“Well, for my part,” said Arthur, “I can’t sit here and leave them to their fate. I believe they are in a fix, and consequently I intend to go off to hunt them up.”
“So will I,” said Phil.
“Well, of course, if you go, I’ll go too,” said Bruce.
“So will I,” said Tom; “though I don’t believe there’s the slightest necessity. Bart and Pat’ll turn up somewhere about noon, and find us gone. They’ll then go off in search of us. Well, it’ll amount to the same thing in the end, and so, perhaps, it’s the best way there can be of filling up the time.”
“I wonder if the Antelope’s got back,” said Bruce.
“I don’t know.”
“Suppose we go down and talk it over with Captain Corbet.”
“All right.”
With these words the boys rose from the breakfast table, and went down to the wharf. As they approached they saw the Antelope lying there at her former berth; for she had arrived about an hour before, and had come here.
“Wal, boys,” said he, as he saw them, “here we air once more, jined together as before; though whether you did well in a desertin of the ship in mid-ocean is a pint that I don’t intend to decide. You might as well have turned into your old quarters aboard, an slep calm an comfortable, instead of rowin six or eight mile by night. However, you don’t none o’ you look any the wuss for it, an so we’ll let bygones be bygones. Ony I’m pleased, likewise relieved, to see you here, instead of havin to larn that you’re among the missin, an probably roamin the seas in a open boat. An where, may I ask, air Bart and Pat?”
The answer to this question plunged the good Corbet from the comfort in which he had settled himself, down into the depths of anxiety and worriment.
“What! Not back yit?” he said. “You don’t say so. Is this railly so?”
“Yes.”
“What! all yesterday, an all last night?”
“Yes.”
“An no word of partin—and no directions as to where they went, an when they’d return?”
“Not a word.”
“An nobody seen them go?”
“No.”
“An nobody’s seen anythin of them at all?”
“No, nothing.”
“An you don’t even know whether they’re in danger or safety?”
“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.”
“O, there’s lots of wind now.”
“But it mightn’t last.”
“Then, if it don’t, we can take to the boat.”
“What, our little row-boat?”
“Yes; why not?”
“Why, we can’t go any distance in her; she’s too small.”
“O, let’s get a whaler,” said Arthur, “and then we’ll be ready for wind or calm.”
“Well,” said Bruce, “if I thought that Bart and Pat were really out anywhere in the bay, I’d say, take a whaler; but as I consider this expedition a wild-goose chase, I go in for comfort, and vote for the Antelope.”
“Well, we won’t do anything; that’s all; and if they are in danger, we’ll be sorry for it.”
“O, I’ll run the risk.”
“We’re a tie,” said Phil. “Let’s give Captain Corbet the casting vote. Come, captain, what do yon say about it? Do you think they’re on land or water? and do you advise a whaler or the Antelope?”
“Me?” said Captain Corbet, mournfully. “Me? Wal, for my part, I’ve come to believe the wust. I believe them two air at this moment on some lone rock of the deep, gazin in despair upon the waste of water, and lookin wildly in all directions for help. And so it ever hath been, and ever shall be. Amen. For my part, I’m free to say, that I never see, nor never hear tell of, nor never even dreamt of the likes of you. If you get out of my sight for one moment, you’re sure to be engaged in reskin your lives about nothin. An I’ll give up. If Providence restores them two, I hereby declar solemn, that it’s my fixed intention to start right straight off for hum; never to stop at one single place, nor even to go near any land, till I touch the wharf at Grand Pré. What this here’s goin to end in beats me; and this last business doos beat my grandmother. As for you, I advise you to stick to the Antelope, and sail under the old flag. Them’s my sentiments.”
This advice of Captain Corbet was accepted as his decision, and so it was resolved to set off in the Antelope, and cruise round the bay. Such a search was, of course, not very promising; but Arthur and Phil had a vague idea that in the course of the cruise they would see the two missing ones making signals of distress from some lonely island, and that thus they might be rescued. As for Captain Corbet, he still remained melancholy, though not at all despairing; for though he insisted that the boys were in some danger, he yet believed that they would be rescued from it.
In the midst of this conversation, they were interrupted by the appearance of the landlord. He had just returned from that journey up the country, which had prevented him from accompanying them to Aspotogon on the previous day. He had learned at the inn the state of affairs, and had at once come down to the wharf. The boys, on the other hand, knowing that he had been up the country, thought it possible that he might have seen or heard something of their missing friends; and therefore, no sooner had he made his appearance, than they all hurried to meet him, and poured upon him a whole torrent of questions.
The landlord’s answer was a complete defeat of all their hopes. He had seen nothing of Bart and Pat, and had heard nothing of them. He had known nothing of their departure, and nothing of their absence, until a few moments before, on his arrival home. He himself had to question them to find out the facts of the case.
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