Part 10

On the following morning they all awaked early, and hurried upon deck. This was the third day since the Antelope had left, and by evening the three days would be completed which they allowed for her probable absence. There was not one of them who did not go up on deck that morning with the expectation of seeing her somewhere in the distance. But on looking around, they saw no sail of any kind. It was with a feeling of disappointment that they recognized this fact, for, though thus far they had not encountered any danger, they had, at least, become aware of the fact that an increase of wind might make their situation very dangerous indeed.

The wind also had grown stronger, and sang through the rigging in a way that was anything but music to their ears. The sky was overcast with rolling clouds. In another vessel they would have called it a fine day, and a fresh breeze, but to them it became equivalent to a storm. The waves had risen to a height commensurate with the increase of the wind. The rise and fall of the ship amounted to about six feet, and at every other plunge her bows went entirely under water. The deck was now completely flooded, and Solomon in traversing it was sometimes up to his knees in the rushing torrent. The fire in the cook’s galley had been put out, and he had been compelled to transfer his apparatus to the stove in the cabin.

The quarter-deck astern prevented the sea from coming aboard in that direction; and by the time the water that rolled over the bows had reached the cabin doors, it had greatly subsided; yet still enough had poured into the cabin to saturate it in every nook and corner. A pool of water filled all the cabin and all the state-rooms to a depth of six inches, and rolled about with the motion of the ship.

“Well, this isn’t certainly quite as comfortable as it might be,” said Phil, with a blank look.

“At this rate,” said Tom, “if this, sort of thing keeps on, we’ll have to launch the boat, and row to the cook’s galley.”

“It’s strange that the Antelope isn’t in sight!” said Arthur, shading his eyes, and trying to force them to see.

“No use,” said Bart, who had been peering through the glass, and now handed it to Arthur. “No use. There’s not only no Antelope, but no other vessel; in fact, there’s not a sign of any sail of any kind whatever.”

At this Arthur, who had already exhausted all the capabilities of the spy-glass, took it, and began sweeping the entire circuit of the horizon.

“O, don’t trouble yourselves, boys,” said Bruce. “It isn’t quite time yet for the Antelope to get here. We allowed her three days. They won’t be up till evening. Besides, she’s just as likely to be four days; she’s not over fast. For my part, I don’t intend to look for her to-day at all. It’s quite possible that a vessel may heave in sight; but I don’t believe it’ll be the Antelope. And if any vessel does turn up, we can easily signalize, for I found all the signal-flags of the Petrel in the closet next my state-room.”

That morning Solomon had to cook the breakfast in the cabin. The boys all concluded to go about barefoot. The breakfast was cooked, and, considering all the circumstances, was a great success; but the glory of the cabin had departed, and it was hardly to be expected that a breakfast could be thoroughly enjoyable at which one had to sit with the water playing all about his feet and ankles. Still the boys made the best of it, and did ample justice to the fare. Solomon still struggled manfully against the difficulties of his position, and on this occasion actually furnished them with hot rolls. These, with broiled ham, coffee, tea, and other things, made a breakfast that was not to be despised.

After breakfast the boys were glad to leave the cabin, and seek the quarter-deck, which arose like an island out of the water. They began to look upon this quarter-deck as a place that was likely to become their home. The sashes of the skylight were kept open and made use of, as affording a readier means of passing in and out of the cabin. They began to feel very seriously the restriction of space which had been caused by the flowing waters, and the charms of the comfortable cabin had never seemed so great as when they were deprived of them. Formerly they had been able to lounge in and out, and, above all, to prolong the various repasts, and thus pass away the time; but now breakfast, dinner, and tea had to be hurried over as rapidly as possible, and there came the prospect of final banishment from the cabin altogether.

The sea at midday was somewhat rougher; but Solomon heroically cooked the dinner in the cabin, although the water was sometimes half way up to his knees. Measures were now taken to keep the water out. The door was shut and locked, and in the interstices they fastened oakum. Had this been done at the first, the cabin might have been saved; but unfortunately it had been neglected, and now that the water was in, there was no way of getting it out. Still this was a decided improvement, and there was comfort in the thought that it could not grow any worse now, unless it became very bad indeed.

