THE LIGHTED WINDOW
It was after eight o’clock, as dark as Egypt and a great deal damper
on board the _Aydee_. Phebe’s teeth insisted on chattering whenever
she spoke, in spite of her efforts. Arnold had draped the one spare
sail the boat afforded, a storm jib, about her, but it didn’t seem to
keep the dampness out very well. Arnold and Toby were chilled through.
The lanterns were lighted, although they couldn’t have seen a boat’s
length away. Arnold had long since stopped talking about food, or about
anything else, for that matter. Conversation had died away more than
an hour since, save for a hopeful prediction from Toby a minute or two
ago to the effect that he thought he heard surf. The others, however,
had failed to hear anything except the dismal tooting of the fog-horns,
one somewhere within a few miles, as it seemed, and one far off in the
distance. They were, in short, three very damp, chilly and depressed
persons, and didn’t care who knew it.
Arnold broke the silence that ensued after he had turned the handle of
the horn for the fiftieth time. (He declared that it was just a waste
of labor to bother with the old thing, but Toby insisted.) “If the tide
is high at ten,” he said, “and we don’t hit land before that, what’ll
happen then?”
“We’re pretty likely to start back again,” said Toby listlessly. “If
only the fog would lift――――”
“I wouldn’t mind a bit if only I wasn’t so cold,” said Phebe, with an
attempt at cheerfulness. They had abandoned the tiller long ago, and
all three were huddled on the floor of the cockpit as close together as
they could get. “Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we could have a fire?”
“I’ve got plenty of matches,” said Arnold. “We might cut down the mast
and burn it,” he added with an effort at humor. “Only I dare say it
would be too damp. That’s another thing I’m going to have on board
after this.”
“What?” asked Toby.
“Well, either steam heat or open fireplaces. If we only had a radiator
back of us now――――”
“Listen!” Toby sat up suddenly and put his head above the coaming. They
listened as hard as they could. “Hear it?” Toby demanded intensely.
“Waves on the shore!”
“Right you are,” agreed Arnold joyfully. “But which way is it?”
“Over there, I think.” Toby pointed in the darkness. “I’m not sure,
though. Listen again.”
It wasn’t a very loud sound that came to them, just a soft, lazy
swi-i-ish such as the tiniest of waves might make against a pebbled
beach. “It must be the head,” muttered Toby, scrambling to his feet.
“Or else――――”
But he didn’t continue just then. Instead he sat down more quickly than
he had got up, and sat down in Arnold’s lap, too, a proceeding which
elicited a howl of surprise and pain from that youth. The _Aydee_ had
reached land!
“Struck something!” cried Toby, finding his feet again and disappearing
toward the bow. The others jumped up too and listened and stared all
ways into the gloom of fog and darkness.
“See anything?” called Arnold.
“No, but there’s surf right ahead here. Bring the oar along and we’ll
see how deep it is. I guess we’ve run smack up on a beach.”
The knockabout jarred again, and Arnold clutched the boom as he
groped about for the oar. Then the boat performed a number of little
courtesies, the boom swung slowly to port and the _Aydee_ settled down
for the night with her port rail just out of water!
For the next ten minutes they were extremely busy. The oar showed some
three feet of water at the bow and they decided with an enthusiastic
unanimity that three feet of salt water would leave them no wetter than
they already were. The anchor cable was made fast at the bow and Toby,
dropping breast high into the water, bore the anchor ashore.
“It isn’t a beach,” he announced presently. “Not exactly a beach,
anyhow. There are some rocks here and――Ouch! That was one of them!”
He laughed and the others on the yacht joined him. No one had laughed
before for a good three hours!
“Is it real, sure-enough dry land?” asked Arnold.
“It’s real, all right, but it doesn’t feel awfully dry,” was the
answer. “I’m coming back. The water’s as warm as anything!”
“I’ll bet it’s a lot warmer than I am,” said Arnold. “Say, I’m going to
hold my match-box in my mouth so it won’t get wet. Maybe we can have a
fire and get dry. Where do you think we are, Toby?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Toby’s voice was plainly puzzled as he waded
back to the boat. “I don’t recognize the place at all. If there was a
sand beach I’d think it was the Head, but I don’t remember these rocks.
Where are you? Oh, all right! You come on in, Arn, and we’ll lug Phebe
across. There’s no use in her getting soaked.”
Two minutes later, having furled the sails, the three shipwrecked
mariners stood huddled together beyond the lapping waves on a tiny
stretch of coarse sand and pebbles in a darkness that they could
almost feel. For sound there was the swish and trickle of the surf,
the lapping of the water against the _Aydee_, the regular, monotonous
wail of the fog-horns, and, once, the far-off shriek of a locomotive.
Unfortunately that locomotive was in one direction, according to Toby,
and in two entirely different directions, according to Arnold and
Phebe, and therefore didn’t help much in determining their whereabouts.
