It was evening before they found themselves in safety; indeed, one poor fellow, a soldier, remained in this perilous position until the next morning. On being mustered at the steward's house, they were found to number seventy-four out of a crew of two hundred and fifty.
They were treated with the utmost hospitality, and word of their coming was sent to the towns through which they would have to pass on their way to London, that they might be helped along. "It is worthy of commemoration," says the biographer, in which all my readers will agree, "that the landlord of the Brown Inn at Blandford not only refreshed all these distressed seamen at his house, but presented each with half a crown."
As one lies on the cliff-top above Peverel Point in the summer sun, with the blue sea below smiling so smoothly, it is difficult to imagine what took place in that unseen cavern beneath, or even the tears of joy which were shed by those who, after such a night of horror, set foot for the first time upon that grassy slope.
"I'm glad spring's come," remarked Grandmother Gates, as she looked out through the kitchen window, "if it's only so that boy can spend his time out-of-doors. There isn't any house can hold him."
"What, Bun?" said Aunt Dorcas, while the skimmer in her hand was dripping over the soap-kettle. "He's all spring and India rubber. What's he doing now?"
"Doing?" said grandmother. "I'd say so! If he hasn't rigged some leathers and strings, and he's trying to harness that little speckled pig into his wagon. Can't you hear the pig squeal?"
"He's always a-squealing," said Mrs. Gates, from the milk-room. She was a large, motherly looking woman; but now she hurried to the door, and shouted, "Audubon, my son, what are you doing to that poor critter?"
"Why, mother, spring's come, and it's time he did something. I can drive him if I can once get him harnessed. He's half in now; but he does just plunge around!"
The speckled pig was a small one, truly, and he was well acquainted with Bun Gates; but his present occupation was new to him. The wagon matched him fairly well as to size, and it was only a little too plain that he had strength enough to haul it anywhere the moment he should have a fair chance. The best he could do at that moment was to make music, and his voice was uncommonly clear and shrill.
