_THE DOWN-EAST CRUISE._
Two weeks after Burton’s arrival at home, he received the following
letter:
BOSTON, July 22, 188-.
MY DEAR EDWARD,--I was pleased to learn by yours of the 16th, that
you are having a delightful visit at home, and are “all so well and
happy.” How I would like to join in some of your mountain rambles
and fishing excursions. Natural scenery, such as you describe, is an
inspiration. “Who can paint like nature?” However, _mon cher ami_, I
want to ask that, if possible, you leave it all, and come to us a few
days sooner than we planned. My father’s yacht will be in readiness
for a cruise, by August 1, and we will be prepared to leave by that
time, provided it suits your convenience. We shall run along the
Maine coast, and stop awhile at Bar Harbor, which is delightful in
August. Our party will be somewhat unique in its composition, which
will, perhaps, make it more interesting. Besides our own family and
yourself, we shall have Doctor Frustadt, a German scientist, and Lord
Percival, an English nobleman. For certain reasons my father wished
to show these gentlemen some attention, and invited them to be our
guests during this cruise. I am glad they accepted his invitation.
I thank your dear mother for her kind messages.
With my best love to the whole household,
I am, ever yours,
WILLIAM TAPLEY.
Burton’s three weeks at home passed very quickly, but he responded to
Tapley’s invitation in time, so that the cruise would not be delayed
on his account. His rustication among the mountains had produced a
marked improvement in his appearance, all paleness and feebleness
having been replaced by a nut-brown complexion and a robust, muscular
development. His friend received him most cordially, and the warm,
genial hospitality of the whole household soon made him feel like one
of the family.
Colonel Rufus Tapley was a gentleman of large fortune, and
distinguished for his cultivated tastes and philanthropic impulses. He
had retired from active business ten years previous, since which time
many charitable and educational institutions had received from him not
only important pecuniary aid, but also personal interest and valuable
service in their guidance and management. Most of his vacation each
summer was spent on his yacht, and no other recreation was so enjoyable
as a “down-East” cruise. The Sea-Foam was a craft, not only of fine
sailing qualities, but of comfortable and even luxurious appointments.
She was ninety feet in length, carried a large spread of canvas, and
the heavy brass mountings about her deck and stairways gave her a rich
and attractive appearance. Captain Brown, with six stalwart sailors in
becoming costumes, constituted the crew, and the commissary department
also was well organized and complete. Preparations were finished, and
promptly on the morning of the day appointed, the Sea-Foam set sail,
with bright skies and a favoring breeze.
Burton was duly presented to Lord Percival and to Dr. Frustadt, and
the whole party formed an interested group, as Tapley pointed out the
various objects of interest which were passed in sailing down the
harbor.
Lord Percival was a fine specimen of the typical Englishman of the
aristocratic class, and had but recently arrived in America on his
first visit. With a fine physique and personal presence he combined
agreeable manners and an easy, cosmopolitan air, such as characterizes
the best of his class.
Dr. Frustadt, who formerly had been a Heidelberg professor, was
short of stature, with black hair, long mustache, and rather florid
complexion. He had two long scars on his right cheek, the result of
class duels in early life, while a student in the University. His
devotion to pipe and beer was unremitting. He was somewhat accomplished
as a violinist, and possessed a powerful baritone voice. His long
hair, green glasses, and large meerschaum pipe, which was his constant
companion, gave him a marked appearance.
The graceful yacht cut her way through the green waves like “a thing of
life,” and the whole party sat in the shade of the mainsail, drinking
in the delicious, bracing air, and enjoying the passing panorama. The
shimmering waves reflected back in endless repetition the golden rays
of the morning sun, and the spirits and anticipations of the party were
correspondingly bright, as the cruise began so auspiciously.
“The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free.”
The beaches, towns, and headlands on the “North shore” presented a
varying and picturesque series of views, as the yacht gracefully glided
on, till at length dinner was announced, and with keen appetites the
party descended to the dining-saloon. Percival and the doctor, who were
seated respectively on the right and left of Colonel Tapley, resumed a
discussion regarding American institutions which had been begun on deck.
“I think,” remarked the doctor, “that State Socialism is the only
remedy for the present monopolies, oppressions, and wrongs which
prevail, and that the government should take the initiative by radical
measures of reform. The labor organizations of America are our schools
for the dissemination of socialistic principles, and in a few years,
when we become a majority, there will be important changes. Although I
am a German, we are international in our aims and principles.”
