_THE ANEMONE-CAVE PICNIC._
Bar Harbor in midsummer is a little social world in itself.
“No hiding-place is this for mournful fate,
No sorrow here is guest;
These summer palaces are dedicate
To pleasure and to rest.
Here Fashion plumes her brilliant, airy wing,
And brightens sea and shore,
A rainbow-colored, transitory thing,
Now here, now seen no more.”
Unlike some other fashionable resorts, dancing is not the chief
occupation. With all the manners of the gay world, and the
cosmopolitanism which distinguishes the _crême de la crême_, life
at Bar Harbor is unconventional. While perhaps as pretentious and
exclusive in its social characteristics as Newport or Lenox, there
is an _abandon_ which is lacking elsewhere. A sort of negligé or
“go-as-you-please” air is noticeable about the place, which is
refreshing. Young ladies noted elsewhere for elaborate dressing appear
in boating or lawn-tennis costumes almost everywhere, except perhaps at
dinner or for evening.
Young gentlemen are met in striped costumes, with jockey caps to match,
which display nearly all the colors of the rainbow. Outdoor exercises
and amusements being the chief occupation, costumes are made to
correspond.
There is no end to excursions: across the bay, up the mountain, to
caves, to “ovens;” by canoe, by rowing, by sailing, by buckboard.
The last named is an institution of the place. Varying in capacity
from two persons to fifteen, and often most luxuriously fitted up,
they are seen in “shoals” about the hotels and docks. A stranger, upon
landing at the wharf, might imagine that the town was mainly composed
of buckboards. Out-of-door activity has been mentioned as the chief
occupation; but flirting is so intermingled with it that it might
be difficult to say which is entitled to priority. Girls are in the
majority, and form the controlling element in society. The average
young man is highly appreciated, because there is “not enough of him to
go around.” He unquestionably has an opportunity to make the most of
himself. The chaperons of Bar Harbor have the reputation of being very
accommodating, and the suggestion has been made that the chaperons be
chaperoned.
There is one climatic peculiarity about the “Harbor,” in the shape of
its “dry fogs.” It is barely possible that the dryness is mainly in the
mind of the Bar-Harborite, as the phenomenon is not elsewhere observed
on the Atlantic Coast. These fogs, however, are useful as draperies, to
hide, at intervals, the unequalled scenery, which any _habitué_ would
assure you might be overwhelming, were it “turned on” all the time.
Although the Tapleys were guests at a leading hotel, the colonel’s
wide acquaintance, together with the intimacy of his party with the
Bonbrights, at once gave them an abundant _entrée_ to the choicest
circle of cottagers. The Bonbrights were devoted in their attention,
and among their especial friends a continuous round of dinners, teas,
and receptions were given in honor of the Sea-Foam party. Colonel
Tapley reciprocated by giving two entertainments on board his yacht,
and by several short excursions to near-by ports. Burton and Tapley
were considerably lionized, the particulars of the rescue of little
Tom having leaked out, notwithstanding they had especially requested
that it should not be mentioned.
For the first three or four days, Dr. Frustadt mingled somewhat in
the social round of festivities, although a part of the time he
excused himself, and seemed rather bored. His fine baritone voice,
conversational gifts, and rather distinguished foreign air would have
served him well, had he taken any interest in society. But, regardless
of the kind exertions of his host for his entertainment, he seemed
troubled with _ennui_, and ill at ease. On the fifth day after their
arrival, he announced to Colonel Tapley that he had received a despatch
from a German friend, who was quite ill in New-York City, requesting
his presence.
“I think it my duty to go at once,” said Frustadt, “though I hope to
pay my respects to you again, soon after your return to Boston.” With
hasty thanks and adieus, he took leave of his entertainer, and left by
the night boat that same evening. As he formally took the Englishman
by the hand, his “scars” flamed out, his jaws were firmly set and lips
compressed, indicating internal excitement. When he took leave of the
young men the “scars” were pale, the lips a bluish white and partly
open, and hands flabby and moist.
