“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.”