Two paces to the left was a low ledge that apparently ran well into
the water at high tide and some three paces to the right were a number
of huge rocks, weather-smoothed boulders, bedded in the steep beach.
Doubtless it was possible to climb over them, but Toby’s experiment had
not been successful. Behind them the sand and pebbles shelved abruptly
to a bed of shingle, and beyond that beach-grass and a tangle of weeds
and bushes climbed the side of a high bank. Although Toby thought and
thought, he could not for the life of him recall any such place in the
neighborhood of Greenhaven. Nor, when called on for aid, could Phebe.
“I don’t know where we are,” acknowledged Toby at last. “Light one of
your matches, Arn, and let’s see if we can tell.”
“I hope they’re dry,” muttered Arnold. They heard him fumbling at the
little silver box and then came an exclamation of disappointment.
“Gee,” said Arnold. “I’ve only got three! I thought I had a lot of ’em!”
“Hold on, then,” said Toby sharply. “Don’t waste any. Let’s see if we
can find some twigs and driftwood to start a blaze. Got any paper?”
Arnold hadn’t, but Toby himself finally came across a tiny piece
crumpled up in the bottom of a pocket. It wasn’t exactly wet, but it
certainly wasn’t dry, and he had doubts of its usefulness. Meanwhile
they felt and fumbled about on the shingle and among the bushes for dry
twigs and of wood, Phebe adding to the joy of the occasion by reminding
them that there was probably poison ivy there. However, as no one was
poisoned, she was undoubtedly unnecessarily pessimistic. At the end
of five minutes or so they had a collection of fairly dry sticks and
chips and wave-worn bits of wood piled on the shelf of smooth, round
stones, and very carefully Toby introduced his precious bit of paper
at the base of the little pile and Arnold anxiously scraped a match on
the box. Nothing happened, for the box was damp, and one of the three
matches was put out of commission.
“Give me one,” said Toby. When he had it he poked around among the
stones until he found one that seemed dry on the under side and then
lightly scraped the match against it. There was a tiny yellow flare
in the darkness and, after another moment, a breath-seizing, anxious
moment, the scrap of paper burst into flame, the dry twigs caught and
a little red glare lighted the immediate scene. They scurried for more
fuel, aided in their search by the flickering light, and Toby fed the
fire with care and science. There was one doubtful moment when the
flames died away to glowing embers, but Toby dropped to his hands and
puffed his cheeks and blew mightily and the fire started afresh. Once
well under way they were obliged to use less care in the selection of
fuel, and larger pieces of driftwood, dampened by water or fog, soon
dried out and took fire. And presently they were able to look about
them.
Some ten yards out lay the _Aydee_, side-on, barely visible in the
enveloping fog. Right and left, boulders and low ledges showed, and
shoreward, the radius of orange light reached half-way up a sandy
bluff. The fog made everything look spectral and unreal. Toby again
shook his head.
“You can search me,” he muttered helplessly.
“Perhaps if we climbed that bluff,” suggested Arnold, “we might find a
road or something.”
“Yes, we could try that, or we could keep along the shore. First of
all, though, I’m for getting sort of dried out.”
Phebe had already seated herself as near the fire as she dared, and,
shielding her face with her hands, was sighing luxuriously. The boys
followed her example, but although the flames gave out a pleasant
heat and their damp garments steamed in it, the warmth didn’t seem to
penetrate to their chilled bodies, and, as Arnold said, while you were
toasting on one side you were shivering on the other. But by dint of
revolving, like a roast on a spit, they did finally get some of the
chill out of their bodies, and while they did it they discussed ways
and means.
“Climbing that bluff in the dark doesn’t look good to me,” said Toby.
“I guess it would be hard enough to do it in the daytime. The best
thing we can do is hike along the shore. We’re bound to find a house or
a road or something after a while.”
“Well, which way shall we hike?” asked Arnold.
Toby pointed to the left――he had his back to the bluff then――and
replied: “That way, of course, if we want to get home. The other way
would take us down the island toward Shinnecock.”
But Arnold had got completely turned around and couldn’t see it, at
all, and it took Toby and Phebe many minutes to convince him. Even then
he was not so much convinced as he was silenced by numbers.
“Will the boat be all right, do you think?” he asked.
“Yes, she can’t get away, and we’ll come around at high tide tomorrow
with the _Frolic_ and pull her off. I guess she’ll come easily enough
if she doesn’t settle in the sand any more, and she won’t unless a sea
gets up.”
“What do you suppose our folks are thinking?” asked Phebe in a troubled
voice.
“That’s so!” cried Arnold. “Gee, I’ll bet father is fit to be tied by
now!”