Was there a lower, malignant self that had possession of Frustadt, and
which instinctively felt and recognized something in the young men
which cowed and rebuked it?
On the other hand, was there some intuitive perception in them, which
penetrated his hollowness, of which they had no outward proof?
There are soul recognitions, attractions, and antipathies, which make
themselves felt without external cause, and which can be accounted
for only by the existence of an inner perception which has eyes,
immaterial though real. Intellectually, Frustadt posed to himself as
a “reformer,” but the base quality which controlled him quaked in the
presence of intrinsic spiritual force and fibre.
The next morning after Frustadt’s departure, the weather was like an
importation from the torrid zone.
“We never have any hot days here,” says the _habitué_, but that morning
proved that “hardly ever” would have been more exact.
“I think,” exclaimed Van Roden, “that such a morning as this is enough
to make one, in the language of Sydney Smith, wish that he could ‘take
off his flesh, and sit in his bones.’” Turning to Adelbert, as he wiped
the perspiration from his brow, he said, “Bert, is there a cool spot on
this island?”
“I fancy it would be comfortable in the dense shade of the spruces and
firs,” replied Adelbert. “Let’s go and have a picnic.”
“I have a scheme worth two of that,” observed Rosamond. “I know of a
spot which is positively cool. Let’s have a picnic in Anemone Cave.”
“Would it not be damp and disagreeable?” inquired Miss Jenness.
“Oh, no,” replied Rosamond. “We can take some thick rugs to sit upon,
and it will be delicious on a day like this. I will order the large
hamper filled with provisions, and we will take along the little
alcohol heater, and make some coffee. I will send an invitation to the
Tapleys, and at least the young people will join us.”
“Are you quite sure that the tide will be low enough?” said Helen. “It
must be well down for that excursion.”
“Oh, yes, I noticed how it was by the bar yesterday,” replied Rosamond.
“The tide will be on the ebb all the forenoon, and by half-past eleven
it will be all right. We can go into the cave and have as much time as
we wish. The very thought makes me cool. Bertie, please order a large
buckboard that will take us all, and be sure and have them put in,
extra, three or four thick carriage-rugs. Order it for eleven o’clock.”
A messenger was despatched to the hotel inviting the Tapleys to join
the proposed excursion, and all the arrangements were made for a
comfortable trip and entertainment. An elaborate luncheon was provided,
which, with the materials and appliances for coffee-making, was
carefully stowed away under the driver’s seat, and soon after eleven
they started for the hotel to take in the rest of the party. There
were four seats besides that of the driver, with a capacity of three
persons each. Miss Jenness was handed into the back seat by Van Roden,
who made himself at home beside her. Bert and his sisters distributed
themselves, one each on the remaining seats, so that their guests would
have an opportunity to most conveniently and agreeably mingle with
them. Arriving at the hotel, they found their friends in readiness and
gathered upon the piazza.
Nearly an acre of ground is required for the average buckboard to
turn upon, but the space was liberal, and the vehicle, drawn by four
spirited horses, gracefully curved up to the steps. Adelbert, from the
front seat, called out, “All aboard for the Cave!” and all came forward
to take their places. Colonel Tapley had a previous engagement, and
Mrs. Tapley at first declined to go, but Helen suggested the propriety
of a chaperon, and she consented.
Buckboard seats with a capacity of three are awkward, if the old adage
is true, that “two are a company and three a crowd.” Here the total
seating capacity, or as an economist might say, the supply, was twelve,
demand only ten. Mathematical problem: how should the two threes and
the two twos be composed? Van Roden visibly broadened himself, so that
upon a casual glance the rear seat seemed to be fairly well filled by
Miss Jenness and himself. He was still improving opportunities for
character study. Burton gave his hand to Mrs. Tapley, who stepped in
and occupied a part of the front seat with Adelbert, and motioned to
her daughter to follow her. By this time Lord Percival had slipped in
by the side of Rosamond, leaving Burton and Tapley still to be provided
for. Immediately upon taking his seat, the Englishman grew stout enough
to fill two seats, while his gaze momentarily seemed to be fixed upon
some distant object. Burton and Tapley visibly hesitated, but Helen
motioned them both to her seat, which they occupied, one on either
side. Van Roden chuckled to himself as he saw that the trios and duets,
as far as he was concerned, were in accord with the law of “natural
selection.”
