The Wonders of the upper Air.—Mr. Long calls upon the Boys for Help.—All Hands at hard Labor.—Captain Corbet on a Fence.—The Antelope comes to Grief.—Captain Corbet in the Grasp of the Law. Mr. Long to the Rescue.

THE next morning came. It was a glorious sunrise. Nowhere out of Italy, I think, can be seen such sunrises and sunsets as those of Grand Pré. And you may see all that can be presented by even Italy in every part of its varied outline—on the plain, on the mountain-top, or by the sea-side; you may’ traverse the Apennines, or wander by the Mediterranean shore, or look over the waste Campagna, and yet never find anything that can surpass those atmospheric effects which may be witnessed along the shores that surround the Basin of Minas. Here may be found that which would fill the soul of the poet or artist—the dreamy haze, the soft and voluptuous calm, the glory of the sunlit sky, the terror of the storm, the majesty of giant cloud masses piled up confusedly, the rainbow tints cast by the rising or setting sun over innumerable clouds.

The sun now arose from out a congregated mass of clouds, and threw a dull red glow over all the east. Above the wide plains of Grand Pré there hung dense exhalations which had risen through the night from the dike lands, and were now waiting to be dissipated. The valley of Cornwallis lay slumbrous and dreamy in a thin haze which rose above it, and in the distance the black outline of the North Mountain peered obscurely. The broad bosom of the Basin of Minas had a peculiar tinge, for, seen through the land mist and the distant haze, it was perfectly calm and unruffled, and the hue of its surface seemed milk-white; and this milk-white flood lay embosomed amid shores of gray, which deepened as they came nearer into black. And here at this time, as always, the centre of the scene, as much the controller of the Basin of Minas as Vesuvius is the monarch of the Bay of Naples,—black, frowning, indistinct,—Blomidon rose, and seemed to gather to himself the intensest shades of darkness. The fog from the Bay of Fundy projected itself through the Strait of Minas far into the Basin, while over the crest of the giant cliff, piled up in yast confused masses, heap, over heap, like the mountains reared by the fabled Titans, there arose a tremendous accumulation of clouds.

At first all the east was red; and over the land mist, and over the hazy valley, and over the milk-white sea, there came a dull glow, which made the scene resemble some place that is illumined by the glare of some vast conflagration. But the moments passed, and the sun climbed higher, and the dull glow of the red changed to a more vivid hue. The glare of that rising sun, still red, yet vivid, and penetrating, and more and more luminous as it rose above the clouds, flung itself over all the scene. The long clouds that stretched over the east spread across the sky like bars of ruddy gold. A flame seemed to light up all the land mists that rolled over the dikes of Grand Pré. A luminous haze hung like a mantle of glory over Cornwallis. The milk-white sea grew all tinged with a brilliant pink, and the distant shores, once dark gray deepening into black, now became purple. The form of Blomidon changed from its ebon hue to a deep indigo, while the haze over its crest had the tinge of flame. Far overhead, as they rose piled up into the sky, the clouds caught the lustre of that sunrise. They shimmered and quivered, as, blown by the wind, they rolled along, receiving every moment in a new direction the rays of the sun; they grew from pale pink to ruddiness, and from ruddiness to vermilion, and from vermilion to the dazzle of a golden lustre, till there arose before the view a heaped-up mass, presenting the reality of all that has ever been imagined of the splendors of Cloud-land; an aerial scene, where deep down there lay a dull red foundation, on which arose a cloud-built pyramid of pink, of vermilion, and of gold.

But all these passed. These effects were only momentary. In an instant each shifting scene had vanished, leaving only the remembrance of its glory. The sun climbed higher, the land mists grew gray, the haze faded out, the sea surface became blue, Blomidon changed to dark olive, the clouds above lost all their splendor in a leaden color, and at last, as the sun attained a greater height, it shone from a blue sky upon a blue sea, with its circle of green shores, from which fog, and mist, and cloud were all rapidly hurrying away.

The “B. O. W. C.” joined the company at the breakfast table that morning with visible signs of weariness and exhaustion. They had been up too late; they had worked too hard, at an unaccustomed labor; and they had been subject to a very strong excitement. They said nothing, however, and none of their schoolmates noticed anything peculiar about them. They were very anxious to learn whether any of the boys had been concerned in the trick which they believed had been played upon them; but the perfect unconsciousness as to the events of the past night which was evinced by all their companions showed most plainly that they, at least, could have had nothing whatever to do with it. In order to make assurance doubly sure, they talked separately and individually with each of them, so as to see if there were any lurking signs of an acquaintance with their midnight adventure. But the result of this examination confirmed the opinion which they had formed before, and they all concluded that if there had been a trick, none of the boys of the school had anything to do with it. One conclusion only remained—it must be the Gaspereaugians 5

Nine o’clock was the hour for assembling in the class-room; but before that hour Mr. Long appeared in the yard of the Academy, where most of the boys were gathered, and collected together all those who had gone with him on the late expedition. There was evidently something on his mind. The small boys could see this, and they all joined the throng, till at length every boy in the place had assembled there.

