CAPTAIN RAWSON RETURNS
After the excitement of the expedition to the cave of the stream had
died down, our life ran on more or less uneventfully for a while. I say
more or less, because it seemed to us that, compared with our old life
in Braeburn, there was always something new and interesting to make
each day different on Sunset Island.
There was our candied orange peel which turned out even better, if
that were possible, than Madame’s first batch. It looked so perfectly
_luscious_ we could hardly bear to pack it away in Syd’s and Dan’s tin
containers for shipment to New York. And speaking of those containers,
the boys certainly had made good their promise to turn out original and
artistic looking boxes for the peel. They had woven palmetto strips
into a cunning, twisted design, and thought up a way to braid the ends
to form a handle for the cover. They were the prettiest things you can
imagine, those boxes, and we felt sure we could sell the candied peel
just on the outside of the package.
Uncle Joe was optimistic about securing orders from a big commission
house he knew of in New York, for as much of the peel as we cared to
make, and altogether the outlook in that direction was quite rosy and
satisfactory.
Then, there were other pleasant happenings, such as picnics. We are a
great family for picnics and exploring expeditions, and now all these
affairs were planned near enough to the house for Uncle Joe to carry me
on his shoulders, so I shouldn’t be left out of anything on account of
my ankle.
On one occasion we had a whole day’s sea voyage on the _Myra_, just
before she left us for her second trip north. Maybe it’s partly because
of my sea-captain daddy, but I love the ocean and ships more than
almost anything in the world, and I’m never quite so happy as when I
can see a white sail straining in a heavy breeze over my head, and
curling, white-edged water rolling back from the bow.
If I were a boy, I’d certainly want to go to sea, and carry on our
family tradition of at least one sailor in every generation. None of
Aunt Mollie’s boys seem to have any ambition in that direction.
Sydney asks for nothing better, he says, than to live on the Island
all his life, and build up a big, flourishing plantation. He loves to
grub in the earth, and watch things grow--and really, it’s wonderful,
the results he can coax out of a few seeds, a spade, a small patch
of ground, and endless patience. Lots of times it’s been only shame
of falling behind, that has kept me working away beside him at that
endless weeding.
Dan thinks he’ll be a doctor, and is already planning to go back to the
States to college next year. I don’t know what we’ll do without him,
but it’s a splendid profession as Aunt Mollie says, that he has chosen,
and he must have his chance to make good.
Of course Reddy’s much too young yet to have any ideas on the subject
that are permanent; and though Andy and I wonder about our own futures
once in a while, she doesn’t seem to have many more definite notions
about it than little Red. As for me, I don’t talk much of my plans,
because it sounds silly,--or I’m afraid of its doing so--to talk of
what you haven’t proved yet you can carry out. But ever since I was
a tiny scrap of a girl, I’ve wanted some day to write stories, as I
can’t follow Daddy and sail a ship. Not big, important stories--I’ll
never be a genius, I know that. But stories that boys and girls, and
maybe grown-ups too, will find worth reading. That’s one reason I’m
practicing writing down here all the details of our first year on
Sunset Island. Whether anyone else ever reads it or not, I’ve loved the
doing it, and that’s something.
But I guess that’s enough about the future, because there are still
quite a lot of exciting events to tell about that have already taken
place.
The next of these to come along, was about a month after our discovery
of Morgan’s hiding place in the cave. In the meantime, the _Myra_ had
sailed for New York with our first cargo of fruit--and of course the
precious candied peel all done up in the boys’ fancy containers.
Uncle Charles, who is clever at pen and ink sketches, had made adorable
labels for them, showing a tropical island, with palms and orange trees
just vaguely hinted at against the skyline, and underneath--copying
Rosemary’s curly-cue lettering--the words: “Candied Orange Peel _à la
Josephine_.”
He had done the sketches by hand for our samples, but Uncle Joe was to
have a plate made in New York from the original drawing and several
thousand labels struck off. Because of course when we got to selling
on a big scale, it wouldn’t be possible for one person to draw each
individually.
Aunt Mollie had been rather anxious for Uncle Joe to remain behind on
this trip, and let the mate, Mr. Hopper, act for him in the matter of
the cargo. But Uncle Charles and he finally decided that it was better
to have the owner go, and so--in case of the return of Captain Rawson’s
vessel--Uncle Joe left two of his most trusted men behind, and sailed
short-handed.
“But I really don’t think you need worry, Mollie,” he had declared.
“I don’t believe the old blackguard will come back. Treasure maps and
things of that kind have sort of gone out of date. They’re fairy tales
nobody believes in. Men like Rawson make their money in more modern
pirating. You won’t see him again.”
But we did, all the same. And I was the one who saw his ship first. It
happened this way.
Since I hurt my ankle, I hadn’t of course been able to go swimming in
the lagoon with Madame and Andy in the early mornings. But I had got
in the habit of waking at that hour, and I kept on doing it still no
matter how hard I tried to sleep. So, because it was stupid to lie in
bed and think of all I was missing, once I found myself really wide
awake, I made it a rule to get up and practise using my crutches up and
down my room.
