“Wal, there ain’t no trouble about that,” said Bennie. “Thar’s my boat—a nice, clean, roomy one; and I’ll engage to put you over in Parrsboro’ quick sticks. ’Tain’t big enough, quite, to take you to St. John; not because she couldn’t go there, for I’d a precious sight sooner cross the bay—yes, or the Atlantic Ocean—in her than in that old Antelope; but because she hain’t got good sleepin accommodations in case we was to be delayed, as would be very probable. She’s ony an open boat—a beautiful one for sailin in by day, an in fine weather, but not overly good for long vyges for reasons above mentioned, as you’ll observe, young gentlemen.”
“And can we get over there to-day?”
“Wal, let me see. The tide’s a leetle agin us, but bein as you’re anxious, I don’t know but what we might do it. There ain’t much wind about, an we may have to pull a bit; but we’ll do what we can, an then, you know, we’ve got all night afore us. Even at the wust we’re sure to get to Parrs-boro’ before the steamer doos; for if the tide’s too much for us we can wait till it turns, and then go up with the flood. An so, if you’re bound to be off, why, here am I, in good order and condition, an at your service.”
Bennie now led the way to his boat, which was drawn up on the beach. It was an open fishing boat of large size, with one mast and sail. It was, as Bennie had said, quite clean and comfortable, and afforded a very pleasant mode of dropping over to the Parrsboro’ shore. Having once seen the boat, the boys were now all eager to be off. Bennie, however, insisted on their taking their dinner before starting. This they all consented to do very readily. The dinner was almost ready, and Bennie prepared for the voyage, which preparation consisted chiefly in moving the boat down over the beach to the water, which was some distance away.
Then followed the dinner, which was served up in the usual sumptuous style peculiar to Mrs. Bennie, After this followed a kindly farewell to their motherly hostess, and the boys followed Bennie to the beach, accompanied by the venerable Corbet and the aged Solomon.
It had been no slight task to move the heavy boat from the place where she had been lying all the way down to the water, for the tide was quite low, and the space intervening was considerable; but Bennie had accomplished the task with the help of some of his neighbors, and the boat now lay so that a slight push might suffice to set her afloat; and inside were some provisions prepared by the forethought of Mrs. Bennie, together with some wraps put there with an eye to some sudden assault of the fog. Everything was, therefore, very well ordered to secure the comfort of the travellers.
On the way to the boat the venerable Corbet and the aged Solomon were silent, and appeared overcome with emotion. This silence was first broken by Solomon.
“Tell ye what, chilen,” said he; “it am drefful hard for a ’fectionate ole nigga like me to hab to undergo dis yer operatium. Can’t stan it, no how; an donno what on erf I’se a gwine to do. Here I ben a romin ober the mighty oceam, feelin like de father an garden ob all of youns; and now it ’mos stracts dis yer ole nigga to tar his sef away. Blest if I ain’t like to break down like a chicken; an I ain’t got nuffin else to do. Darsen’t go on wid you, Mas’r Bart—darsen’t, no how. Braid ob dat ar ole woman wid de gridiron. De aged Solomon hab got to become a pilgrin an awander on de face ob de erf. But I ain’t gwine to wander yet a while; I pose to make a bee-line for de Cad’my. I hab a hope dat de ole ’oman hab not got dar; an if so I be safe, an tany rate de doctor’ll take her in hand—he’s de boy—dat ar’s de identical gemman dat kin overhaul her an teach her her ‘p’s’ an ‘q’s.’ But what you’ll do, chilen, widout me to cook, and to carve, an to car for you, am more dan I can magine. Ony I truss we’m boun to meet agin afore long, an jine in de social band; an so you won’t forgit ole Solomon.”
The boys all shook him warmly by the hand, advising him to go by all means back to the Academy, and put himself at once under the protection of the doctor, who would defend him from all possible dangers arising out of his “ole ’oman.”
The mate, Wade, also received their farewells.