“No.”
“Nor even whether they’re on land or water?”
“No.”
Captain Corbet shook his head slowly and sadly, and turned away with the profoundest dejection and melancholy depicted upon his venerable yet expressive features.
“Tom and I think they’ve gone off fishing,” continued Bruce, who had told the tale of woe; “but Arthur and Phil are afraid that they’ve gone off in a boat, and have met with some accident. They’re determined to go off to hunt them up, and we’ve concluded to go too, as we don’t care about staying behind doing nothing; though, at the same time, we don’t believe they’ve come to any harm, and we think they’ll be coming after us. We thought we’d let you know; and perhaps we’d better put off in the Antelope, unless you think a small boat would be better.”
“O, yes,” said Arthur, “let’s go in a small boat. The Antelope won’t do. There’ll be another calm, and we’ll have to stand still and do nothing.”
“We could get one of these whalers,” said Phil, pointing to a number of boats at the wharf.
These boats were sharp at each end, and were therefore called “whalers” on account of their shape, and not because they were ever used, or ever intended to be used, against whales. They were large and capacious, and well ballasted; while, at the same time, they were not too large to be rowed, in case of calms or head winds.
“O, bother the whalers,” said Tom’; “let’s stick to the Antelope, whatever we do. Whenever we leave the Antelope, we’re sure to come to grief. Besides, I don’t like to have to stuff myself into a little open boat. I like to move about, and walk up and down, and change my position.”
“So do I, for that matter,” said Phil; “but then, you know, we may be caught in a calm, as we were last night.”