The room’s a quite big one, and I’d go up and down it twice the long
way, and then across to the window where I had a view of the ocean and
the sunrise over the distant horizon.
On this special morning I’m writing of--it must have been about two
weeks, or less, perhaps, after the _Myra’s_ sailing--my first glance
out the window showed me a steamer, very low and slim, like a yacht,
heading in toward the opening in the reef. Uncle Joe once told me I
have a good eye for recognizing ships, but I guess, with that dread of
Captain Rawson hanging over us, even Andrée or Red would have known
that vessel. Our unwelcome visitor had returned.
It didn’t take me long to hobble out into the hall, and wake Uncle
Charles and Aunt Mollie. I suppose I made more noise with my crutches
than I realized, for doors began to pop open all down the hall, and the
boys and Andy, and finally Monsieur and Madame Carreau, appeared, one
by one, in various stages of undress.
The minute they understood who was on the way to the Island, there was
a scramble of everybody back to their rooms to dress in a hurry, and be
among the first to reach the lagoon beach.
This last plan, however, Uncle Charles promptly vetoed, as soon as he
understood what we meant to do.
“I’d rather have you all wait at the house,” he said. “I’ll take
Diggons and Harworth” (the two sailors from the _Myra_) “and go down to
meet the fellow when he lands.”
The boys and Martin pleaded hard to be allowed to go along, but Uncle
Charles was firm. For one thing, I think he preferred to take the men,
(aside from their superior strength, of course) because they hadn’t
been told anything about the treasure or the stolen map. I had an idea
he was afraid the boys would be too excited to be discreet, and he
believed the less said the better. He may have had some idea of being
able to talk Captain Rawson out of coming ashore. Not that there was
any danger of his finding the treasure, of course, if he did come.
But we didn’t want that crew of his--or the captain himself--making
themselves at home on the Island while they looked for it. Any attempt
to persuade the captain that there really wasn’t any treasure after
all, would naturally be worse than useless. He’d be surer than ever we
only wanted him out of the way.
So in the end, we had to obey, since Uncle Charles was in command
of Sunset Island and all its little colony in Uncle Joe’s absence.
But none of us could stay in the house. That was asking too much.
We prowled back and forth, up and down the terrace, or sat sort of
tensely on the front steps, waiting for we didn’t know just what.
It was awfully exciting and shivery--exactly like the most exciting
desert-island-treasure-trove stories I’d ever read.
Uncle Charles and the sailors were gone so long we began to be
frightened in good earnest at last, and it was only Aunt Mollie’s
flatly forbidding it, that kept Dan and Syd from breaking away after an
hour had passed, and going down to the beach to investigate.
“If he doesn’t come in fifteen minutes more, you may go,” she said, and
they had to be satisfied with that.
Before the fifteen minutes were up however, we heard voices coming
up the Planter’s Road, and all of us stiffened to a sort of agonized
attention.
But the procession that appeared around the little bend in the road
was something entirely different from what we had any of us pictured
to ourselves. First came Uncle Charles, marching along like a general
of troops, and behind him, walking like his body guard were Diggons
and Harworth, while back of them two strange men--sailors from the
rum-running ship, we guessed--carried a covered stretcher between them.
Madame Carreau put her hand on her heart in a frightened gesture, and
I saw Monsieur step protectingly up beside her, and slip his arm about
her. But the rest of us were too astonished to move or speak.
Seeing us, Uncle Charles hurried on ahead of his procession and drew
Aunt Mollie aside.
“Can you and the girls get a room ready at once for a sick man?” he
asked. “It’s Captain Rawson. His men either can’t or won’t take care
of him on board, so it seems to be up to us unless we want to stand by
and see him die. He’s unconscious now,” he added, nodding toward the
stretcher behind him, “and doesn’t realize we’re moving him.”
Aunt Mollie turned quickly to Andy and me.
“Gay, your room’s the best for sickness--there are so many windows. You
won’t mind giving it up, dear, and going in with Andrée?”
I shook my head eagerly. “Of course not, Aunt Mollie. Shall we run
up and put clean sheets on the bed, and take my clothes out of the
closets?”
“Yes, do, chicks,” she smiled. But as we moved off, I heard her ask
Uncle Charles rather anxiously whether Captain Rawson had anything
contagious, and hadn’t she better keep the children away. Both Andy and
I hung back a little to hear his answer. “No, pneumonia, I think, dear.
I’m sorry Joe’s away--he’s the real doctor of the family, though we’ll
do what we can, of course.”
He lowered his voice then, but we were both near enough to catch his
next words. “From what I can make out, Rawson hasn’t mentioned the map
to anyone on board. Probably was figuring on keeping the treasure for
himself if he located it. They say he gave his orders to put back to
the Island, and the next day came down with this fever. Apparently he
was unconscious almost from the first.”
We missed whatever else he said because Aunt Mollie walked back with
him to the stretcher, so we scurried on to the house. Of course we were
pretty excited, and I guess we never made a bed or cleared out a closet
in such record time before. But our hands being busy didn’t keep our
tongues from moving equally fast as we talked the situation over.