Dinner was served in the cabin, and the boys did justice to it, though they showed no inclination to linger at the table any longer than was absolutely necessary.

After dinner they sought the quarter-deck, where they spent the afternoon. They had now begun to look for the coming of the Antelope with great impatience, and their anxiety in this respect kept them in a state of suspense which did not allow them to feel interest in any other thing. To all of them the time seemed interminable. The spyglass was passed around a hundred times, and each one on using it seemed reluctant to give it up. But at every fresh survey of the horizon there was the same result; and as hour after hour passed, they began to fear that something might have happened to Captain Corbet.

So the time passed. All the afternoon the wind grew higher, and the rolling of the vessel increased; still they took tea in the cabin; and there arose the important question as to where they should sleep.

The opinions varied. Some of them, in view of the fact that the wind was rather increasing than diminishing, were inclined to desert their staterooms, and sleep on the quarter-deck, upon the skylight, under the friendly shelter of the tarpaulin.

Tom advocated this most strongly.

“It’ll be just as comfortable,” said he, “and much less liable to interruption. Here are our mattresses, all spread out, and roomy enough for all of us. Here is the tarpaulin hanging over the boom, and making a first-rate tent. Down in the cabin the water seems to be slowly increasing, and we’ll be liable to be washed out of our berths before morning.”

“Yes,” said Phil, who chimed in with Tom, “and what’s worse, if the sea gets rougher, we’ll be certain to ship some seas astern before morning, and in that case it’ll come pouring into the cabin through the skylight.”

“Well, if it does,” said Bruce, “we should get as wet on the skylight as in the cabin.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, “and we might be washed off into the sea.”

“Sure an we can lash ourselves to the mast, an sleep there,” said Pat. “That’s what shipwrecked sailors always do.”

“O, there’s all the difference in the world,” said Tom. “If we are above, we’ll be able to avoid any danger, but down below there we’ll only be drowned like rats in a hole. For my part, if the sea is coming in, I should like to be where I can have a chance to swim, at least.”

“O, come now, Tom,” said Bart, “you are putting it too strong altogether. The wind hasn’t increased very much, and the change has been very gradual. There’s no likelihood of any sudden change, you know. If it gets much rougher, we’ll find it out soon enough, and we’ll be able to get out of the cabin, I should think, before it gets filled with water. If the ship begins to pitch like that, so as to ship heavy seas astern, the first one that comes aboard will be enough to wake every mother’s son of us. I believe in sticking to the cabin as long as we can. Our berths are as comfortable as ever. The puddle of water about the floor don’t really amount to much, after all. The door is so tight now that very little more water can get in; and as to shipping seas over the stern, I, for my part, don’t believe that there is any danger of that just yet; not to-night, at any rate.”

“No,” said Bruce. “Just see. After all, there’s been no very great change since morning. If we were aboard the Antelope, we’d think nothing of this.”

“But unfortunately,” said Tom, “we’re not aboard the Antelope.”

“O, well,” said Bruce, cheerfully, “we needn’t bother ourselves. We’re pretty certain to be aboard of her to-morrow, if we choose to go, for by that time she’s sure to show herself. We allowed her three days, and the time is up; but we ought to allow one day more in case of unlooked-for delays. Perhaps Captain Corbet had to wait for the sails, getting them mended, and all that sort of thing. I don’t think he’d wait more than one day, at the farthest; so we may look for him tomorrow pretty confidently. And in the mean time, I’m of Bart’s opinion, and think that we’d better make ourselves comfortable as long as we can, and sleep below until we are driven out. I don’t believe we’ll be driven out to-night, at any rate; and if we are, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

The end of it was, that they all decided to sleep below. Solomon, however, who had been present at the discussion, informed them that he would sleep on deck, and keep one eye open. Some remonstrance was offered, but in vain, and at length this arrangement was entered into.