Mr. Long’s business was soon explained. It was about that stone wall which he had caused to be appropriated to furnish ballast for the Antelope. He had heard that the owner of the wall had been vowing vengeance during their absence, and was extremely anxious to have it all replaced. But the trouble was, he could not get any laborers. All the farmers about were hard at work in their fields, and all the seafaring men had gone to Boston with potatoes. He was therefore in a very awkward position. So he had taken counsel with Dr. Porter, and with his consent determined to get the assistance of the boys. They had put the stones in very easily, and it seemed equally easy for them to take them all out again and replace them. Of course some reward would be needed as a stimulus. In putting them in they had been stimulated by the hope of going on the expedition. Something equally attractive would be needed as an inducement for them to take them out. So Mr. Long and Dr. Porter had thought of something which would supply this required inducement, and the former now appeared to make known the result to the boys.

It was this. He invited all the boys to come and help him in this work of unloading the ballast and replacing the stone wall, and promised them, as a reward, the continuation of their holidays for the remainder of the week.

At this there was but one response. It came in the shape of a wild hurrah. Unload the vessel? Yes, and a dozen vessels. Holidays? more hoik days? What wouldn’t they do to get them? How lucky it was that all the farm laborers were hard at work, and all the sailors were off to Boston! What a valuable and interesting plant was the potato, which had thus thrown in their way the chance to earn holidays for themselves! So hurrah, boys! and hurrah! again! Stone walls? Build them? Why, we’ll build a dozen to get more holidays!

So they thought, and so they talked, and so they shouted, and thus convinced Mr. Long of the success of his experiment. Not only all of the late voyageurs accompanied him to the Antelope, but all the small boys also, every one of them; in fact, the whole school went down, every one eager to do something, so as to earn his holiday. It was not labor—it was a frolic. It was fun for them; and it was singular to see the effect which this proposal produced upon the “B. O. W. C.” Before this they had been wearied, exhausted, fagged out, in fact, used up, by their laborious exertions and the tremendous excitement of the past night, together with the loss of their usual sleep. But now, at the prospect of more holidays, they roused themselves; all their energies were at once excited; they forgot in a moment all their past exertions, with the sleeplessness that had resulted, and felt as much vigor as though they had slept for ten hours, instead of five.

Down they all went, therefore, to where the Antelope lay; and the procession, although not quite so grotesque as on a former occasion, was still sufficiently striking to attract considerable attention from the villagers. First of all went Mr. Long, alone; for Mr. Simmops did not feel inclined to go. He was busy preparing his lessons for the boys. After the leader followed the elder boys, who had been on the expedition; then came a confused crowd of small boys. They didn’t walk in military order exactly; in fact, they had no order at all, and if it must be confessed, they were somewhat disorderly; at any rate, they beguiled that inarch by playing at leap-frog, or riding on one another’s backs, or doing something else equally striking to the village mind, all the way down.

At last they arrived at the scene of action. Mr. Long put Bruce and Jiggins, who were the largest boys in the school, into the hold of the schooner, to lift out the stones, and then ranged a double line of boys, of all sizes, between the schooner and the place where the stone wall had formerly been.

He then took Arthur, Billymack, Pat, and Bart as his assistants, and stood by the wall to build it up again with the stones from the Antelope. He himself worked with his own hands in building up the wall, and directed his assistants. There were a great many stones; but, then, there were a great many hands at work; and so, at last, after violent labor, which, however, was all the time cheered and alleviated by the prospect of additional holidays, the work was completed. Once more the stone wall arose, quite as good as it had been before, and, in fact, even better, on the spot whence it had been taken; and so vigorously had the nimble hands worked, and so skilfully had Mr. Long and his assistants piled up the stones, that they were able to go back to the hills to take their dinner, with the happy consciousness,—first, that they had earned holidays for the remainder of the week; and secondly, that the stone wall was a far better one, as they had built it, than it had been when it was taken away. So Mr. Long said, as he expressed his thanks for their labors, and his deep gratification at the fair result; and so they all felt as they looked at that wall, which, though built by the hands of amateurs, was still far better in every respect than the older portions, the work of other hands, that stood beside it.

