on the buttered side.
All on the but—
All on the but—
All on the but—
All on the but—
All on the but-tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-tered side.
And always thus, from childhood’s hour,
This luck on me has fell.
This luck-kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk on me has fell.
There always comes a soaking shower,
When I’ve no umberell,
When I’ve no umb—
When I’ve no umb—
When I’ve no umb—
When I’ve no umb—
When I’ve no umb-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-be-rell!
This spirited ode was the arrangement of Phil, who prided himself hugely upon it. He did not claim it as original, but as having been “arranged” and “adapted” to its present tune.
“Well, boys,” said Bruce at length, “I dare say we are making some progress; but it strikes me that it hardly pays.”
“No,” said Tom. “At this rate it’ll take us till tomorrow morning to make another mile.”
“I don’t object to rowing all night,” said Phil, “but I do object to row without getting the benefit of it.”
“I move,” said Arthur, “that we vote the sweeps a humbug.”
“I second that motion,” said Phil. “Gentlemen,” said Bruce, “it’s being moved and seconded, that the sweeps are a humbug. Those of that mind will please manifest it by saying Ay.”
“Ay!” rang forth from Arthur, Tom, and Phil.
“Contrary minds, Nay.”
No response.
“It’s a vote,” said Bruce. And now, gentlemen, we may as well consider what’s to be done next.”
“O, well,” said Phil, as he and the other boys left the sweeps which Turnbull and Wade, however, still kept working. “I suppose there’s nothing left to do but to turn in.”
“It can’t be helped,” said Arthur.
“We’ll have to make the best of it,” said Tom.
“I say, boys,” said Bruce, “why can’t we take the boat and row to Chester?”
“A good idea,” cried Arthur. “Capital. I only wish we’d done it before.”
“Captain,” said Tom, “we’re going to take the boat.”
“Hadn’t you better wait a little,” said the anxious Corbet, who was evidently not pleased with the proposal.
“O there’s no use; we want to get to Chester tonight. You’ll get along before morning. How many miles is it from here?” he asked, turning to Turnbull.
“Four,” said that taciturn individual.
“Four miles. Well, boys, what do you say?”
“I’m agreed,” said Bruce.
“And I,” said Arthur.
“Anything’s better than this,” said Phil; “so I agree to the boat.”
With this agreement they all turned to the boat, and got in. A few brief directions were given by Turnbull, and the boys pulled away. First Bruce and Arthur pulled, then Tom and Phil. Taking turns in this way, they had the satisfaction of seeing themselves making good progress, and at length reached the wharf at Chester.
It was about three o’clock in the morning. They knocked up the people at the inn, and hurried up to their rooms. They were so utterly worn out, and so sleepy, that they did not think of asking about Bart and Pat, but tumbled into bed, and in a few moments were all sound asleep.
THE TREASURE OF THE SEAS, by James De Mille (Part 2)
CHAPTER XIV.
There, side by side, stood the two boys, at the bottom of that deep pit, into which they had descended; and, standing there, they looked with unutterable feelings at the opening far above them, across which was suspended the treacherous beam. At first there was a thrill of expectation, in both of them, that the beam was even then breaking, and at any instant might fall and crush them. It had sagged down so far, and the fracture was so complete, that the end might come in another moment. Thus they stood, and looked up in silence, and with hearts that throbbed fast and painfully. Neither of them spoke a word. It was as much as they could do to breathe.
A terrible position it was, and how terrible they knew only too well. One hundred feet below the ground, and seventy feet below the level of the sea—such was the depth of that pit. It was so long and so narrow that the bottom was quite dark. As they stood with their eyes thus fixed on the threatening beam, they noticed that the sky beyond it had changed in its color from blue to black, and two or three stars were faintly visible. It was like the sky of night, and not like that of day. That little piece of sky thus indicated to them the change in their fate, and seemed to frown upon them from above.
In their minds there was one prevailing sense of mute horror and awful expectation; yet, together with this, a thousand other thoughts flashed through them—thoughts of friends, thoughts of home, wild speculations as to the possibility of escape; and with these they noticed also that black piece of sky, with its faintly-twinkling stars. But between them and it, between the upper world which that sky spoke of and themselves, there intervened that broken beam stretching across like a bar, to shut them in forever.
Now, gradually, the first horror passed. It was too intense a feeling to endure. The delay of their fate made them calmer, and brought back presence of mind; for the beam moved no more—it fell not—perhaps it might remain as it was, threatening them, but doing no more than that. This respite from their doom thus, brought them back to themselves, and made them search eagerly the sides of the pit as they looked up.
“I wonder if we can’t climb it, thin,” said Pat.
“I’m afraid not,” said Bart, in a dejected tone.
“Sure an there’s no harrum in given it a thrial,” said Pat; and, as he said so, he laid his hands upon the staying around the hole. Scarce had he done this, than he was aware of a difference between the staying here, and that which was higher up. Bart, also, who had done as Pat had done, and tried to find some way of climbing, noticed the same thing.
Had the staying below been like that above, the question of their escape would very soon have been settled by such practised climbers as these two; but, unfortunately, there was a very important difference. Above, the staying had been made of stout planks and deals, and these were far enough apart to have served for grasping by both hands and feet. They would thus have afforded an actual ladder. Below, however, it was very different. The staying of the sides of the pit was made, not of planks, which could be grasped by the hands, but of round logs, which the hands could not hold, though the feet could insert themselves well enough in the interstices. These logs rested closely one upon the other, nor was there any way by which the hands could pass between them or around them so as to grasp them. This, then, was the discovery that Bart and Pat made the moment that they tried their hands at climbing; and thus the first plan of escape which had suggested itself was baffled most completely.
“If we only had the planks!” sighed Bart: “but these round logs give no chance.”
Pat made no reply.
Bart then tried to climb at the corner, for here there would be more advantage to the feet, since the sides, being at right angles, would afford an easier foothold. But, though it was easier for the feet, it gave no greater help to the hands than before. Still, there were the round logs; nor was there at the angle formed by the sides any spaces sufficient to receive