“I don’t believe they’ll be very much worried,” said Toby. “Dad will
figure it out we got lost in the fog and that we’ve had to land
wherever we could. What time is it, now, I wonder?”
“Nearly half-past nine,” answered Arnold holding the dial of his watch
to the light of the dying fire. “We’d better make a start, eh?”
“I think so. We can probably get back by midnight. All ready, sis?”
They turned their backs on the fire and began a difficult scramble over
or between the piled-up boulders. It was hard going, for, once away
from the radiance, the darkness seemed blacker than ever and they had
to feel their way with hands and feet. Presently, though, they gained
another stretch of coarse sand and this proved of some extent. They
kept just above the water’s edge, or tried to, for they had only the
sense of hearing to depend on, and the surf was too gentle to make much
sound. Once Toby found to his surprise that he was ankle deep in the
water and, when he turned to get back to the beach, plunged down to his
knees in a hole. His involuntary cry of dismay brought Arnold hurrying
blindly to his assistance, with the result that both got nicely soaked
again before they found their way back to the land.
They went slowly and cautiously after that, Toby leading with hands
outstretched in front of him, Arnold following with a hand on his
shoulder and Phebe bringing up the rear holding to Arnold’s coat-tail!
They climbed a smooth ledge, crossed some uncomfortably quaky sand,
scrambled up and down another ledge, and then, having unconsciously
borne inland, discovered themselves in a thicket of waist-high bushes.
Toby stopped disgustedly.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Let’s keep on,” said Arnold. “If we can get through the bushes we may
find a road. Anyhow, we won’t walk into the bay again!”
“All right――here we go then!”
So they rustled and tripped and crashed their way through the
vegetation, their hands suffering in the conflict, and finally won
through and found their steps leading them up a steep ascent carpeted
with coarse grass and blackberry brambles. The brambles caught at their
feet and scratched their ankles, but they kept on until Phebe declared
breathlessly that she just had to stop and rest a minute. So they all
sat down on the ground――and, incidentally, the blackberry vines――and
got their breath back.
“I’d give a hundred dollars if I had it,” said Toby, “to know where
the dickens we are. This is a pretty steep hill, and the only one I
can think of is the Head, and we know it can’t be the Head because the
shore isn’t right.”
“Things look different at night,” said Phebe wisely. “Maybe it is the
Head, after all, Toby.”
“I don’t believe it. If it is, though, we’ll soon find out, because
there’s a road runs along this side. But it can’t be, sis. Where are
there any rocks, like those back there, on the outer shore of the Head?
It’s all clean beach except at the point.”
“I know,” acknowledged Phebe. “It is awfully puzzling, isn’t it? There
are some rocks like those on the other side, though, Toby.”
“Of course there are, but we couldn’t be on the other side. At
least――――” He paused.
“We might possibly have drifted around the Head and into Nobbs’ Bay,”
suggested Phebe.
“That’s likely!” derided Toby. “Well, come on and let’s find out. We
must be somewhere!”
They went on again, still climbing steadily upwards. After a few
minutes there was a cry from Toby and the procession came to a sudden
stop. “What is it?” demanded Arnold anxiously.
“Tree! I ran smash into it and nearly broke my nose! Here’s another
one. Look out for it. This way. Gee, that hurt!”
“Listen!” said Phebe. Obediently they stopped and were silent. From
somewhere in the distance came the faint sound of a voice singing.
They couldn’t make out the words, nor even the tune; that the man was
singing was evidenced merely by the rise and fall of the far-away
voice. But it was a voice, and it cheered them immensely, and they
went on up the hill through the darkness and the fog, picking their
way between the trees, with new courage. And quite suddenly their feet
crunched on the gravel of a roadway!
“Hooray!” yelled Arnold. “Now we know where we are!”
“Fine!” laughed Toby. “Where are we?”
“Well, I mean we know that――that we’re――somewhere!”
“That’s about all we do know! Which way shall we go?”
“Right,” said Arnold.
“Left,” said Phebe.
“Much obliged! Suppose, though, we cross this road and keep on. That
fellow who was singing――――”
“Hold on!” interrupted Arnold. “Isn’t that a sort of a light over there
to the left?”
“It is!” exclaimed Phebe joyfully. “Isn’t it?” she added less
certainly. “I don’t see it now.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Toby, and sighed with vast relief. “Come on!”
The light proved surprisingly near at hand, for a dozen strides brought
them to it. It shone from a square window and illumined a gravel drive
lined with trees and shrubs, a drive that evidently connected with the
road they had just left. The window was too high up to be seen through
and the light that came from it was faint, but it was at once apparent
that the building was not a residence. Toby stared perplexedly at the
gray stucco wall visible through the fog.
“I never saw this place before,” he muttered. “It must be――――!”
But Arnold interrupted him with a chuckle. “I have!” he said. “It’s our
garage!”