For the remainder of the day the boys were all too wearied to engage in any play. The “B. O. W. C.,” in particular, were exhausted from their double toil. They spent the afternoon together in Bart’s room, talking over the events of that memorable evening when they had dug for money. Solomon, since then, had kept out of sight. They themselves did not feel at all inclined to reproach him. Their thoughts did not refer at all to him, nor to Captain Corbet, but rather to that unearthly noise which had driven them to a disgraceful flight. Most of them thought that it was a trick of the Gaspereaugians. Bruce alone rejected this theory, and plainly stated his belief that it was something supernatural. If it had been the Gaspereaugians, he argued, would they have left us unmolested after we went back? No. It was because we did not dig that we were let alone. If we had begun to dig again, and if we had struck that metallic box again, then we should have heard that roar, and something a good deal worse.

But this was only Bruce’s opinion; none of the others held it. They were convinced that it was the trick of the Gaspereaugians, and were eager to find ont some way of retaliating on their enemies; but they could not imagine any way in which to do it.

The hours of the day passed on, and late in the afternoon they went out for a walk. Not having any particular route in view, they strolled down through the village, and very naturally directed their steps towards Mud Creek, so as to take another look at the Antelope, and particularly at that stone fence which had cost them so much labor, and blistered all the hands in the school.

On reaching the spot a startling sight met their eyes. There, perched upon the very stone wall which they had assisted to build, with his arms folded round his knees, and his chin pressed upon the same, with his whole figure drawn up into the smallest compass into which it is possible for the human frame to gather itself, they saw a familiar shape, the sight of which, as they saw it in such an attitude, startled them extremely.

It was no other than Captain Corbet. Drawn up thus, folding thus his knees with his arms, leaning thus his chin upon his knees, he came before their startled vision; but he himself was quite unconscious of their presence. His face was turned to the scene which presented itself before him, and his eyes were fixed upon that scene to the exclusion of all other things; and they, as they came up behind him, saw gradually what that scene was.

Since they had been there last, the tide had reached its height, and had fallen. Mud Creek now lay before them perfectly empty of water, and presenting to their view an expanse of nothing else except soft, slimy, slippery, oleaginous mud, which now spread away in an impassable gulf, and showed the justice and the truth of that uneuphonious name. But the vast abyss of soft, slimy, and oleaginous mud, and the wide impassable valley composed thereof, and the rise and the fall of these extraordinary tides, were not the attractions which riveted the gaze of Captain Corbet, and the eyes of the boys of the “B. O. W. C.,” as they drew nearer. It was something far different—something, in fact, which touched them all, in common, with a deep feeling of sorrow,—a feeling which was strong enough to make Captain Corbet unconscious of the presence of any except himself, and to make the boys stop short in their advance, and look on in deep but mournful silence.

For there, just before them, and just before the entranced gaze of Captain Corbet, lay the Antelope. She was lying on her side, down the steep slope of mud, as though with the falling tide she had rolled over to her ruin and destruction. There she lay, with her side buried deep in the soft mud, her masts pointing downwards; buried there, and so firmly fixed in that burial-place, that the next rising tide would only seem to complete her hopeless ruin. There she lay, doomed and devoted to destruction,—the dear old Antelope, which had carried them safely through all their late adventures, and around which so many imperishable memories had fastened themselves. To these boys of the “B. O. W. C.,” who thus saw it in the peril of its last agonies, the Antelope was not a common schooner. It had carried them safely through adventures which were never to be forgotten. In it they had cruised over Minas Basin, they had visited the Five Islands, they had landed at Pratt’s Cove: in it they had drifted over the wide seas, they had run ashore, they had encountered perils without number; in it they had known joy and sorrow, plenty and famine, hope and despair; and this was the end—to see the dear old tub upset on the wrong side, and lying buried in Mud Creek before their eyes, awaiting its inevitable fate.

“O, Captain Corbet!” cried Bart, who hurried up first to the figure on the stone wall. “O, Captain Corbet! Can nothing be done to save her?”

Captain Corbet turned his face, and looked mildly, yet calmly upon the boys. His calmness extended itself to them, and they thought that it was the calmness of hope. In a moment their sorrow over the Antelope passed away.

But the words of Captain Corbet did not tend to inspire hope.

No shook his venerable head with deep solemnity.

“No,” said he, “nothen ken be done. You see, I hurried home to see the babby, an I didn’t fasten her right. She stood one tide all night, but it was on’y by chance. This here tide to-day has done for her. I’d orter hev tied her up proper—but it was all the babby. I clar’d out, tied her loose, an this here’s the result. Good by, old Antelope!—Hic jacet. There’s Lating for ye, boys,” he added, mournfully. “You’re studyin that at the Academy, an kin onderstand the feelins of the onhappy Corbit.”

“Don’t talk so, captain,” cried Bart. “We’ll help you. We got out all the ballast to-day. Come; can’t you think of some way to save her? Isn’t there any way? We’ll help you if you want help. We’ll wait here till the next tide, and get her righted.”

