“She’ll clear it, an’ a plenty to spare,” replied Raner.
“You better not be too sure ’bout that. I, for one, don’t want ’o fare ez them Swan Crick fellers did.”
“What Swan Crick fellers?” enquired Raner.
“Why, Mott an’ a nother young feller—I dun know what his name wuz. Hain’t you heer’d ’bout ’em?”
“No.”
“Well, I hed ’em on my mind when I said, ‘Give the Inlet plenty o’ room.’ You ain’t heer’d on it, then? [Well], this ere young Mott and t’other feller started out the Crick to sail their hay-boat somewheres east o’ the Inlet. Ol’ man Mott hed built the boat, an’ hed put cleats on the edges under ’er sides, to keep ’er from slidin off to leward. She sailed smart, an’ hung on to the wind purty good, I b’lieve. The ol’ man, though, tol’ ’em to look out fur the Inlet, an’ give it a rattlin’ good distunce. But, by George, ’fore they knowed it, they wuz goin’ toward the Inlet. They tried might an’ main, puttin’ out poles an’ doin’ ev’ry thing they could, to steer’er to shore, but no use. They couldn’t reach bottom, fur she kep’ right squar’ inter the middle o’ the channel, an’ out she went.
“The poor devils wuz wild. The wind, what thar wuz on it, wuz blowin’ from the nuthard. They lowered sail, but out to sea they kep’ on goin’. Finely, arter they got out sev’ral mile, the wind changed to the suthard. They histed sail, pinted ’er straight on, an’ beached ’er on the surf-shore off abreas’ o’ Muriches, an’ the ol’ man went down thar an’ wracked the very boat he’d jist built.”
Josh, who had sat with his gun across his knees during Layn’s account of this mishap, now resumed the work of cleaning his gun, upon which he had put all his time since clearing the mouth of the river. Priming the musket, he raised it to his shoulder, took an imaginary aim, and remarked: “She’s in royal trim now fur any bunch o’ snipe thet shows up on the medder.”
“Where did you come upon that buster of a fire-arm?” inquired Layn, in jest.
“Thet ere fire-arm, le’ me tell you, hez been proved. She’s seen sarvice, but thet wuz afore I got ’er.”