“And think,” said Tom, “of the old craft, after escaping so many perils, meeting her fate here at her own wharf.”
“It’s the old saying realized,” said Bart,—“the sailor shipwrecked within sight of home.”
“But I say, Bart, she doesn’t seem to have sunk any deeper in the mud—does she?” said Bruce.
“No,” said Bart. “I expected by this time that she would be as deep as that in mud, not in water.”
“She’s afloat,” said Tom.
“No, she isn’t; she doesn’t move,” said Bruce.
“No; she’s perfectly steady, and fixed in the mud,” said Bart. “There’s no floating, about her.”
“She’ll break up soon, I suppose,” said Phil.
“O, I don’t know,” said Bart. “If she were exposed to a heavy sea she would; but here in this quiet harbor she will either sink altogether in the mud, or else lie rotting away for years, a mournful and melancholy spectacle.”
While the boys were looking thus sadly upon the schooner, a man emerged from the cabin of the other vessel at the wharf, and going ashore, proceeded as though on his way to the village. The boys did not notice this man till he was close to them, and then there was a shout of joyful recognition.