“I’ll shove off,” said Ben.
Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines took the oars, while Uncle Sam, on his knees, was ready to bale out what water might come in.
The great black wave could now be seen rolling up higher and higher as it came. Ben, giving the canoe a vigorous shove, which sent her some yards from the rock, leaped in, and grasped the steering paddle, keeping her directly on to meet the threatening wave. As she met it and rose upon it, she stood almost upright; and for a moment it seemed as if she would fall back and be dashed on the rock; but the powerful strokes of the resolute oarsmen, added to the momentum she had already attained, forced her up the ascent, and they were safe. Had they been twice her length nearer the rock, they had been lost, as the sea, arrested in its progress by the rock, “combed” (curled over), when nothing could have saved them.
“A miss is as good as a mile,” said the captain, as he looked back and saw the spot where they had so lately stood white with foam.
“I’ve left my best powder-horn,” said Ben.
“We’ve left a couple dozen of birds,” said Uncle Isaac; “but we’ve enough without them.”
They now dressed the fish they had caught, went to sleep, and slept till noon; then, as they had a fair wind home, debated, while sitting in the little cabin, what they should do more.
“We have some bait left,” said Uncle Isaac; “we ought to do something more.”
“Hark!” cried the captain, whose ear had caught a familiar sound; “mackerel, as I am a sinner!”
Rushing on deck, they saw mackerel all around the vessel, leaping from the water, their white bellies glancing in the sun. In a moment lines were thrown over with bait, and soon numbers of them were flapping on the deck.