“No go—” said Captain Corbet.

“You give up too quick,” cried Bart, more earnestly than before. “Can’t something be done? We’ll help you, you know.”

Captain Corbet shook his head solemnly; then looking earnestly at the boys, he slowly ejaculated,—

“No go, boys; that there schooner’s a gone sucker!”

The tone in which Captain Corbet uttered these words was one of such quiet despair, that none of the boys had anything to say. They all felt that he knew best. Besides, he was most directly concerned in the loss of the Antelope, and if he gave up, then there was no hope for them. Then also they had offered their services, and Captain Corbet had declined them. What more could they do? Nothing more; that was evident. So they listened in mournful silence to his last words.

“Yes,” said Captain Corbet, impressively. She’s a gone sucker! An it was o’ny my fault. I’d ort to hev tied her up. But I didn’t. Cos why? Cos I hed to hurry off to the babby. It was the infant that called me off from my dooty to the schewner, an this here’s the end. Sarves me right. O’ny it’s a heavy loss, an I wouldn’t mind it if it was my loss. But ’tain’t my loss. It’s hisn. It’s the infant’s. And the wust of it is, the loss is total; for the schewner’s a gone sucker!”

“I see how it is,” he resumed, as the boys stood round him in respectful silence, full of sympathy for his loss,—“I see how it is. It’s the finger of Providence. You see,” he continued, with a deeper solemnity, “you see it’s intended to show me that I’m to devote myself altogether to the babby. I onst dug for gold—I ben warned off. I traversed the briny deep with potatoes—warned off again. This here’s what I call a warnin, an I take it as sich, an henceforth intend to give myself up to the babby. That’s about it.”

Captain Corbet then relapsed into silence, and once more fixed his abstracted gaze upon the lost schooner. The boys could do nothing, and full of respectful sympathy, they withdrew in silence, and returned to the hill.

It was almost tea-time, and all the boys were out in front of the Academy. Mr. Long was walking up and down the portico, chatting with Dr. Porter. The “B. O. W. C.” were there engaged with the others in the general sport, when suddenly Phil seized Bart’s arm, and pointed to the avenue.

“Look,” he cried.

Bart looked, and saw the familiar figure of Captain Corbet. He was walking rapidly, straight up towards the portico.

The “B. O. W. C.” at once rushed up to him.

“Whar’s Mr. Long?” said Captain Corbet, who seemed very much excited.

“Up there,” said Bart, pointing to the portico.

Captain Corbet said no more, but hurried on in the direction indicated, and soon ascended the steps of the portico, immediately in front of Mr. Long.

“Mr. Long,” said he, in great agitation, “I’ve got into trouble.”

“Ah, captain,” said Mr. Long. “How do you do? Trouble? What trouble?”

“Along o’ that stone fence.”

“The stone fence?” said Mr. Long. “How’s that? We put it all back in its place, better than ever.”

“Any how,” said Captain Corbet, “they’ve gone an sarved a writ on me.”

“A writ!”

“Yes, sir. Damages done to property by removal of wall. An they’re going to prosecute me! An me jest lost the schewner. Me, with nothin left but my little farm to leave tew the babby!”

He paused, overcome by his emotion.

“Damages?” said Mr. Long, who was filled with pity at Captain Corbet’s evident distress. “O, don’t be afraid. They can’t do anything. I’ll take the responsibility. I took the stones, you know. You had nothing to do with it. I’ll guarantee your safety. Don’t trouble yourself. When is the suit to come off?”

“The day after to-morrow.”

“Very well. Don’t you trouble yourself at all. I’ll see to it. I’ll be there and defend you, and I’m very much mistaken if they will be able to make out a case against you. If they do, I’ll pay the damages.”

A flush came over Captain Corbet’s pale face. It was not merely Mr. Long’s promise to espouse his cause, and see him harmless, but the sympathy of his tone and manner.

He seized Mr. Long’s hand in both of his.

“O, Mr. Long! Onst I thought you was hardhearted, but now I see I was mistook; for a kinder nor pleasanter spoken gentleman never lived. An when my babby can learn tew speak, I’ll teach him to come down here and belless you! For you’ve saved me from ruination, and snatched the infant from want and woe. That babby, Mr. Long—”

“O, never mind; its nothing,” said Mr. Long, hurriedly. “The day after to-morrow—is it? Well, I’ll be prepared. All right. Don’t be afraid. I’ll see all about it. I’m very busy now, or I’d talk more about it. You come here the day after to-morrow. Mind. Don’t forget. Good by.”

And saying this Mr. Long dragged Dr. Porter away from the portico, leaving Captain Corbet muttering inarticulate words about his babby.