Part 11

Upon this Jiggins, and Muckle, and Pat started off after the clams. Before leaving the shore, they got some sticks to use for scraping up the sand, and then directed their steps toward the creek. The creek ran through the middle of the cove, and on each side of it the wide flats extended up to the shore. These, toward the lower part of the cove, were formed of soft mud, but at the upper part they consisted of sand, in which appeared a multitude of little holes, which are generally called breathing-holes, about these parts, under the impression that they serve this purpose for the clams. By digging where these little holes are seen, the clams may be found buried in the sand and mud.

Toward the upper place they walked rapidly and eagerly, and looked anxiously around for the “breathing-holes.”

“Here,” said Muckle. “There are lots here.”

Both went toward where he stood.

“See,” said he, pointing to the sand, which was dotted with little holes all around the place where they were standing.

“That,” said Muckle, “is a sure sign.”

“So it is,” said Jiggins.

“Well, let’s go in.”

“An’ is there oysters here, too?” asked Pat.

“No; only clams.”

“It’s sorry I am for that same, thin. Oysters are a dale betther.”

“O, clams ain’t bad,” said Muckle, “when you can’t get oysters. So pitch in, Jiggins.”

And Muckle, taking his stick, began to scoop up the sand.

Jiggins began to do the same; and for some time both worked diligently.

“Pooh!” said Jiggins, at last. “That stick’s no good.”

“No good? Why not?”

“It won’t hold the sand.”

“Mine does very well.”

“Well, I might as well have nothing. It’s like trying to eat rice with a chopstick, Chinese fashion. I’m going to try another plan.”

“What’s that?”

“Why, like the hens. I’m going to scratch for my food,” said Jiggins. “What were fingers made for?”

And saying this, he began scratching up the sand.

“Bedad! an’ if you’re the hen, I’ll be the chicken, an’ ate what you scratch up.”

“Will you?” asked Jiggins.

“I will thin.”

“Whatever I scratch up?”

“Yes--if they’re clams.”

“But you’ll have to eat them raw.”

“Well, sure it’s raw I mane.”

“Why, man alive, it’ll make you sick.”

“I’ll risk it. Sick is it? Not a bit of it.”

“Did you ever eat any raw clams, Pat?”

“Av coorse. Why not? and raw oysters, too.”

“Well, you won’t blame me?”

“Is it blame? Not a bit of it. Niver fare.”

“O, well, I’ll scratch for you then.”

“Go ahead, thin.”

So Jiggins began, and scratched for some time.

“Here’s your first clam,” said he, throwing out one to Pat.

Pat opened it, and swallowed it with extraordinary celerity.

“Doesn’t that look as if I knowed how?” said he, biting off the black tip of the clam, and throwing it down. “Scratch them along, my boy.”

“All right; here’s another.”

“An’ here’s to your very good health, an’ long life to ye,” said Pat, as he swallowed it.

“Here’s another--and here--and here--and here, too--and here’s three.”

“Faith, thin, the more the merrier, and it’s meself that’s glad to see thim same,” said Pat, as he seized and opened them, one by one, and sent them flying after the others.

“How do you feel now?” asked Jiggins, after he had scratched for some time.

“Sure I feel better than iver; an’ why not?”

“All right. Here are some more. Go it, Pat.”

“Go it it is,” said Pat, seizing the clams with undiminished avidity, and devouring them.

“Here’s more, Pat. Don’t blame me if you see the ghost of your grandmother in your dreams tonight. And here’s more. Don’t blame me if you have the gripes, and have to stand on your head all night.”

“Niver you fare for me; but you go on wid yer scratching an’ let me ate in pace.”

The clams now came forth fast and furious. Muckle had found a place filled with them, and had heaped up his basket. Jiggins had a large pile on the sand, in front of which Pat had taken his station, and was vainly trying to keep up with Jiggins. But it was impossible, for Jiggins had found large numbers closely packed together.

“What’s the matter over there?” said Muckle. “Have you filled your basket, Jiggins?”

“Not yet. I’m busy filling Pat,” said Jiggins. “Hallo, Pat, you’re slow about it.”

“Niver fare. Slow is it? Thin I’ll be up wid ye before long. On’y give me time, as the schoolmaster said when they wor examinin’ him on the alphabet.”

“All right. But while I’m waiting, I’ll put these in the basket,” said Jiggins; and he began to fill his basket from the pile.

“How can I ate them when you’re putting them in the basket?” said Pat.

“I’ll dig up plenty more--enough to keep you going.”

