At length the Antelope came round on her next tack, and, taking a north-west course, she kept it for some time. At first the captain was rather watchful; but, after three or four hours, his vigilance began to relax, and at length he ventured to announce to the boys that they must be in the Bay of Fundy.
“An when I’m here, in this Bay o’ Fundy, boys, mind you,” said he, with something of exultation in his tone,—“when I’m here, why, I’m to hum. These waters was the place whar I sported in boyhood’s days. Here I matoored into a man. Here I’ve held commoon with the ragin biller, an rode on the kerest of the toomultus ocean. You can’t disturb me when I’m in old Fundy. It’s my hum. Fog an tide hev ben my companions from childhood, an the Bay of Fundy recognizes in the aged Corbet her—”
But what he was going to say was never said, for the word was taken out of his mouth, and exchanged for the interjection,—
“Hallo!”
The Antelope had come to a sudden stop. The shock was strong enough to knock Captain Corbet on his knees, and huddle all the boys together in a startled and struggling crowd.
In an instant Corbet was on his feet, and rushed forward to see what was the matter. The boys followed. The helm was left to take care of itself, and the sails snapped and fluttered in the wind. All was confusion.
“Why, I do believe,” said the captain, “I do rail-ly believe she’s struck! Dear me! Wal, I never! This—doo—beat—my—grandmother!”
This allusion to his grandmother, under such circumstances, far from reassuring the boys, only excited their alarm the more, and made them think that their revered commander had lost his senses.
“Boys,” cried Bruce, “the Antelope’s struck, and is sinking. We’ll have to take to the boat. I’ll fill a keg of water. The rest of you gather a supply of biscuit for a week, and one of you bring the compass.”
“O, no; don’t trouble yourselves,” said Captain Corbet. “It’s—it’s—not—the slightest conse-kence. Don’t—don’t—hurry.”