“All ready,” was the word, and with a crack of the whip the four horses
dashed away to the music of two horns, provided by Rosamond, and which,
as they moved along, were tooted by Adelbert and Van Roden. The heat
of the sun was intense, but, with the exception of Lord Percival, they
did not mind it, being sheltered by sun-umbrellas of various sizes and
colors.
“Do you often have such beastly hot days as this?” inquired his
lordship of Rosamond.
“No, my lord; such days are really quite rare.”
“Beg pardon, but I should call them well done,” he observed, wiping the
perspiration from his rubicund features.
“We shall all be cool enough when we reach the cave,” said Rosamond. “I
can assure you of that.”
“I--I trust that you will not be cool towards me,” remarked his
lordship, “for you must not forget that we are cousins, even if
slightly removed.”
Rosamond uttered a quick, ringing laugh, and made some insinuation
regarding a chestnutty flavor. The noble lord, although very fond of
jokes,--for an Englishman,--was not conversant with American slang, and
an explanation was necessary.
“Here is the Indian encampment,” exclaimed Rosamond, as the buckboard
passed near some huts in the outskirts of the town.
“Do I understand that some of the real aborigines are encamped here?”
said he.
“Yes, indeed! We sometimes call them, in a poetic way, you know, ‘the
noble red men.’”
“I fancied they were black,” replied Lord Percival. “Noble red men! I
feel like a noble red man myself. My face must be crimson from this
beastly heat. But I really can’t be an aborigine, for am I not your
cousin--slightly--.” Again a ringing laugh, for Rosamond enjoyed jokes,
even of an ordinary quality, when perpetrated by an English lord.
“I will take you to the encampment some day,” said she. “It is within
easy walking distance.”
Before Anemone Cave was reached, a little thought had stolen into
Rosamond’s mind, to the effect that English cousins were very agreeable
company, especially when they belonged to the nobility.
On his part, the impression that the professional study of American
“specimens” was an agreeable pastime, was deepened by the excursion.
On the back seat, Van Roden made an effort to entertain Miss Jenness
with small talk, but she seemed in a rather reserved mood. Whenever
on previous occasions he had introduced science, or evolution, or
theosophy, she had responded with evident interest. Now he avoided
these topics, hoping to evolve the woman instead of the philosopher.
He met with little success. His theory regarding women could not be
mistaken, so here must be an unexpected exception. He believed that the
measure of the female sex did not extend beyond trivial topics. If this
were an exceptional case, it only merited a closer inspection. Before,
he had greatly enjoyed an intellectual combat with the scholar; now, he
would like more of a revelation of the woman. His increased interest
and curiosity were unaccountable even to himself, for nothing was
expected of feminine character but giddiness and superficiality.
The fact must not be overlooked that trios as well as duets were
included in the buckboard party, as it rolled southward along the
narrow road through the forest.
Helen Bonbright was happy at all times, and she could not be otherwise
under the present felicitous circumstances. Her enjoyment was not of so
demonstrative and explosive a quality as that of her sister, although
it was broader and deeper. Her love of nature was intense, and this
drive was through the most charming scenery. It was delightful for her
to be in communion with trees, flowers, rocks, and mountains, and she
practically realized their elevating and harmonizing influence upon
the human mind. She thought of them not merely as beautiful forms of
matter, but, looking through their external loveliness, she saw them
as manifestations. She loved them not only for what they were, but for
what they represented. To her they were transparent, and in them she
saw the infinite pulsations of loving, pervading, universal life. Could
such a young girl be regarded as visionary or impractical? It is rather
the materialistic and external mind which has become impractical; which
has gravitated from the normal towards the abnormal; from the real
towards the unreal and temporary.