But Jiggins was tired; and after digging up some more he found the sand tinged red. To his amazement he saw that his nails were worn away, and were now bleeding. His fingers’ ends began to smart with acute pain, and he was compelled to desist.

“I think I’ll be off,” said he. “Pat, you may eat from the basket.”

“From the basket, is it? Not a bit of it,” said Pat; “I’ll only eat from your scratching.”

“I’ve scratched the basket full for you, and that’s enough. In fact it’s too much,” he added, as he felt fresh stings on his finger tips. “Besides, I’ve my doubts about it.”

“Yer doubts, is it? and again? An’ what for this time?”

“Well, you see, I’m afraid it’s not altogether fair to you.”

“You’re a quare bird, wid yer doubts, an’ that’s all about it,” said Pat.

They then went back to the bank, where a bright fire was burning, and the pot was all ready, with sea-water boiling in it. Into this they threw the clams; and sitting down around the fire, they waited.

Pat sat in silence. There was a peculiar expression on his face. He grew moody and preoccupied. Frequent sighs escaped him.

“What’s the matter, Pat?” asked Jiggins.

“O, nothin’.”

Pat struggled against his secret grief most valiantly, but soon he could struggle no longer. A deep groan burst from him, and he fell back doubled up and writhing. His face was deadly pale, and big drops of perspiration stood on his brow. In his pain he rolled over and over, and moans and low cries escaped him.

“It’s the clams!” cried Jiggins. “O, I knew it. I had my doubts about it all the time.”

“What can we do?” cried Johnny.

“We’ll have to get him up to Captain Pratt’s,” said Muckle:

But for a long time they could do nothing. He writhed and struggled so that he could not be moved. At last Johnny Blue ran up for Mrs. Pratt. The good lady came down with a basket full of infallible remedies, and tended poor Pat for some time. At last he was easier, and they managed to get him up to the house, and put him in bed.

Jiggins went back with the others, and finished the clams. All were silent except Jiggins, who, every little while, would solemnly shake his head, and slowly ejaculate--

“It was _not_ right. No, boys, it was _not_ right. I felt so, for I had my doubts about it all the time.”

One thing surprised Mrs. Pratt when she was administering to Pat’s woes on the bank; and that was, the very savory smell of that clam stew which was simmering in a pot behind the bushes. She could not understand it, but concluded that it must be some great delicacy among the vessel’s stores lying on the bank, which had so very fragrant an odor. Afterward, when her mind was less preoccupied,--when Pat had been well rubbed, and poulticed, and blistered, and plied with herb tea, and all those other medicaments which the “medicine women” of the rural districts love so well; after all this had been attended to, then she began to think once more about that fragrant odor. And gradually, as she thought about it, there arose in her mind a conjecture as to what that odor might have arisen from; and the conjecture gathered itself inseparably around the idea of--“clams.”

To Mrs. Pratt that thought was a momentous one.

For what did that involve?

It meant that there was danger abroad,--danger which impended over the young charges committed to her, and which she must counteract. It meant that some of them had been eating clams in the month of May--an act which, in her estimation, might produce consequences which could only be called terrible.

In the face of this great possible danger, Mrs. Pratt gathered herself up, and prepared to meet it boldly. Already all her doctoring instincts had been roused into full play by the case of Pat, and having begun a good work, it was not easy to stop abruptly. She had got her hand in, as the saying is, and she wanted to finish her work. It did not take long for her to come to the stern conclusion that the work must be fully completed.

So she first of all brought forth her little store of medicaments of all kinds, and ranged them on the kitchen table. They presented a formidable show. There were,--

1 bottle Mint tea.

1 “ Essence of peppermint. 1 “ Ginger extract. 1 “ Cayenne pepper extract. 1 “ Paregoric. 1 “ Rum and onions. 1 “ Sulphur and molasses. 1 “ Sour cream. 1 “ Eye wash. 1 “ Pratt’s pain killer.. 1 “ Hemlock water. 1 “ Tar water. 1 “ Poppy juice. 1 “ Essence of smoko. 1 “ Brandy and salt. 1 “ Castor oil. 1 “ Camomile water. 1 “ Mineral water. 1 “ Pratt’s antidote. 1 “ Hair wash. 1 “ Ear wash. 1 “ Toothache drops. 1 “ Creosote. 1 “ Rowland’s Macassar oil. 1 “ Cocoaine.

1 bottle Salt and treacle. 1 “ Antibilions mixture. 1 “ Arnica. 1 “ Opodeldoc. 1 “ Hartshorn. 1 “ Aromatic vinegar. 1 “ Sweet oil. 1 “ Benzine. 1 “ Grease eradicator. 1 “ Lye. 1 “ Tobacco water. 1 “ Wild honey. 1 “ Lime juice. 1 “ Alcohol. 1 “ Cod liver oil. 1 “ Neats foot oil.

