Another theory was, that, in his hurry or panic, he had forgotten all about the bottle, which had floated about in the cabin, and been left in one of the state-rooms by the retreating waves.
It was evident to all that the captain, “Henry Hall,” had lost his head. In his terror he had believed that the ship was “going to pieces;” whereas nothing of the sort was going on. She might possibly have been on her beam-ends, since he said so, but even here his fears might have exaggerated the danger. Captain Corbet thought that she had been struck over on her beam-ends, and held down by her sails, and, when these were torn away, she had eventually righted herself.
“That thar skipper,” said he, sententiously, “was frikened out of his seven senses, and fancied the craft was brakin up. So he rushed to the boats, chucked in a bag of biscuit and a few bottles of water, and rowed away for his life.”
Captain Corbet paused for a moment, and looked at the boys with a very singular expression on his face.
“And now,” said he, “my dear young friends, do you know what you air and what you’ve ben an gone an done?”
“What?” asked Bruce, in some surprise at the captain’s tone and manner.
“Wal, only this—you’re salvors.”
“Salvors!” repeated Bruce, to whom this word conveyed no meaning in particular.
“Salvors!” repeated Captain Corbet, impressively. “Yes, you’ve found this here ship on the broad bosom of the deep, deserted; you’ve took possession—she’s yours.”
“Well, what of that?” said Bruce. “For that matter, she belongs to all of us.”