“May I suggest,” observed Colonel Tapley, “that I think you take an
unwarranted pessimistic view of our institutions and their needs.
As Americans, we are not conscious that any such severe remedies
are required as many of your writers seem to think necessary.
Evils certainly exist, but we have full confidence in the inherent
self-regulative power of moral and patriotic forces.”
“In my opinion,” said Lord Percival, addressing Colonel Tapley, “your
danger lies in the enormous extension of suffrage among the ignorant
and vicious. Your political leaders, in their anxiety to catch the vote
of these people, outbid each other in demagogic inducements, and you
quite lack any hereditary conservative element to act as a regulator.
Education and a property qualification should be requisites for
suffrage. Our hereditary sovereign and nobility constitute a framework
by the solidity of which governmental institutions are rendered strong
and permanent. Republicanism in America lacks such a framework, and
for that reason is structurally weak. Under a centralized system,
abuses can be reached much more quickly and efficiently. Even the
evils of despotism can be definitely measured and understood, and, in
any case, relief from them is not hopeless and not always difficult.
But in putting democracy on the throne, we have a possible monster,
but yet so intangible that it cannot be successfully attacked. Who
can curb such a giant when he fully realizes his strength? and where
will his resistless march be stayed? A successful republic can only
be permanently assured by a condition of universal intelligence and
morality, such as are found wanting even in America.”
Dr. Frustadt showed symptoms of being an impatient listener, and
replied rather positively, “I beg your lordship’s pardon, but there
are evidences of an irresistible drift which will sweep away kings,
dynasties, and even republics,--as at present organized,--and the
outcome will be a new social order. When all monopolies have been
absorbed by the State, all privileged classes levelled, all land
nationalized, and all private accumulations of wealth made impossible,
then poverty will be a thing of the past, and the ‘Golden Age’ will be
ushered in. The hours of labor will be reduced to three or even less
per day, and those who reach the age of forty-five will not labor at
all. People then will have leisure to cultivate their minds, enjoy
their recreations, and get the most out of life. How does that strike
you, Mr. Burton?”
“Some might regard it as an attractive picture, as you paint it,”
replied Burton, “but I fail to see any logical connection between
your premises and conclusions, and I think that your remedy would be
immeasurably worse than the disease. In the first place, labor, in
the sense of work or occupation, is a blessing; not a curse. Without
necessity for work, human genius, skill, talent, energy, and capacity
would wither and fail of development. With no work there would be no
recreation, and, finally, no amusement.
“The State, which you assume to be so perfect and omnipresent, would
be as corrupt as the elements of which it is composed. Its natural
functions only embrace that which is necessarily beyond the scope
of individual enterprise. I can imagine no worse slavery than would
result from the crushing out of individual ambition, energy, and
enterprise. Socialism, even on a small scale, and with choice and
selected voluntary elements, has never been successful; but the results
of a compulsory, universal communism would be most fitly illustrated
by turning loose a great menagerie. A practical object-lesson is
furnished by a review of the condition of Paris while ruled by the
Commune at the time of the French Revolution. As Byron expresses it,--
“‘In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.’”
“I fancy you are quite right,” observed his lordship. “The devotees of
socialism utterly ignore the natural constitution of man; but, somehow,
they expect to find men to fit their abstractions. Making over an
institution does not make over human nature.”
It was evident to all that Dr. Frustadt was angry, but he strove to
remain outwardly calm. The long scars on his right cheek were of a deep
scarlet hue, but he pulled himself together and retorted with some show
of deliberation: “The world is filled with injustice and oppression.
Ill-gotten wealth rides rough-shod over suffering humanity, and class
distinctions and favoritism rob the masses of their just rights and
privileges. The ‘bitter cry’ of the outcast millions of East London
falls on the deaf ears of lordly aristocrats who own all the land and
nearly all the buildings of Old England. Such are the fruits of your
boasted system of Church and State, of your combination of aristocracy
and ecclesiasticism.”
Lord Percival looked bored, and Colonel Tapley, seeing that the
argument was getting warm, especially on the part of his German guest,
wisely planned a diversion. He gave Burton a slight nod, which the
young man understood, and to which he promptly responded.
“It may be well,” suggested Burton, “to make an effort to find some
common ground, so that, if possible, the truth may be evolved free
from bias or prejudice. I think,” he continued, “that we all have the
same aim, but we see different aspects of social and economic problems
because they are colored by the various mediums through which we view
them. Even error is truth distorted by a false standpoint. Let us take
a brief survey, which, superficially observed, will seem pessimistic.
