“The man’s an idiot!” said he to Mr. Simmons. “We’ll have to get some one else to go with us.”
“See here,” said he, turning to Captain Corbet, who was stirring up some pap to feed his “babby;”
“I’ve engaged your schooner, and I mean to start in her. All our things are on board, and we can’t lose a whole day. You’ve broken your engagement; so I’ll go without you. I’ll find somebody that can sail her. I’ll go to Captain Pearson, or old McNeil, or somebody.”
“There ain’t a skipper in the place. You won’t find anybody. I’m the on’y schooner here. Everybody is got off to Bosting with taters. I’d been off, too, on’y for the babby.”
“Well, when can you go?”
Captain Corbet shook his head.
“O, it’ll be all right. I’ll be along—some time. I dare say Mrs. Corbet ’ll be home soon. Don’t be alarmed about me. I’ll put you through.”
“See here, Captain Corbet; I’ll go off now and find somebody to take me. You’ve deceived me, and disappointed me.”
Saying this, Mr. Long strode out of the house, followed by his companion, and drove away rapidly in search of some one to navigate the schooner.
All his efforts were vain. It was as Captain Corbet said. There wasn’t any one in the place. Every seafaring man had gone off in some kind of potato craft to Boston, allured by the high prices of potatoes. Fortunes were being made, and nothing but the desperate imbecility of Corbet prevented him from having his share in the golden harvest. Time passed. The tide fell rapidly, and the vessel was again left aground by the retreating waters. It would be necessary to postpone their departure until the following day, for they did not care about starting in the night.