“He knows me. Come, boys;” and Mr. Long, who was always rapid and energetic, soon formed the boys in line, and the stones were speedily transferred from hand to hand.
“Mr. Simmons,” said Mr. Long, after a time, “I think I’ll go and get some boards.” And saying this, he hurried away, leaving the others hard at work, and expecting the absent Corbet. The boys worked with a will; and even the smaller ones, who were to have no part in the voyage, formed another line, and passed on the smaller stones. At the end of two hours the vessel was considered by Mr. Simmons to have sufficient ballast, the garden wall had vanished, and the boys stood waiting, with blistered hands, for Captain Corbet.
While they were waiting, Mr. Long once more appeared.
“What! hasn’t Corbet come yet?” he cried.
“No.”
Mr. Long looked around in despair.
“I’ve had to go three miles for the boards,” said he. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. Everything is against us to-day. We’ve got to work hard yet, or we won’t get off. Mr. Simmons, would you be kind enough to go and see if you can find Corbet in the village? and I’ll go down into the hold to lay the flooring.”
Off went Mr. Simmons, and down went Mr. Long into the hold. The wagon soon arrived with the boards, which were passed down to him, and speedily laid over the ballast. Thanks to his skill and energy, the floor was soon made. Then the boys set to work throwing down the bedding, and arranging the trunks and baskets. There was not much time, however, for any arrangements. The things lay in a confused heap, with a busy crowd laboring to reduce them to order.
At the end of about half an hour Mr. Simmons returned, shaking his head. He had not found Captain Corbet. Things began to look desperate. It was now high tide, and high time for leaving. Time and tide, which wait for no man, were not going to wait for Captain Corbet.
There was the Antelope all ready. She was not much of a vessel, it is true. She resembled a wash-tub in many important points. She looked leaky. She smelled strong of potatoes; and rightly so, for that important vegetable formed her invariable cargo. The name Antelope was a delightful jest. Her chains were deeply eaten with rust; her cordage and rigging had a time-worn appearance. A venerable air of decay rested about her. Yet still, in spite of all, there she was, and a dozen eager young hearts were burning to embark in her, and be away before the tide should fall.