With so much in common, Helen and her companions, one upon either
side, could hardly be otherwise than responsive to each other. They
were delighted with the exuberant vitality of the thick green forest
through which they were speeding; with the sublimity and grandeur of
Newport Mountain, by whose base they wound their way; with air, earth,
and sky. With the refreshment and occupation of the higher nature, the
oppressiveness of the temperature had been forgotten.
At length the road emerged into an open space, the driver reined up his
horses, and the party alighted to take the path to the cave. Adelbert
and Van Roden carried the hamper, and Burton and Tapley piled the heavy
rugs upon their shoulders, leaving Lord Percival free to render any
necessary assistance to the ladies. A walk of a few minutes brought
them to the shore in the vicinity of the cave. Here old Neptune, in
his assaults upon _terra firma_, is confronted by great, brown, rocky
barriers through whose jagged openings and crevices his waves surge
and foam. The endless titanic contest between these contending forces
gives a chaotic aspect to this shore, the rocks being cleft, scarred,
and overturned, as if they had been hurled one upon another. The party
picked their way to the entrance of the cave, and found the tide at
a level, which permitted them to go inside without difficulty. There
were some high steps among damp and slippery rocks, but, with a little
assistance rendered to the ladies, all soon made their way over them,
and disappeared within the recesses of Anemone Cave.
“Isn’t it delicious?” said Rosamond.
“Cool as a cucumber!” suggested Van Roden.
“By Jove, this _is_ refreshing!” responded the Englishman.
While the rocks about the entrance were slimy with seaweed, when they
had penetrated farther up into the cavern, there was but a slight
cool dampness, which was agreeable by contrast with the temperature
outside. The day being bright, and the mouth of the cave quite broad,
there was abundant light, but its quality was weird and peculiar.
The provisions and rugs were deposited in a suitable place, and all
proceeded to explore the rocky apartment. The walls were cleft and
crannied, far beyond where the height permitted the visitors to walk
upright, giving evidence of the tremendous power of the waves when
they surge in, during easterly gales and winter storms. In places, the
rocks were literally frosted with barnacles and other crustacea, which
abound in remarkable profusion along this shore. Upon the irregular
floor of the cavern were several shining pools, which were replenished
by each returning tide. The opalescent light which was shed upon the
brilliant-tinted forms of marine, animal, and vegetable life, which
thrive in these miniature ponds, made them like mirrors, whose depths
were formed of rainbows in liquid form. To an enthusiastic naturalist,
a place with such features would be like a diminutive garden of Eden.
“Please show me some specimens of the Anemone,” said Lord Percival,
with notebook in hand, addressing Rosamond.
“My sister is more familiar with them than I am,” replied Rosamond.
“Helen, will you be so kind as to ‘show up’ an Anemone to Lord
Percival?”
“In this pool are some very good specimens,” said Helen, upon which all
gathered around.
“Please tell us whether they are ‘fish, flesh, or fowl,’” exclaimed
Bert. “Let’s take one out.”
“I would like a good, well-developed specimen to dissect,” said Van
Roden; “but perhaps it is best to wait till after luncheon is served,
and then one can be secured in a dish.”
“There is a notice outside the cave, to the effect that the anemones
must not be disturbed,” suggested Miss Jenness.
“Oh, pshaw!” said Bert, “I am going to stir up the animals.” He,
however, desisted, upon a protest being made by the young ladies.
“But, Miss Bonbright, I thought that you were going to define the
animal, and I am waiting to take notes,” said his lordship.
“Oh, I have never given them much attention,” replied Helen. “I am
aware that they belong to a very low order of animal life, being almost
a vegetable. Perhaps they may be regarded as a blossoming animal. Miss
Jenness, probably, can give you more information, and--by the way--I
have heard that Miss Tapley is a devoted naturalist.”
Miss Tapley disclaimed any special knowledge of anemones, but recalled
the fact that they were a Polyp of the Zoöphyte order. “There are
several species of this graceful animal-flower,” continued she, “and
they vary widely in color and form. They anchor themselves securely
to the rocks by a flexible tube, which ends in a kind of sucker and
adheres to the rocks quite firmly. The anemone is a sort of natural
barometer, for it blossoms out or expands itself upon the advent of
fair weather.”
