“But did you ever hear of an accident?”
“Course I have. My feyther told me onst about a neighbor of his’n that lost a friend down hereabouts. He was found next day lying on the shore up there—thrown up by the tide. Besides, my wife’s ma told me of people that’s been a-missin’, an’ what it’s strongly suspected that they kind o’ strayed down here, and got drownded. What d’ye say to that?”
“O, it’s all the same. There are five of us. We’ll help one another.”
“Ah, ye’ll help one another! Yes, but to sartin ruination. Why, see here. Look at me. I’m more anxious, a hundred times, to got ashore than you be. I’m a feyther. I’ve got a pinin’ babby that I’m a-yearnin’ after. I’ve got a kind of homesick feel-in’, that never leaves me, arter him; ’ee bessed chicken, so it was! But do I go an’ resk my life? Do I throw myself away? Do I walk over quicksands, an’ air-holes, an’ mud gullies? Not I. I stand here like a man, an’ wait.”
“All right, captain; we’ll tell them you’re comin’,” said Bart, stepping to the bows.
By this time the tide had lowered, so that they could get out from the vessel on the mud. One by one they descended. They found the mud soft, of course, but not very much so.
“O, boys,” cried Captain Corbet, “come back!”
“All right!” cried Bruce. “Come, boys, if we stand, we’ll stick in the mud. Hurry along!”
“Bo-o-oys! come back,” wailed Captain Corbet. “If you get harmed, I can’t follow you to help you.”
“Good by.”