Fortunately the night passed without any accident. Their sleep was undisturbed. On waking in the morning, they found not much increase in the water inside the cabin, but felt that the vessel was pitching about more than ever, and creaking and groaning in every timber.

Hurrying out on deck, they looked eagerly around. Bruce was up first, and seizing the spyglass, scanned the whole horizon in the most searching manner. But not to the eyes of any one, nor to the searching gaze of Bruce, appeared any sail whatever. Not one word was said. The disappointment of all amounted almost to dismay for a moment, and their feelings were too strong for utterance.

All around them the sea arose in foaming billows. Overhead the sky was covered with clouds that drove onward impetuously. The wind howled through the rigging; the ‘ship labored and plunged, shipping heavy seas, and thrusting her bows far under the rolling waves. But the quarter-deck, as yet, was spared, and rose above the seas like an island, whereon they could rest.

This day passed like the previous one. They spent the whole time looking for the Antelope. It was now the fourth day since her departure, and her delay made all feel uneasy. The cabin was now too uncomfortable for them, so that they decided to eat their meals on the quarter-deck; but Solomon cooked their meals in the cabin stove, and struggled heroically against fate in the effort to afford his young friends the best fare that could be furnished. .

The day passed slowly.

No Antelope!

Night came.

This time there was no debate about a sleeping-place. No one thought of going below, and they all stretched their weary frames on the mattresses, which were laid on the skylight.

XIV.

_A strange Sleeping-place.--The Tent.--The View astern.--Rolling Waters in Pursuit.--Morning.--Astonishing Discovery.--The solid Land moving towards the anchored Ship.--How to account for it.--What Land is this?--Various Theories.--Every one has a different Opinion.--Solomon driven from the Cabin.--Drawing nearer.--An iron-bound Coast._

THEIR sleep that night was somewhat disturbed, for the novelty of their position prevented them from having that placidity of mind which is the best promoter of slumber. At times through the night they awaked, and were sensible of the rush of waters about the ship’s quarter, and also of a greater motion of the vessel, accompanied by all manner of creakings and groan-ings. The tarpaulins hung over them, having been secured in such a fashion as to form an excellent tent, opening towards the stern, and closed at the other end by the mizzen-mast and the barrels of biscuit and other things around it. Through the opening astern they could see at times, as the ship sunk, the phosphorescent gleam of foaming billows rolling around them as if about to break over them. Most of these did dash themselves against the ship, but none fell upon the quarterdeck; all that the boys felt was the fine spray which floated under their resting-place, and saturated everything.

None of them, however, attempted to rise and go forth until daybreak. There was no cause for doing so; their sleeping-place was the most comfortable now left in the ship, and the scene without had no attraction strong enough to draw them away. Day dawned, and still there was some hesitation about getting up.

This day was the fifth since the departure of the Antelope. Their situation was now quite serious; but they had not yet seen any signs of Captain Corbet. They looked forward towards seeing him on this day, but the disappointment of the two previous days made them despondent, and each one dreaded to look out, for fear that his forebodings might be confirmed. This was the waking thought of each, and each one also perceived that this day was worse than any they had known yet. If the Antelope still kept away, they scarcely knew what to hope for.

At length they went forth, and looked around. All over the sea the waves were larger, and rougher, and fiercer. The motion of the ship was greater than ever. It seemed as though the billows, that raced and chased about in all directions, were hurrying to overwhelm her. The deck below was all covered with white foam, and at times the bows plunged so far under water, and remained there so long, and were overwhelmed by such floods of rolling billows, that it seemed as though the ship would never again emerge. The quarterdeck was now more than ever like an island; but every moment lessened its security, and brought it more and more within reach of the ravenous waves that surged around on all sides. Such was the sight that met their view, as they took their first look around.

But for all this they had been prepared during the long night, by all that they had felt, and heard, and seen; and therefore this did not affect them so much. It was the long, eager look which they turned towards the distant sea, the sharp, scrutinizing gaze with which they swept the horizon, that brought the deepest trouble; for there, over the wide surface of the waters, not a single sail was visible; and the fifth day, while it brought fresh calamities, brought no Antelope, and no hope of relief.