Pessimism is unwholesome and abnormal, but it is inseparable from
a low point of observation. As we leave the valley and climb the
mountain-side, the fogs and mists which enveloped us, and covered our
whole horizon, are left behind, and the clear, sharp mountain-peaks of
truth stand out in bold relief. The peaks were always there, but our
plane of observation was too low. Taking the standpoint of the valley,
we see that although the developments of science, invention, and
improvement have been so marvellous, they have not lightened the load
of human woe. Science may add much to man’s physical accomplishments,
but nothing to his real happiness. The cravings of his spirit are no
better satisfied when he travels in the limited express than when ten
miles an hour was the maximum. The gigantic armies and navies of the
world, all in readiness to ‘let slip the dogs of war’ at a moment’s
notice, show that all the developments of science have not diminished
the animalism of the race. The daily press, with its thousandfold
multiplied issues, pours forth a flood of mental pabulum which, in
the main, is unwholesome and corrupting. We have a literature which,
under a plea of ‘realism’ and ‘devotion to art,’ panders and appeals
to all the baser passions of the lower nature. The love of country is
displaced by the greed for office; devotion to the general good, by
self-seeking and pecuniary advantage. Realism! low realism, everywhere!
Nothing idealistic in the whole horizon.
“A greatly broadened scale of material comforts only increases and
intensifies man’s sullen discontent with his lot. Remedial legislation
piled mountain high complicates the relations, and increases the
frictions of classes and ranks artificially held apart. Even education,
in the ordinary sense, is powerless to lift men from the sensuous
or animal plane. The intellect is cultivated and the tastes refined
to the utmost without, in the least, quickening the moral pulse, or
lifting man, as a spiritual being, into a higher and more harmonious
environment. Natural and ethical laws, older than the Decalogue, are
declared faulty or obsolete, and the prevailing current is towards a
chaos of Artificialism. Men close their eyes to dangers in front and
stop their ears to the noise of the breakers before them. The spectres
of Anarchism and Communism, with their barbaric hopelessness and
despair, loom up in the perspective. The mental horizon of the vast
majority is practically limited by the boundary of the sensuous, seen,
and the material. The rush for power, place, wealth, fashion, display,
position, is impetuous and almost universal. All these form but a
partial catalogue of the shadows which darken the horizon as seen from
the materialistic or valley standpoint. What can dispel the gloom and
roll away the heavy threatening clouds?
“No development of science, aërial navigation, perfected phonographs,
nor telephones, technical education, improved legislation, sanitation,
medication, nor all combined, can enhance human happiness or produce
harmony. No changes in external forms of government, from monarchy to
republic, or republic to monarchy, can cure the ills of society, which,
on the contrary, multiply with the successive developments of material,
scientific progress. The world is full of discords, its instruments are
out of tune.
“As Shakespeare observes,--
“‘Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.’
“All the forces so implicitly relied upon, and all the instrumentalities
that are visible to material sense, are utterly powerless to vitalize
and purify the tainted life-currents of human society.
“Now let us turn our backs upon that view, and climb the mountain-side
for a new standpoint. We have left the sweat, and grind, and rage for
material gains, and the horizon of fog and mist which seemed so solid,
and now, around and above, stand out the veritable bold headlands
of spiritual achievement, glistening in the sunlight of truth. The
things in the valley which were so permanent and valuable, and for
which we so earnestly strove, were but toys, or at most panoramic
views, already passed. The whole realm of truth, above and below, in
itself is unchanged; but to us, with a new point of view, it has been
transformed. Who shall teach mankind that the material is immaterial,
and the immaterial material? The individual must be lifted to the
recognition of the divine qualities of love, truth, life, purity,
harmony, and joy, as real, natural, logical, scientific, and attainable
verities. A corresponding cognition of sensuous and material things as
shadowy and unreal, causes them to fall into line where they normally
belong. As one writer well expresses it,--‘Matter is never in its right
place till it vanishes, leaving only the sweet odors of spirit.’
“All this because man is primarily a spiritual being; he is material
only in a secondary and external sense. A correction of this inverted,
this wrong-side-up life of humanity, would bring harmony out of
discord, order out of chaos, and would transform the chilly, diseased,
morgue-like atmosphere of the world into the warm aroma of a perennial
flower-garden.”
The attention of all had been fixed upon Burton during his argument.
