“And now what am I a goin to do? Do? Me? Why, I’ll tell you what I’m a goin to do. I’m a goin to take up a bee-line for hum, an never enter another harbure—no, not so much as look at one, till I get to the wharf at Grand Pré. This responsibility is tew, tew kerushin. I ain’t a stick, an I ain’t a stun, an I can’t abear it. A human heart beats in this aged boosum, an it’s ben wrung on-common. I don’t want to get another squinge. No—not me. An so I intend this day to hist anchor, an spread my sail to catch the gale. An them, that wants to go hum by land air at liberty so to do—an peace an joy go with em; but them as wishes to stand by the ship ‘ll be welcome to the aged Corbet, an make his path of life all the brighter for their presence. An, so sayin, I’ll kinclewd.”
The conclusion, thus announced, was one which the boys were not unwilling to accept. There was nothing more here which they particularly cared to see. After the adventure of Bart and Pat, the treasure of the seas and the plunder of the Spanish Main lost that dazzling and alluring charm which hitherto had been found in those sounding words. The fact that it was so inaccessible was of itself sufficient to quell their ardor; but, more than this, they were affected by the information of past attempts to get at the treasure, and especially by the present efforts at forming a joint stock company. This at once vulgarized the whole affair. It put it into the hands of every one. It made it a matter of shares and shafts, engineers and steam-engines. With such things as these the boys felt they had nothing to do, and in them they took no interest whatever. Then, finally, the adventure of Bart and Pat had so exhausted the possibilities of Ma-hone Bay, that they could hope for nothing which could surpass it.
The consequence was, that, not long after the happy return of Bart and Pat, the Antelope once more set sail. The wind was fair, and the ship was ready. The landlord and Roach watched them as they moved away, and waved their hats after them as they passed down the harbor. And so the Antelope went away, leaving behind her, in its resting-place, undisturbed, the treasure of the sea.
All that day the wind continued fair from the north-west, and all the night following. The Antelope made a good run, and it was hoped that now they might reach their destination without any further trouble; but, on the following day, they found that these hopes were premature, and that trials yet awaited them; for, on going to the deck, they saw, all around, and above, and beneath, their old enemy—the enemy that they detested—the fog.
Yes, the fog was upon them—like some stealthy, vigilant, inexorable foe, who, finding them thus setting forth on their last voyage for home, now advanced upon them from all sides, to assail them for the last time. Bruce saw this first, and groaned. Arthur groaned likewise. So did Tom and Phil. And so did Bart and Pat. As for Solomon, he took no notice of it whatever, but devoted himself, as usual, to his pots and pans, while Captain Corbet had far too philosophical a soul, and far too much experience of such a situation, to be disturbed in the slightest degree by so commonplace a matter.
“I don’t like this,” said Bruce, after a long and most unhappy silence, which told more eloquently than words their opinions as to this last mischance. “I didn’t expect it.”
“We might have expected it,” said Arthur, “judging from the past. We’ve had enough of it to make it seem natural. Still, I didn’t expect it, I must say, any more than you did.”
“For my part,” said Phil, “I had forgotten all about it, and thought that the Atlantic Ocean would be like Mahone Bay.”
“I wish we had left the Antelope,” said Tom, “and gone off by land, as Captain Corbet advised, either to Grand Pré, or anywhere else.”
“O, sure an it’ll blow over, so it will,” said Pat. “Not it.”,