“I tell you what it is, boys,” said Captain Corbet, after a long and thoughtful silence; “the best plan of acting in a biz of this kind is to pluck up sperrit an go on.  Why, look at me.  You mind the time when that boat, that thar i-dentical, individdle boat, drifted away onst afore, with youns in it.  You remember all about that,—­course.  Well, look at me.  Did I mourn?  Did I fret?  Was I cast down?  Nary down; not me.  I cheered up.  I cheered up Mr. Long.  I kep everybody in good sperrits.  An what was the result?  Result was, you all turned up in prime order and condition, a enjyin of yourselves like all possessed, along with old O’Rafferty.

“Again, my friends,” he continued, as the boys made no remark, “consider this life air short an full of vycissitoods.  Ups an downs air the lot of pore fallen hoomanity.  But if at the fust blast of misforten we give up an throw up the game, what’s the good of us?  The question now, an the chief pint, is this—­Who air we, an whar air we goin, an what air we purposin to do?  Fust, we air hooman beins; secondly, we air a traversin the vast an briny main; and thirdly, we hope to find a certain friend of ourn, who was borne away from us by the swellin tide.  Thar’s a aim for us—­a high an holy aim; an now I ask you, as feller-critters, how had we ought to go about it?  Had we ought to peek, an pine, an fret, an whine?  Had we ought to snivel, and give it up at the fust?  Or had we ought, rayther, to be up an doin,—­pluck up our sperrits like men, and go about our important work with energy?  Which of these two, my friends?  I pause for a reply.”

This was quite a speech for Captain Corbet, and the effort seemed quite an exhaustive one.  He paused some time for a reply; but as no reply was forthcoming, he continued his remarks.

“Now, see here,” said he; “this here whole business reminds me of a story I once read in a noospaper, about a man up in this here identical river, the Petticoat Jack, who, like a fool, pulled up his boat on the bank, and wont off to sleep in her.  Wal, as a matter of course, he floated off,—­for the tide happened to be risin,—­an when he woke up out of his cool an refreshin slumbers, he found himself afar on the briny deep, a boundin like ’a thing of life,’ o’er the deep heavin sea.  Besides, it was precious foggy,—­ jest as it is now,—­an the man couldn’t see any more’n we can.  Wal, the story went on to say, how that thar man, in that thar boat, went a driftin in that thar fashion, in that thar fog; an he drifted, an drifted, an derifted, for days an days, up an down, on one side an t’other side, an round every way,—­an, mind you, he hadn’t a bit to eat, or to drink either, for that matter,—­’t any rate, the paper didn’t mention no such thing; an so, you know, he drifted, an d-e-e-e-rifted,—­until at last he druv ashore.  An now, whar d’ye think he druv?”

The boys couldn’t think.

“Guess, now.”