Dr. Frustadt seemed to have been listening to a dialect which to him
was hardly intelligible. His crimson scars had lost their fiery glow,
and his defiant gaze, which before had been riveted upon Lord Percival,
was downcast and tame. His lordship seemed thoughtful, and all the rest
much interested. Tapley was delighted that his friend had so exactly
expressed his own views, even better than he himself could have done.
At length, Lord Percival resumed,--
“Perhaps I do not perfectly comprehend the drift of your argument, but
I infer that you turn to religion as the only remedy for the social,
economic, and moral wrongs of society. Have we not had the Church, with
all its services, ordinances, sacraments, and institutions, in full
operation for centuries? Its ecclesiastics are able and conscientious
men, its missionary, charitable, benevolent, and remedial institutions
were never so active and numerous as now, yet the tide of wretchedness,
crime, and discord appears stronger than ever before. If religion is
the antidote, why, with its full and long application, do disorders
increase?”
“Religion, if defined as a recognition of God, as the object of love
and worship, is the sovereign remedy,” said Burton; “but even the very
significance of the word has become modified. The Church is a good
institution; and it is practically useful in just the degree that it
spiritualizes mankind. Unfortunately, with some, religion means the
conscientious observance of a ritual; with others, the intellectual
acceptance of a particular creed or system, or the observance of
certain ordinances; in other cases, the external regard, as a duty,
of the moral code. All these, in various combinations, mainly make
up the religious ideal of mankind. Religion is usually presented as
something supernatural or unnatural, in the light of an abnormal
necessity or duty, and for these reasons it is unattractive to the
human family, who really are suffering for it. What is needed is more
emphasis upon its spirituality, less upon its history; more upon its
union with an immanent God, less of doctrine and scholasticism; more of
a consciousness of the Holy Spirit as a practical force and continuous
revelation, and less institutionalism, literalism, and dogmatism;
more naturalness and attractiveness, and less of the speculative and
supernatural. With such a religion, its enemies would be disarmed,
and the world would seek it as a thirsty traveller craves a cooling
draught. Systems of theology have placed God at a distance, and
have delineated Him in such a light that the affections of men have
not responded. It is just to admit that, in general, Church theory
regarding spiritual verities is correct; but, practically, to the vast
majority, religion means the things before enumerated. The clergy are
earnest, honest, and conscientious, but, by the very nature of their
education, they are moulded in fixed systems. Their standpoint has been
already provided, and they cannot erect an independent one without
making great sacrifices and breaking strong ties. Scholastic and
artificial accretions have overlaid and obscured the simple abounding
love, faith, and hope of the primitive Church, when men lived in the
Unseen, face to face with God.
“You will pardon me for drifting into what you may call theology, while
discussing social and political economy, but all Truth is one.
“Dryden well observes,--
“‘For truth has such a face, and such a mien,
As to be loved needs only to be seen.’
“Science, falsely so called, has shut out of view all but the lower
or material part of truth. Such a view has given it an incomplete and
distorted appearance. A materialistic theology has also partitioned
off a supposed supernatural realm, putting it beyond the reign of
orderly law and sequence. Truth, being a unit, cannot be divided by
any hard and sharp lines. Natural law, which is only another name for
divine method, pervades and unifies the entire cosmos, spiritual and
material. The general recognition of the spiritual nature of man,
and the growth of a spiritual consciousness in him, is the sovereign
and only remedy for human ills, whether moral, political, social, or
physical.”
Burton completed his argument just as dinner was finished, and all
arose from the table and went outside to enjoy the delicious air and
views. Colonel Tapley and Lord Percival lighted their cigars, and
Frustadt filled his meerschaum, and poured forth such clouds of smoke
that Tapley quietly suggested that the Sea-Foam might be mistaken for a
steamer.
“What city is that?” inquired Lord Percival, as he glanced along the
North shore, and pointed to a place of evident importance.
“That is Salem,” replied Tapley. “It is a quaint and interesting old
town.”
“Ah! I fancy that I have somewhere read that they burned witches
there,” observed his lordship. “Beastly, cruel business! If I am not
mistaken, it has not been practised during the present century. Am I
correct?”
“Quite so,” replied Tapley. “Whatever there was of Salem witchcraft
occurred long before the present century.”
“I am not well up in American history,” replied his lordship.
“Can you tell me what there was in it? How do you account for the
manifestations, and what was their nature?”
