadcloth and silk hats, do you? Well, I call that good. A fisherman! Who would think of Mr. Long being taken for a fisherman!”
All was now the wildest joy. There was no more doubt, and no longer any mistakes. The boat saw them, and had returned answer to their signals. It was bearing swiftly down toward them. It was filled with people. Who were they all?
The question was soon answered. Nearer came the boat, and nearer, and still-nearer. At last it came close up, and grounded under the vessel’s quarter. Mr. Long was first on board, wringing all the boys’ hands, and pretending to scold them. After him came Mr. Simmons, then Bogud, then Billymack, then the two captains. Hearty was the greeting, and deep and fervent the joy, at finding that all had turned out so well. The “B. O. W. C.” had to tell all about their adventures. They concealed nothing whatever. Bart related, with the utmost frankness, the story of his navigation experiments, interrupted by the laughter of the other boys, and the criticisms of Captain Corbet, who would insist on explaining what ought to have been done. Then followed the story of the “shovel-mouth shark,” which produced an immense sensation. Captain Corbet shook his head solemnly at the sight of the jaws, which Phil had run ashore to get. But their last adventure, when they were drifted away from their clothes, was considered about the most singular of all.
“But how did you manage to find us?” asked Bart, as he ended his story.
Mr. Long related all about his first discovery of their accident up to the time that he had left with his party for the “pint.”
“When we got there,” continued he, “we saw a schooner sailing, and made it out with the glass to be the Antelope. We watched you as you sailed toward the Five Islands. You must have been on your second tack then. We could not imagine where you were going. Captain Corbet thought you didn’t know your way. I thought you were letting the vessel go wherever the wind might take you. As it happens, I was not very far wrong.
“At last we saw you turn, and the performance of the schooner showed us all very plainly that you couldn’t sail her. It filled us with the deepest anxiety. We could have got a boat, but your course was so strange, that we delayed until we could see where you might finally bring up. We didn’t expect any accident exactly, but hoped that you would come nearer. At last you sailed so close to that headland that we thought you were lost. Immediately afterward you passed behind it from sight. We waited some time to see if you would reappear, but you did not. So we at once put off in the boat which belonged to a fisherman who lived near, and came here as fast as possible. The last time that you drifted off we saw you; but perhaps you were too excited to see us—or perhaps we were too far off to be seen very easily.
“And now,” concluded Mr. Long, “I’ve found you again, and it’s my fixed determination not to let any of you go out of my sight. You’re all a set of Jonahs. The only comfort is, that you come out all right at last.”
“I’m sure, Mr. Long,” remonstrated Bart, “you oughtn’t to blame us. It wasn’t our fault. I’d much rather not drift away if I could help it. I don’t enjoy going about in the fog, or among these tides. I’m sure Bruce don’t. Neither does Arthur, nor Tom, nor Phil.”
“Blame you? Of course I don’t blame you,” said Mr. Long. “How can I? It wasn’t your fault, of course. I only mean that your fortunes have been very peculiar. I don’t know but, if I believed in omens, I’d say that your black flag up there has brought us all this run of bad luck. But come, we’ve been thoughtful about you. We knew you’d be starving, and so we brought along with us something for you to eat.”
“Starving! Mr. Long, we’re in that condition that we could eat horseshoes.”
With a good-natured laugh, Mr. Long turned away, and jumping into the boat, handed up the eatables that he had brought for them..