Suddenly Pat gave a loud shout.

“What’s that?” he cried; “what in the wide wurruld is it that I see over there? Sure it’s draimin I must be.”

All the boys looked in the direction where Pat was pointing.

“It’s land!” cried Bruce, in tones of amazement. .

“Land!”

“Land!”

“Land!” burst from the other boys, who, with inexpressible wonder, looked at the unaccountable sight, and scarcely were able to believe what they saw.

Yet it was land--most unmistakably. There it rose, a long, blue line, apparently about fifteen miles away. It was a rugged shore, and extended along the horizon for some distance. For such a sight as this they had not been in the slightest degree prepared; in fact, they would have expected anything sooner; for how could the land move itself up to their fast-anchored ship? Yet there was the fact, and before that fact they were simply confounded.

“I don’t understand it at all,” said Bruce. “If it had been foggy during the last few days, or even hazy, I could then understand it; but it’s been particularly bright and clear all the time.”

“I wonder if it can be something like mirage,” said Arthur.

“No,” said Bart. “The mirage never appears, except when the sea is perfectly still.”

“My opinion is,” said Arthur, “that the ship’s been dragging her anchor, and has been drifting all these five days; or, at any rate, ever since the wind rose.”

“Perhaps she has broken loose,” said Tom. “The chain may have had a weak link. I remember the anchor went down with a tremendous jerk.”

“For my part,” said Phil, “I’m half inclined to believe that the anchor never got to the bottom. I don’t know how deep the water is in the middle of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, but I remember thinking at the time that it was a very short chain to reach to the bottom of the sea. I remember wondering that the gulf was so shallow, but I thought that Captain Corbet knew what he was about; but now, the more I think of it, the more sure I feel that Captain Corbet did _not_ know what he was about, but dropped anchor, and let things slide, after his usual careless fashion. He confessed, over and over, that he knew nothing at all about these waters; and he never once took the trouble to sound, or to try and hunt up a chart. No; he has dropped anchor, and the anchor has never begun to get near the bottom. The consequence is, we’ve been drifting along ever since he left us, and are now ever so many miles away from the place where the anchor was dropped. And, what’s worse, I dare say the Antelope was back there two days ago; but we were gone, and so, of course, Captain Corbet’s lost us, and has no more idea where to look for us than a child.”

Phil’s theory was so plausible, that it was at once accepted by all the boys. It seemed the most natural way of accounting for everything,--for the absence of the Antelope, and the appearance of this strange shore. For a time a deep gloom fell over all, and they stood in silence, staring at the land.

Out of this gloom Tom was the first to rouse himself.

“I tell you what it is, boys,” said he, at length, “I don’t know that it’s so bad a thing after all. The more I think of it, the better it seems. I’d ten times sooner be near some land, as we are now, than be far away out in the midst of the sea, with nothing to be seen, day after day, but sky and water. It seems to me that we must be drawing nearer to the land, and before evening we may be close enough to see what sort of a country it is. If the worst comes to the worst, we can launch the boat, and go ashore. It’s a little rough, but, after all, not too rough for the boat. I’ve been out in an open boat when the water was quite as rough as this. It seems rough to us, because the ship is water-logged, and is drifting every way--end on, side on, and so forth.”

“I wonder what land it is,” said Phil.

“If we only knew how the wind has been, we might guess how we have been drifting,” said Bruce; “but the wind has changed once or twice, and I’ve never kept any account of it.”

“Sometimes,” said Bart, “it has been blowing from the bows, and sometimes from the quarter.”

“O, of course, and every other way,” said Arthur; “for the simple reason that the ship must have been turning about, first one way and then the other, as she drifted.”

“I’ve got a strong idea,” said Phil, “that this land is Newfoundland.”

“O, no,” said Tom; “my impression is, that it’s Prince Edward’s Island. For this to be Newfoundland, the wind should have been from the south or the south-west; but it seems to me that it has been generally from a northerly direction.”

“I don’t think anything of the kind,” said Bart; “I think it’s been from a westerly direction, and that this is some part of Nova Scotia or Cape Breton.”