“Undoubtedly, they were the result of some form of animal magnetism,”
said Tapley. “The natural laws relating to hypnotic influences were
not then understood, and the peculiar phenomena were at once attributed
to demoniacal dictation and possession. In the past, when any unusual
or strange manifestations have appeared, instead of any search for
the laws which govern them, they were at once attributed to special,
supernatural agency. Any general idea of the universality of law is a
conception of recent times.”
“Do you think animal magnetism harmful if properly employed?” said
Percival.
“I think its name is significant,” replied Tapley; “its province is in
the lower nature, and its _animus_ is antagonistic to spirituality.
Its manifestations all belong to the sensuous realm. Its forces are
all contained in the ‘mind of the flesh,’ and therefore are ephemeral,
among the things that perish. It is not strange that in times when all
malign influences were directly attributed to a personal Devil, he was
credited with these demonstrations.”
“They were all linked in with religious superstitions,” said Frustadt.
“Wherever you find churches, there you find bigotry and superstition.
From the number of spires that I notice along your ‘North shore,’ I
am not surprised at a prevailing belief in witchcraft, or any other
delusion.”
“The Church, with all its deficiencies, is infinitely to be preferred
to a coarse, desolate materialism,” replied Tapley. “Your ideal man at
most would be but a highly refined animal.”
“Well, I should even then be satisfied with him, provided he had no
strain of ‘blue blood’ or ecclesiasticism in his veins,” replied
Frustadt in an undertone, glancing at Lord Percival.
Tapley wisely planned a diversion, and, turning to Captain Brown, said:
“Are we not on good fishing-ground, Captain? Let us have a little
sport! A prize for the first fish.”
Captain Brown said that the chances for “a catch” were fair, and the
tackle was put in order, and the sails adjusted so that the yacht would
slowly drift while they were fishing.
Lord Percival got the first line out, and before it had reached the
bottom the bait was seized by a good-sized fish. He gave a vigorous
pull, and hauled in, hand over hand, finally landing a fifteen-pound
cod on deck. “’Pon my word, that’s a beauty,” said Percival: “I fancy
the beast will weigh thirty or forty pounds.”
“Not an ounce over ten,” said Frustadt. “The fish looks rather
slippery, and evidently belongs to the higher class.”
Though there was a perceptible bit of sarcasm in the tones, Percival
smiled at the hit and retorted,--
“Well, Doctor, if my fish is slippery, your first catch will have,
pardon me, a very scaly character.”
“I will presently show you what fishing is,” confidently replied
Frustadt; whereupon he dropped in his line and awaited developments.
He did not wait long for a bite, and pulled away with all his might.
He landed his fish, which proved to be a sculpin, which perhaps would
weigh ten ounces. This caused some amusement, in which he joined with
a forced laugh, but a close observer would have noticed that the scars
in his face flamed out, as had been the case before. During the next
half-hour several cod and haddock of good size were caught by the
party, all of whom took a hand at the sport, except Colonel Tapley, who
remained below to finish some correspondence. At length, Burton felt
a tug on his line, so heavy that he fancied that his hook must have
caught upon the bottom. In a moment more, as the line began to slip
through his hands, he became aware that a big fish had been hooked.
“I’ve got a whale, or a sea-monster of some sort,” exclaimed Burton.
“Hang on to him,” cried Tapley, who hastily pulled in his own line, to
be free to render any assistance possible. In spite of a strong though
not unyielding resistance which Burton made, the line was taken out
with great rapidity.
“I think that same fish bit my hook a few moments ago, but did not hang
on,” said Frustadt.
“It must be the sea-serpent,” observed Tapley; “it’s just Burton’s
luck, his bait bears a charm.”
Burton kept a steady pressure on the fish, and at length resistance
ceased, and the line began to slacken; but steady pulling kept it taut,
so that the fish did not get the advantage; but soon again it went out
with a rush. After a series of struggles the captive was brought to the
surface.
“A halibut! A halibut!” cried Captain Brown. The great fish gave a
flop, and again shot away with lightning speed, having plenty of line
under a steady but yielding pressure. After several desperate attempts
to escape, it was evident that the contest was nearly over, and that
the halibut must succumb. A small dory was lowered, and Captain Brown
and Tapley, each with gaff in hand, jumped in, with Burton between
them, who kept an increasing pressure on the now tired and yielding
fish. At length he was brought alongside, and, by the aid of the gaffs,
was rolled into the dory. He doubled himself up and gave a vigorous
flop, which landed Tapley on the seat at the stern, and which came near
sending Burton overboard. By the quick turn of an oar, Captain Brown
gave the fish a sharp blow upon the head, which put a quietus to his
flopping.