In addition to these, she had,--

1 parcel Wormwood. 1 “ Camomile flowers, 1 “ Cardamum seeds. 1 “ Birch bark. 1 “ Spruce gum. 1 “ Bosin. 1 “ Dandelion. 1 “ Elm bark. 1 “ Elder berries. 1 “ Hops. 1 “ Gum arabic. 1 “ Catnip.

1 parcel Spearmint. 1 “ Peppermint. 1 “ Beeswax. 1 “ Boot ginger. 1 “ Cloves. 1 “ Alum. 1 “ Magnesia. 1 “ Balm of Giles 1 “ Horseradish. 1 “ Flagroot. 1 “ Sarsaparilla. 1 “ Sassafras. 1 “ Soap. 1 pot Pomatum. 1 box Lard. 1 bundle Lint. 1 parcel Senna. 1 pot Mucilage. 1 parcel Salts. 1 “ Cotton wool. 1 “ Diachylon. 1 pot Mustard. 1 parcel Calomel. 1 box Blue pills. 1 “ Cantharides. 1 “ Garlic. 1 “ White lead.

And a great many other things, which had accumulated in her closet, and which she now brought forth for the especial benefit of the four boys. Having selected some from among these, she sat calmly awaiting their return.

When the boys came back from the bank,--. where they had been enjoying their clam stew,--. this was the sight that greeted their eyes on entering the kitchen: a table filled with bottles and vials, another table filled with parcels and bundles, and on the floor jugs, boxes, kegs, firkins, and bags, in the midst of all of which sat Mrs. Pratt, with her eyes gleaming, from behind her spectacles, upon them, and an expression of benevolent yet unshakable resolution upon her face.

The boys entered one by one, and took their seats, looking suspiciously around. There was something in the general appearance of things which did not altogether satisfy them.

“Ehem--ehe-e-em!” said Jiggins, at last, to whom the suspense was becoming intolerable.

A long silence followed.

“Ehem!” he remarked again; but Mrs. Pratt made no answer.

“Ehe-e-em!” he remarked a third time. “Is--ah--is Pat--ah--any better?”

“Considerable,” said Mrs. Pratt. “Yes, _con_siderable.”

“That’s right--that’s good. I feel very much relieved. I’ve blamed myself very much for letting him do as he did.”

Mrs. Pratt gave a long sigh.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You all had clams, as well as he. You had a clam stew. Why should he suffer more’n you’ns?”

The boys started, and looked at one another. How in the world had Mrs. Pratt found out about the clams? They felt uneasy at first, but soon recollected that, after all, cooking clams was no harm. So they regained their courage.

“Why, you see,” said Jiggins, at last, “it was different with Pat. We had them cooked, but he ate them raw.”

“And you think that makes any difference,” said Mrs. Pratt, grimly.

“Why, certainly--of course,” said Jiggins, looking at Mrs. Pratt anxiously; while all the other boys stared at her in dire anticipation of some fearful disclosure.

“Not a mite,” said Mrs. Pratt. “There isn’t a mite of difference between you,--_all_ of you, mind, and him,--on’y he was kind o’ took bad at onst, an’ you’re a waitin’. Let me sec. How long is it since you finished eatin’?”

“O, only a few minutes,” said Jiggins, nervously.

“Well, I supposed so. Ye-ry well,” repeated Mrs. Pratt, in the tone of a cool physician, who feels gratified when a disease takes the form he suspected, even when it is attended with pain and danger to the patient. “Yes, that’s it; and now can you remember how long a time it was after Pat had done eating the raw clams to the fust pain he felt?”

The boys looked in fearful anxiety at one another, and then all eyes turned to Jiggins. He turned pale, and all the expression of his face changed to one dismal blank.

“Can’t any of you remember?” repeated Mrs. Pratt. “How long was it?”

“Well--as near as I can remember,” said Jig-gins, in a faltering voice, “it’s--about--I should think--somewhere near--perhaps--the neighborhood of half an hour--that is, more or less.”

“About half an hour. I thought so,” said Mrs. Pratt, remorselessly.

“Somewhere about that,” said Jiggins.

“Till he felt his fust pains?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Pratt, with a benevolent smile, “somewhere about half an hour from this you’ll feel the same.”

She paused, and watched the effect of this fearful announcement.

The effect was powerful. Four pale faces looked, with awful eyes, at her, and at one another. Not a word was spoken in reply.

