John was steering, and every few moments a half bucket of salt water would strike in the side of his neck and run out at the knees of his breeches, while Charlie baled it out as fast as it came in.
“Only look, Charlie! see what a crowd there is on the wharf! I see father and Flour, and there’s old Uncle Jonathan Smullen, with his cane.”
“I see Fred and Hen Griffin,” said Charlie: “when we get a little nearer, I mean to hail ’em.”
“Slack the fore and jib sheets a little, Charlie. I’m going to keep her away and run down by the wharf.”
As they ran along seven or eight hundred yards from the wharf, Charlie, standing up to windward, waved his cap to Fred, and cheered. It was instantly returned by the whole crowd.
At that moment a hard flaw, striking over the high land, heeled her almost to upsetting; and as she rose again, she split in two, from stem to stern. Charlie, who was just waving his hat for a second cheer, went head foremost into the water. One half the boat, to which were attached the masts, bowsprit, and rudder, fell over to leeward; the cable, which was fastened into a thole-pin hole, running out, anchored that part, while the other half drifted off before the wind towards Elm Island.
John and Charlie clung to the half that was left, while the barrel of sugar, the corn, both their guns, powder and shot, went to the bottom.
It was but a few moments before Captain Rhines, with Flour and Fred Williams, came in a canoe, and took them off.
Every one felt sorry for the mishap, and Fred felt so bad that he cried.
It was the first boat that had ever been made or owned in the place, or even seen there, except once in a great while, when a whaleman or some large vessel came in for water, or lost their way; the inhabitants all using canoes, as did also the fishermen and coasters.