“A two-hundred-pounder, and not an ounce less,” exclaimed Captain Brown.
The fish was hoisted on board the Sea-Foam, and Burton received the
congratulations of the whole party. Lord Percival suggested that
Burton’s skill in handling a big fish was only equalled by his ability
to discuss ethics and sociology. The whole party gathered around the
halibut, as it lay on deck, to make a thorough inspection. Frustadt
engaged in a critical examination of the mouth, when with a final gasp
the fish closed his jaws, and one finger received a severe nip.
“How very awkward,” exclaimed Percival. “An example of muscular
contraction, doctor.”
The scars were very red, but Frustadt made no reply.
The fishing was ended, the sails again were set, and, under the
influence of a free, southerly breeze, the Sea-Foam sped eastward.
While the gentlemen were engaged in reading and light games on the
deck, Miss Tapley sent up a succession of melodies from the piano in
the cabin below. Late in the afternoon the breeze slackened, and at
length became so light that they were nearly becalmed; but, as the
yacht was not far off Gloucester, they slowly came in to the harbor and
anchored for the night. After tea, as the evening was pleasant, the
whole party remained outside, and, by invitation, Dr. Frustadt sang
quite a number of solos, playing an accompaniment on the mandolin.
The air was balmy and tranquil, the moon full and clear, and the
scattered lights of the old fishing town lent their aid in making
the whole scene full of romance and beauty. Robust baritone melodies
reverberated over the waves, so that groups of skippers and fishermen
lingered on the wharves to catch the music which floated out from the
Sea-Foam. Percival suggested to Captain Brown that in case a fog should
be encountered, could he induce Frustadt to sing solos on deck, horns
would be quite unnecessary. At length the evening wore away, and
all retired except Colonel Tapley and the young men, who lingered,
reluctant to lose the inspiration of the moonlit waves.
“Father,” said Tapley, “what is your opinion of your German guest?”
“I confess I cannot quite make him out,” replied the colonel; “he is
somewhat of an enigma. My friend Radbourne, when in Switzerland, gave
him a very cordial letter of introduction, and I thought we could show
him pleasant attention by inviting him to join us on this cruise.”
“Have you carefully examined the letter, and are you quite sure of its
genuineness?” asked the young man.
“I have been perfectly familiar with my friend’s writing for years,
William, and do not think I can be deceived in that respect.”
“Well, father, if Frustadt is not a ‘black sheep,’ Burton and I are
greatly at fault. We can _feel_ him. We have a mutual and positive
conviction that there is a hidden mystery about him, and that he is
playing a part.”
“I will re-examine carefully Radbourne’s letter, William, and also will
write him for fuller particulars; but, meanwhile, we shall be obliged
to assume that Frustadt is Frustadt,” said the colonel.
“Certainly, we will treat him kindly,” replied the son. “There is no
difficulty about that, but how about introducing him to our friends and
to society? There is where we shall feel embarrassment.”
“I would send Radbourne a ‘cable’ for particulars,” observed the
colonel, “but unfortunately I do not know his present address.”
“Well, there is no way but for Dr. Mystery to remain our guest for
the present,” replied the young man; “but I believe some unpleasant
development is liable to come. Have you noticed his sullen manner
towards Percival?”
“To some extent,” replied the father, “but I attributed it to his
socialistic crankiness. In Percival he sees an embodiment of the
aristocratic idea, which is his _bête-noir_. While I have great
confidence in your judgment, especially when supplemented by Burton’s,
I am forced to believe that in this matter you may be mistaken.”
Thus ended the first day of the cruise.
Three days passed quickly. The winds generally were favorable, and the
weather continued fine, with the exception of a single foggy forenoon.
Stops were made at Portland and Rockland, for the foreign guests, as
they went along, wished to see something of the country and the native
population. Discussions of social and political economy were tabooed,
and, with reading, music, story-telling, fishing, and the enjoyment of
the scenery, the time was fully occupied.