“I wish Uncle Joe was home,” Andy said with a little shiver, smoothing
a clean pillow slip with fingers that I noticed were trembling.
“Don’t you worry,” I tried to reassure her--not feeling so very sure
of anything myself, though. “Uncle Charles will manage it all. And
besides, there are Diggons and Harworth, and Martin--and of course the
boys.”
She cheered up at that.
“Come along and tell mums the room’s ready,” she said. “And maybe if
that horrid Captain Rawson hasn’t told about the map, the fever’ll put
it out of his head forever.”
“Maybe,” said I, not too convinced of the probability of this. “There’s
nothing we can do about it anyhow.”
At the head of the stairs, we met the two stretcher-bearers with the
sick man, and Aunt Mollie, Uncle Charles and Madame Carreau bringing up
the rear. Andy led the way importantly into my room, and they carried
the Captain in, and laid him down on my bed.
The two sailors came out at once, and went back downstairs and
outdoors; and after a few minutes Aunt Mollie opened the bedroom door,
motioning us to go away, too.
Andy slipped her fingers through my arm as we tip-toed downstairs after
the sailors. Her face was rather white.
“Do you suppose he’ll--die?” she asked me in a shaky whisper.
“I don’t know,” I said impatiently. I couldn’t help feeling that it
wouldn’t be such a loss to the world if a man like that did die.
Still, the next moment I reminded myself he wasn’t fit to die, and
that anyhow, I didn’t want him to do it here, in our dear, beautiful
Planter’s House.
“I guess he’s too tough to die easily,” I declared. I hoped it was
true. “Do you suppose he was really coming back for the treasure?”
Andy didn’t answer, and we sat down on the steps to wait for news from
the sick room. Nobody else was in sight. Evidently the two sailors had
kept on to the beach, and the boys and Monsieur Carreau had gone with
them.
After what seemed like hours had passed, Syd came strolling up the
Planter’s Road, whistling. He hurried a little when he saw us waiting.
“The men have gone back to the ship,” he called. “Kind of a heartless
bunch,” he added, dropping down on the step beside us. “You’d think
they’d feel it a bit if they really believed, as they claim, that their
captain’s dying. Instead, they acted sort of relieved to get rid of the
care of him.”
He stopped short because at that moment we heard Aunt Mollie coming
downstairs, and we jumped to our feet, crowding round her to ask about
the Captain.
“A pretty sick man, I’m afraid,” she said soberly. “But by the greatest
good fortune, Madame has nursed pneumonia patients before, so she is
taking charge of the case.”
“What can we do, mums?” Syd coaxed eagerly. “We want to help.”
“Nothing, darling. There’s nothing any of the rest of us can do. Just
try to keep things quiet,” she said. “And go on about everything as
usual. Here comes Monsieur Carreau now. Run and tell him Madame wants
to speak to him!”
It was about an hour later, I think, that Reddy, who had been hanging
about the Captain’s door upstairs, brought us an astonishing piece of
news. Aunt Mollie, Uncle Charles, Andy and I were in the big hall, and
we turned quickly at the sound of his clattering footsteps.
“The ship’s going away,” he gasped excitedly. “I saw her from the
gallery. She’s almost out through the reef now.”
“But that isn’t possible, Sonny,” Uncle Charles exclaimed, catching
Red’s hand and drawing him to him. “Her captain’s upstairs, you know,
very sick. She’s probably only changing her anchorage, or something
like that. Let’s walk down to the beach and see.”
“No, she’s going away,” Red insisted feverishly. “Will that horrid man
that stole our map have to live with us _always_ now?”
He was on the verge of tears, so to comfort him, as well as to satisfy
our own curiosity, we all set out along the Planter’s Road to the
lagoon, to see what the ship was up to.
And there we saw that Reddy was right. She was past the reef now,
standing directly out to sea. Someone on board, spying us, sprang up on
the ship’s rail and waved both arms at us, and we heard several of the
men laughing behind him.
Uncle Charles cupped his hands into a megaphone, and shouted with all
his strength: “Where are you going? When will you be back?”
We heard the man’s reply easily, because the wind was blowing from him
to us, but I can’t set down what he said, as Aunt Mollie doesn’t like
us even to repeat swearing. But his meaning was clear enough. They
were deserting the Captain. They hadn’t any intention of ever coming
back. Maybe they really believed he was dying, or maybe the Mate had
conspired with the rest of them to steal the ship. Uncle Charles
thought the latter was the case.
Anyhow they were gone. That was all we knew. And there were we with a
desperately ill man on our hands, and no doctor within reach of Sunset
Island.
If it hadn’t been for the Carreaus, I don’t believe we’d ever have
pulled him through. But it turned out that Monsieur Carreau had a
pretty fair knowledge of medicine--he’d doctored their plantation hands
in the old days--and Madame was a natural-born nurse.
We others could only do what we were told, run errands and cook the
meager invalid fare Madame allowed her patient. Of course, I don’t
pretend to say it was as anxious a time for us as if it had been one
of the family who was lying up there in my room ill, but it’s never
pleasant to know that someone is suffering, and we were all honestly
glad and thankful when the day came that Monsieur pronounced the
Captain out of the woods.