The others rather avoided him, but Mr.
Fountain felt he had a right to speak to him; so he came to him, and
told him "his niece was on board; and you, too, I fear, have some one
dear to you in danger."
The old man replied sorrowfully that "his lovely new boat was in
danger--in such danger that he should never see her again;" then
added, going suddenly into a fury, that "as to the two rascally
bluejackets that were on board of her, and had borrowed her of his
wife while he was out, all he wished was that they had been swamped to
all eternity long ago, then they would not have been able to come and
swamp his dear boat."
Peppery old Fountain cursed him for a heartless old vagabond, and
joined the group whose grief and anxiety were less ostentatious, being
for the other boat that carried their own flesh and blood. But all
night long that white-haired old man paced the shore, flinging his
arms, weeping and cursing alternately for his dear schooner.
Oh holy love--of property! how venerable you looked in the moonlight,
with your white hairs streaming! How well you imitated, how close you
rivaled, the holiest effusions of the heart, and not for the first
time nor the last.
"My daughter! my ducats! my ducats! my daughter!" etc.
The morning broke; no sign of either boat. The wind had shifted to the
east, and greatly abated. The fishermen began to have hopes for their
comrades; these communicated themselves to Mr. Fountain.
It was about one o'clock in the afternoon when this latter observed
people streaming along the shore to a distant point.
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