On the fourth day of leisurely sailing, they approached the south end
of Mount Desert Island. As they came near, its beautiful mountains
gradually rose out of the water, and exclamations of surprise and
delight broke forth from every one. Beautiful! Grand! Delightful! were
among the exclamations which were heard on every hand. As the Sea-Foam
glided past the Cranberry Islands, and neared the shore, picturesque
details began to unfold themselves, and the mountain-range resolved
itself into distinct peaks of varying shapes and profiles. Though very
diminutive in bulk, when compared with the Alps, the Rockies, and
even many of the White Mountains, they have a unique and ravishing
beauty peculiar in its variety. Mere bigness is but one of the more
unimportant elements of beauty. Variety, color, pose, proximity to the
sea--these are among the qualities that are combined to a remarkable
degree in this famed locality.
“To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides
Into his darker musings with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware.”
The great green waves in vain hurl themselves against the perpendicular
wall of Otter Cliff, but the caves, the crevices, the ragged
indentations, and the débris are evidences that, in the long combat,
the more solid element has gradually yielded, thus illustrating the
power of persistent energy in spite of unequal conditions. The warning
tones of the Otter Cliff bell-buoy, and the rumble and roar of Thunder
Cave soon are left behind, and the Sea-Foam glides successively by
Great Head, Anemone Cave, Schooner Head, and Spouting Horn, when those
unique and precipitous islands known as the “Porcupines” rise up as
sentinels to guard the approach to Frenchman’s Bay.
“For here, when the night roars round, and under
The white sea lightens and leaps like fire,
Acclaimed of storm and applauded in thunder,
Sits Death on the throne of his crowned desire.”
The wind freshened as the Sea-Foam sped on towards the bay, its course
lying near the “Thrumbcap” on the left, with Egg Rock to the right, and
presently some of the fair and stately cottages of Bar Harbor gradually
came into view. All were delighted with the shifting panorama, and in
a half-hour they would be at anchor in the harbor, the outward part of
the cruise at an end.
As they reached a point a little to the west of “Round” Porcupine,
Captain Brown noticed a neat little schooner-rigged yacht, apparently
about thirty feet long, and not far away, lying directly in his course.
As he drew nearer, it was evident from the actions of those on board
that something had occurred to produce the most intense excitement.
Screams of terror, cries of “Help! help!” female figures flitting to
and fro, a waving of arms, and general dire confusion were observable
from the deck of the Sea-Foam. Captain Brown steered directly for the
little yacht, anxious to render any assistance that might be possible.
Every one upon the Sea-Foam was straining eyes and ears to catch the
significance of the distress. The minutes seemed like hours to Burton
and Tapley until they might get near enough to unravel the mystery, and
render such aid as might be within their power.
“Oh, help! help! he’s drowned! he’s drowned!” were now among the
exclamations distinctly audible. Wild gestures were seen, and
incoherent wails and moans filled the air.
“Oh, my God! my God! he’s gone! he’s gone!” rang out distinctly in
feminine tones as they drew near.
“What’s the matter? who is drowned? and where did it happen?” asked
Captain Brown, all in the same breath.
“Our Tom! Oh, he’s gone down! he’s gone down! help! help!”
By this time the Sea-Foam was close alongside of the demoralized yacht.
Three young ladies, in gay yachting costumes, were visible. Two of
them were pacing the deck, wringing their hands and uttering almost
hysterical cries for help, while the third, much more self-possessed,
at once responded to Captain Brown’s inquiries. Two young men were
seen, one just climbing on board the yacht, and the other, perhaps
ten rods away, swimming towards it, both evidently much exhausted from
their unsuccessful search after the missing person. They were unable to
utter a word, and so could give no information.
“Oh! sir, my brother Tom was knocked overboard by the boom and has gone
down, and we have drifted away from him.”
“Quick, tell me where he went under,” said Captain Brown.
“About twenty rods just in that direction,” she replied, pointing to
the windward, to a place from which the yacht evidently had drifted.
While this conversation was taking place, Burton and Tapley had
instantly divined the situation, and, with the assistance of two
sailors, already had lowered the dory, into which they jumped, followed
by Captain Brown, in readiness to act the moment the information was
complete. By this time the second young man was climbing on board the
yacht, and as no one at hand seemed to need immediate assistance,
Captain Brown at once ordered two sailors to row to the windward,
keeping his eye as nearly as possible on the spot before pointed out.
“Are you young gentlemen accustomed to diving?” asked Captain Brown.
“The water cannot be very deep here, probably not more than fifteen
feet.”
“We are quite at home in the water,” replied Tapley, “and will do our
best to get hold of him.”
“This is about the spot,” said the captain.