“Yes, every one of you. You’ve all eaten, I s’pose.”

Jiggins nodded mournfully.

“And plenty, too.”

Another nod.

“Very well. You’ll have it hot and heavy, mind I tell you. Pat will be beginning to feel quite comfortable just as you begin to get took.”

“But--but,” ‘said Jiggins, rousing himself despairingly, “I thought--that is, I always heard--that clams were good stewed--and I never heard that even raw clams were bad, except when you took too many of them.”

“Shows how your parients neglected your edication,” said Mrs. Pratt, loftily. “They didn’t understand the natur’ of the clam, certain. It isn’t the cooking, or the not cooking, of the clam that makes it so dangerous; it’s the clam itself--or rather, the clam at this season of the year. That’s what makes it dangerous.”

“This season of the year? Why, what’s that got to do with it?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of that? Dear! dear! dear! An’ yet you go to the Academy, and don’t know about clams. Dear! dear! dear!”

“They don’t teach about clams there,” said Jiggins, morosely.

“So you don’t know the danger there is in eating them now.”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll tell you--they’re _pison!_”

“Poison!” ejaculated the others, in horror at the thrilling whisper in which Mrs. Pratt hurled this word at them.

“Yes, _pison!_ Hain’t you ever heerd the old lines,

‘In the months without the “R,”

Clams a deadly pison are’?

That means May, June, July, and August. Another verse, says,

‘In August, May, July, and June,

All shell fishes lead to ruin.’

That means, you see, that in the summer months these things are as bad as pison.”

“What shall we do?” cried Jiggins, after a long, despairing silence, in which these fearful words sank deep into the hearts of all. “What shall we do?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Pratt, with a benevolent smile, “you’d ort ter be thankful that you’ve got me. I am jest the person to treat your case. I’ve got the medicine all ready. If you take it in time, you may avoid trouble. As there’s only been a few minutes sence you ate the pison clams, p’raps you may get off without much pain. I’ve jest got some herb tea, some drinks of different kinds, some mustard poultices, and two or three more mixtures for you. I won’t bleed any of you if I can help it. Only jest give yourselves up to me, and trust to me. But there must be no delay. I have the mixtures all ready.”

Saying this, Mrs. Pratt rose like an ogress, and advanced upon the unhappy boys. Filled with fears of poison, looking upon her as their only safety, they made no resistance, but swallowed, one by one, the nauseous mixtures which were given. And still she stood over them, talking about the danger before them, and forcing upon them more medicaments.

Then came the mustard plasters.

But enough. Let us draw a curtain over the sufferings of the unhappy four.

XVI.

_New Hopes and Plans.--A Sail!--A bitter Disappointment.--A hazardous Adventure, and a Fright.--Quilts for Togas.--Another tremendous Casualty._

THERE, on the top of the bank, sat the five boys of the “B. O. W. C.,” waiting patiently. “Only an hour more, boys,” repeated Bruce. “Well, if they don’t come, we’ll survive it,” said Bart.

“I suppose we shall start off at once, if they don’t come.”

“Yes, as soon as the tide begins to fall.”

“I wonder if it will carry the schooner with it.”

“I think that it will.”

“Perhaps it will leave it aground.”

“All right. That will be so much the better for us. It would be a pity to lose the schooner so soon.”

“O, she won’t be lost.”

“Yes, she will. What’ll prevent her? She’ll be carried ashore on some rocks and broken to pieces, or she’ll drift out into the Bay of Fundy.”

“O, she has other chances in her favor. She may drift on some mud-flat like this, or she may be picked up on the basin, or, if she does get out into the Bay of Fundy, she may get picked up there.”

“That may be; but, after all, it’ll be hard on Corbet; and he’s rather poor.”

“It’ll serve him right,” exclaimed Tom Crawford. “He must have known that his anchor was broken.”

“Well, it certainly does serve him right, if he knew that; but he’s a careless fellow, and I dare say he didn’t know anything about it.”

“I wonder where this coast goes?” asked Phil Kennedy.

“Well, it goes in two directions,” said Bart. “Which way do you mean?”

“The right.”

“O, that goes to Parrsboro’ Village; the left leads up to Pratt’s Cove.”

“How do you know?”

“I can’t tell just where Pratt’s Cove is, but I know the direction in which it must lie from here,” said Bart. “You can tell that by seeing the way the Five Islands lie toward us. If they come for us, they’ll have to come from behind that headland.”

“I wonder if they’ll come by land or water.”

“I don’t see how they can come by land.”

