“Wal,” said he, “he stood it as long as he could; but I dar say, arter we cleared out, he begun to feel a little shaky. And that thar ship did shake herself up in a way that beat everythin I ever see in all my born days. I was as sure that she was breakin up as I was of my own name. So the captain he thought, no doubt, that it wan’t wuth while to die for the sake of an old timber ship, or p’raps the mate and the sailors pressed him, and so off he goes; or p’raps some passing vessel hove in sight, and took him off. But only think of you youngsters happenin on board, and goin through the same identical fortin that I went through, and then us meetin this way in Anticosti! It doos--beat--my--grandmother! It--doos--railly.” The question now arose what was best to be done. Of course the fact that this was Anticosti changed the whole state of things. “You see if this was railly Newfoundland,” said Bailey, “we might sail east, and event’ly git to some settlement; but if we try that now, we’ll have to go all along past the worst coast in the world, and then we’d get to East Pint; and what then? Why, the gulf. So we’ve got to turn about, and go back in the other direction.” “What? West?”... “Yes, away west, or sou’-west. I’ve heard tell of some settlement at West Pint, the other end of the island; but I hain’t no idee whether it’s kep up yet or not. At any rate, there’s Gaspé. ‘Tain’t far off. We can crawl along the shore, and then cut across to Gaspé, and get help.” “But we’ll go back first to where we left the boys.” “Course, that’s the first thing; and then your vyge ends, and we’ve got to arrange a fresh one.” “Well, can we start to-day?” asked Tom. “To-day? No, sir! Look at me! Why, I’d give anythin to git away from this here place! Think of me here for two long weeks, livin on shell fish, pacin up and down the beach, and keepin my signal-fire a burnin all the time, and feelin myself every day gradooly growin ravin mad! Think what I’ve ben an suffered here! Yet I wouldn’t leave to-day, ’cos it’s goin to blow harder, and that there cockle-shell don’t do to beat against a wind like this.” “But can’t we row?” “You hain’t got no oars.” “There are those in the boat.” “Them things! Them’s poles, or paddles; do to push the boat a little way through smooth water, but not with the wind this way. No; we’ve got to wait.” Arthur and Tom both felt the force of this, and urged the point no longer. “I don’t see,” said Arthur, “how you managed to light a fire.”