Meanwhile, Burton and Tapley had hastily divested themselves of coats,
hats, vests, and shoes, and they instantly dived, one on each side of
the dory. After remaining on the bottom as long as possible, both came
up, but they had met with no success. The dory had slightly changed
position, and after a few moments of rest and recovery of breath,
they again plunged in, but with the same result as before. This was
continued with a little change of position each time, when, during the
seventh descent, Burton saw a dark object, and made a grasp to get it,
but failed. Again he went down, and, getting a slight hold, he slowly
rose to the surface bringing it with him. The dark object proved to be
the body of a lad, apparently ten or twelve years of age, whose jacket
Burton had grasped with his left hand. It was the work of but two or
three minutes to tenderly raise the body into the dory, and row back to
the Sea-Foam.
“We have found the darling boy and think he can be resuscitated, so
keep up good courage,” said Burton to the stricken party.
“How long since he went down?” asked Captain Brown.
“Oh, I don’t know! It must be as much as ten minutes, and, besides, he
received a blow in his back from the main boom,” replied the young lady
who before had given all the information.
“Oh, sir, can you save him? He is the darling and pet of our family.”
Without waiting a moment, Burton and Tapley carefully bore him below
and went to work vigorously to coax the spirit to remain in him if it
had not already taken its final departure. First they held him up, face
downwards, to drain the water from his lungs, and then, while Burton
tried to produce artificial respiration, Tapley chafed the limbs, and
made an effort to again start into action the suspended circulation.
Mrs. Tapley and her daughter, also, were untiring in their efforts,
bringing out stimulants, warm blankets, and every appliance which could
be of possible service. The lad’s short curly locks were but slightly
disarranged, his face was bright and handsome, and a winning smile
played around his mouth, and, from appearances, he might have been
taking a nap. His body, however, was puny, his spine seemed not quite
regular, and one leg a trifle shorter than its companion. While Burton
and Tapley were devoting their best energies to the restoration of the
boy, Colonel Tapley and Captain Brown were doing everything possible
for the rest of the party. They were all taken on board the Sea-Foam,
and Colonel Tapley directed Captain Brown to take the little yacht in
tow while they came up to the harbor. The stricken party at once went
below to see how it was with the dear boy. Was it possible to bring
him back? and what means should be used? When they saw what vigorous
and systematic efforts the young men were already putting forth, they
began to have some hope. Colonel Tapley furnished the strangers with
dry clothing, and was untiring in his efforts to promote their comfort.
Percival performed many kind offices, and even Frustadt seemed anxious
to make himself useful. Mrs. Tapley, in her sweet, motherly way, did
all that was possible to calm and relieve the young ladies, and to
inspire them with hope and courage.
Some fifteen minutes had elapsed since the recovery of the body, when
Burton, who had closely watched every indication, detected a slight
gasp.
In five minutes more signs of life became quite pronounced, and
natural though feeble respiration and heart-action had begun. Soon
consciousness returned. The lad opened his eyes, and seemed greatly
surprised at the surroundings. He said that he had had a beautiful
dream, but that they had rudely interrupted it.
The grief of stricken hearts, which had found expression in moans and
sighs, at once gave place to demonstrations of gladness. The young lady
who all along had been the medium of communication now noticed that
Burton and Tapley were still in their dripping clothing, though they
had forgotten the fact.
“Please let me watch my brother while you change your clothing,” said
she.
Neither, however, would leave the boy until he was fully restored,
beyond all question.
“God bless you both!” she exclaimed; “we can never reward you.”
“We are already many times rewarded,” said Burton. “The privilege of
being on this spot, and of serving you in this emergency, is in itself
happiness.”
The excitement was past, and the strange young lady desired to know her
benefactors. Addressing Colonel Tapley, she said,--
“May I inquire to whom we owe such thanks that we can never hope to
give them expression?”
“My name is Tapley,” replied the colonel, “and these young men are Mr.
Burton and my son; and to whom has it been our privilege to render this
service?”
“I am Miss Bonbright,” she replied, “and the saved boy is my young
brother Tom. This is my sister Miss Rosamond, and Miss Jenness, and Mr.
Van Roden, and my brother Adelbert,” said she, presenting each in turn.
“Is your father Edmund Bonbright of Boston?”
“He is.”
“I know him well,” observed the colonel, who then presented his wife,
daughter, and the foreign guests to each of the relieved party.
“I think we may well call this ‘a surprise party,’” said the colonel,
and while greetings and congratulations were going on, the Sea-Foam
sped on towards her anchorage in the harbor.