“There’s a road, I suppose.”

“O, ever so far back. How could any one find anything about us on the road? No; they’ll come by water, so as to find us either afloat or ashore.”

“There isn’t any boat at all in Pratt’s Cove.”

“O, there must be other coves near, where they can get other boats.”

“It will be hard for us, if they don’t happen to have a boat.”

“O, they’ll get one.”

“And meanwhile we must act for ourselves; for I don’t believe they’ll get one to-day, at any rate.”

“Yes, we may as well prepare for an expedition along the coast.”

“Shall we separate, or go together?”

“O, together, by all means. But, hallo! what’s that?”

At this exclamation from Bart, all looked where his eyes were turned.

“A schooner!” they cried; “a schooner! There they come! Hurrah, boys! we’re all right.” Instantly every one sprang to his feet. “Come, boys, take off your shirts,” said Bruce, as he pulled off his own. “Let’s get ready a supply of red bunting to make signals to them.” Instantly all of them tore off their shirts, and waved them wildly from the top of the bank.

Yes, it was a schooner. It had come thus suddenly upon them as they were talking; and even though they had been on the constant lookout, yet its appearance had startled them all. It was twice as large as the Antelope, of a bright green color; its masts were yellow, and its sails beautifully neat. Spreading its snow-white wings to the breeze, it came bounding over the waves from behind the headland, and directed its course in toward the shore.

“She’s not heading for us at all,” said Bruce. “If she keeps on in that direction, she’ll be a mile down beyond us before we know it.”

“She don’t see us,” said Bart.

“Wave your signals, then! Ah, what a pity we hadn’t a good signal-post!”

“I’ll climb a tree,” said Phil, looking around.

“There isn’t any tree fit for the purpose. The highest ones are hidden by the smaller ones in front. This is as conspicuous a place as we can find.”

Meanwhile the schooner kept on at an angle with them, and pursued her way without taking any notice’ of them, heading toward a point far down to the right of the place where they were standing.

With a face of stern determination, and the air of a captain of a battery, Bart drew his pistol.

“I’ll fire,” said he, solemnly.

The next instant, bang! or, rather, pop! went the pistol.

But the schooner took not the smallest notice even of that overpowering demonstration. On the contrary, it kept straight on without altering its course.

“They’re blind, and deaf, too; and that’s all about it,” cried Phil Kennedy, in deep disgust.

“I wonder what’s the matter with them,” said Bruce. “They don’t keep a very good lookout, or they’d surely see us. There’s red flannel enough here to be seen five miles off.”

“I wonder who is steering.”

“I wonder who those two chaps are in the bow. Can it be Bogud and the mate?”

“I wonder who that old boy in a pea-jacket can be? It surely can’t be Mr. Simmons?”

“It’s Captain Corbet.”

“Nonsense! Captain Corbet is steering.”

“No, that’s the mate.”

“It isn’t, either. Don’t you see the mate on the bow?”

“That the mate! That’s Mr. Long.”

“Bah! Mr. Long don’t generally go in his shirtsleeves.”

“Why shouldn’t he? I s’pose he is helping the others. He’d just as soon take off his coat as not, if he had anything to do.”

“It isn’t Mr. Long, any way.”

But these wonders and conjectures were now interrupted by a movement on the part of the schooner. She had already gone beyond the spot where the boys were standing, and had come to within half a mile of the beach. She now wore round. Flap went the sails! there was a quick movement on board, and then away she went on another tack, with her head turned toward the opposite shore.

“She’s leaving us!” cried Bruce, aghast.

For a few moments all stood in silent dismay. This was a thing which they were not prepared for. If no schooner had come at all, they could easily have borne up; but now, since one had come, they had not for a moment doubted their speedy deliverance. There was not hope, but certainty, in her appearance. But now this was dashed to the ground, and the reaction was extreme.

Bart was the first to break the silence.

“1 tell you what, boys,” he cried, “I don’t believe it was them at all.”

“O, yes, it was,” said Arthur. “I recognized Captain Corbet.”

“No; you may depend upon it, you were utterly mistaken. Why, do you suppose, if they were after us, they would have come and gone so coolly? There wasn’t the slightest sign of any anxiety, or curiosity about them. If it had been our friends, they’d have seen our signals soon enough.”

“Yes, and the Antelope down there nearly ashore.”

“Well, I don’t know. But I certainly thought I recognized Captain Corbet.”

“I thought I saw Bogud.”

“Not a bit of it. They were strangers, and that accounts for everything.”

“And now,” said Tom, “all that we’ve got to do is to wait for a few minutes more, and then start.”