“That’s the idea,” said Bart, “the glorious old Antelope. Let’s have one last look at her. By this time, perhaps, she is half covered with mud. It was a soft place, I think, where she was lying, and she will soon be buried out of sight; so let’s have one final look at her before we lose sight of her forever.” This proposal was in the highest degree satisfactory to the other boys, and soon they started down the road to the place where the Antelope lay. On reaching the place, they found that it was high tide, and the ill-fated schooner lay in the same place where they had seen her last, far over on her side, with her masts pointing downward. The tide had risen so high that it covered more than half of her, leaving only part visible. The upper parts of her masts also were covered. At such a melancholy spectacle the boys stood for some time in solemn silence. Another schooner lay not far away, at a wharf, but they felt no curiosity about her. All their thoughts were taken up with the Antelope. “And so this is the end of her,’ said Bruce, solemnly. “_Hic jacet_, as Captain Corbet said,’ remarked Phil. “Who would have thought that her end was so near?” said Arthur. “And think,” said Tom, “of the old craft, after escaping so many perils, meeting her fate here at her own wharf.” “It’s the old saying realized,” said Bart,--“the sailor shipwrecked within sight of home.” “But I say, Bart, she doesn’t seem to have sunk any deeper in the mud--does she?” said Bruce. “No,” said Bart. “I expected by this time that she would be as deep as that in mud, not in water.” “She’s afloat,” said Tom. “No, she isn’t; she doesn’t move,” said Bruce. “No; she’s perfectly steady, and fixed in the mud,” said Bart. “There’s no floating, about her.” “She’ll break up soon, I suppose,” said Phil. “O, I don’t know,” said Bart. “If she were exposed to a heavy sea she would; but here in this quiet harbor she will either sink altogether in the mud, or else lie rotting away for years, a mournful and melancholy spectacle.” While the boys were looking thus sadly upon the schooner, a man emerged from the cabin of the other vessel at the wharf, and going ashore, proceeded as though on his way to the village. The boys did not notice this man till he was close to them, and then there was a shout of joyful recognition. “Captain Pratt!” Yes, that stout, bluff, red-faced, jovial captain stood there before their eyes, evincing as much pleasure at the sight of them, as they did at the sight of him. He wrung their hands heartily all round, laughing all the time, and asking them how they got home, and whether they ran ashore more than a dozen times in doing so. “I come here,” said he, “arter taters. I got a tater freight to Boston, and I’m goin to fill up right straight off. And it’s right glad I am to see you all again. I thought mebbe I’d see some of you over here, and come here instead of goin to another place where I could have got a better freight.”