“Sure, an I agree with Tom,” said Pat, “about the wind, only I don’t think that this is Prince Edward’s Island; it’s too high--so it is--and it’s meself that wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it should turrun out to be the Magdalen Islands after all.”

“O, no,” said Bruce, “it’s too long in extent for the Magdalen Islands. I think it may be some part of the New Brunswick coast, perhaps Miramichi,--for it seems to me that the wind has generally come from the east.”

“So it seems to me,” said Arthur; “but, Bruce, an east wind couldn’t take us to Miramichi; it would bring us a good distance to the north of that, from the place where we were. It seems to me that this must be Gaspé,--and if so, we won’t be very far away from the Bay de Chaleur.”

“Well, well,” cried Pat, with a laugh, “sure it’s the whole surroundin coasts that we’ve gone over, so it is, an every one of us has put her in a different place from every one else. One comfort is, that some of us’ll have to be right, an so I’ll stick, so I will, to the Magdalen Islands, an if it is, why sure we’re certain of good intertainment, so we are, ivery one of us.”

“Well, boys,” said Bruce, cheerily, “perhaps, after all, this is about the best thing that could have happened to us.”

“I don’t see why,” said Tom.

“Why, you know the very reason that Captain Corbet went away was to get sails to bring this ship to some land. The very thing we all wanted was to get her to some land. Well, here we’ve been drifting along, and now, lo and behold! here is the land that we wanted to reach.”

“Yes; but how can we get her to any port? We’ve got no sails, and we can’t steer her.”

“O, when we get nearer, some pilots or fishermen will come off.”

“Yes; but will they be salvors too?” asked Phil, anxiously.

“Certainly not,” said Bruce, in a lofty tone; “they shall be nothing of the kind. We’ll hire them to help us bring her into port. We’ll pay them liberally, of course.”

“Yes,” said Bart, “and we won’t let Captain Corbet’s absence make any difference. He shall have his share all the same--for his not being here isn’t his fault.”

“My idea is,” said Arthur, “that we’d better make a contribution, call it the Corbet Baby Fund, and add it to his share for the sake of old times, and all that sort of thing.”

“Our profits,” Bruce went on to say, in the same lofty tone, “will depend very largely upon the sort of place we can bring the ship to. If this is Miramichi, they ought to be very large,--in fact, the ship’ll bring as large a price there as anywhere; but if it’s the Magdalen Islands, why, of course we can’t expect to do quite so well. Still we ought to do well in almost any case.”

“I should like to know how we can get word to Captain Corbet again,” said Arthur. “I’m afraid he’ll feel anxious about us.”

“O, that’s easy enough,” said Bruce. “On landing, we can telegraph to the Magdalen Islands, and they’ll get word to him somehow.”

“But there isn’t any cable to the Magdalen Islands.”

“Doesn’t the Newfoundland cable pass by there?”

“O, no.”

“O, well, we’ll telegraph to various places, and he’ll be sure to hear sooner or later.”

“I wonder what’s become of him?” said Phil.

“I dare say he’s cruising about the gulf everywhere, asking every vessel he meets about us.”

“I only hope, then, he’ll meet with more vessels than we have.”

“It’s a very curious thing that we haven’t seen any vessels.”

“O, I suppose we’ve drifted out of the way of the fishing vessels and the timber ships. I dare say the fishing vessels keep generally to the same places, for fishes must be more abundant in some spots than in others, and, as to the timber ships, they try to keep as much as possible in one given course.”

“I wonder whether we’re drifting towards that land, or past it.”

“O, well, we didn’t see it yesterday, and we do see it to-day, which proves that we have drifted towards it during the night; and from this it follows that we will be likely to continue drifting towards it. When we get pretty close we must contrive to get some of the fishermen on the coast to help us; but I don’t suppose there’ll be any trouble about that. They’ll all come piling on board as soon as they catch sight of us, and see our situation.”

“I wonder what sort of people they are,” said Phil. “Along some of these shores they don’t bear the best of characters. Some of the fishing population are given to wrecking.”