“I remember another fact about them,” said Miss Jenness. “If they are
cut in two, perpendicularly, or across, each cutting will give origin
to a new animal.”
“Very convenient arrangement, don’t you know,” said Lord Percival,
taking notes.
“That being so, I do not think they would mind being stirred up,” said
Adelbert, but, finding no stick, he did not stir them.
“What an infinite variety and profusion of life! vastly greater in
the sea than on the land,” said Burton. “The Divine Source of All Life
continually manifests the creative principle in an endless profusion of
forms. The different orders of crustacea alone are so numerous that a
lifetime might be given to their study, without exhausting them.”
“By ‘natural selection’ and the ‘survival of the fittest,’” said Van
Roden, “these low forms--almost on the boundary line of the vegetable
kingdom--in time will evolve themselves into more highly organized and
perfect conditions.”
“Please spare us a lecture on evolution,” responded Bert. “I think some
luncheon would now aid in the ‘survival of the fittest.’”
Rosamond, also, thought it time to spread the repast.
“Bert, please open the rugs,” said she, “so that we can comfortably sit
down, and I will put things in order for making the coffee.”
The rugs were spread upon the rocks in the upper part of the cavern,
and, with the assistance of Helen and Miss Jenness, the repast was
soon in readiness, and the delicious aroma of coffee filled the cave.
The luncheon was discussed in a leisurely way, and by the time it was
disposed of an hour and a half had passed since they entered the cool
retreat. One by one they arose to take a final survey, while Bert
and Rosamond packed up the utensils and dishes. Burton strolled down
towards the entrance, and, to his amazement, saw good-sized waves
rolling in over the place where they had entered on bare rocks.
“The tide! the tide is coming in!” he exclaimed, in tones that
attracted the attention of all. Rosamond had been mistaken in her
calculation, and, instead of an ebb-tide, the water had been rising
rapidly during their stay inside.
Between the “specimens,” the refreshments, and mutual attraction, their
attention had been so occupied that the change had been unnoticed.
Rosamond felt confident that she could not have been mistaken; but the
surging waters at that moment were giving testimony against her. All
relied upon her positive knowledge, and no one else had in any degree
investigated the subject.
“Isn’t it romantic?” she exclaimed, as all gathered at the water’s
edge, to take in the situation.
“I am unable to view it quite in that light,” replied Miss Jenness.
“’Pon my word we are in a dilemma,” observed Lord Percival.
“Oh, no, we are in Anemone Cave,” retorted Rosamond, not in the least
dismayed.
“I should say that we are in a box,” said Bert.
“Or, rather, a pickle,” chimed in Van Roden.
“Never mind, a sea-bath will not be disagreeable on a day like this,”
said Rosamond.
A wave higher than any which had preceded, and which broke at their
feet, warned them that the situation was not improving.
“There is no difficulty whatever,” said Tapley. “The water is not more
than two feet in depth, the day is warm, and I do not in the least mind
a little salt water. I will carry you all out one by one, the ladies
first, and then the gentlemen.”
Burton signified his willingness to do likewise. Bert followed his
example, as also did Van Roden. The Englishman, not to be outdone, made
the same proposal.
Time was passing, and Tapley thought it wise to make a beginning; so,
deftly taking his mother in his arms, he carried her out, while the
rest stood hesitating and watching the result. After landing her on a
dry rock outside, he returned and offered his services to Helen, who
at once replied,--
“Please take your sister next, Mr. Tapley.”
Tapley stood irresolute for an instant, then turned, and, dexterously
lifting his sister, carried her out without difficulty.
While the water was not more than two feet in depth, the waves rolled
in with considerable force, and the seaweed upon the rocks made the
footing exceedingly slippery. Just as Tapley was landing his sister, a
still larger wave surged in and broke with much force.
Burton turned to Helen, and, with a gesture of invitation, said, “Miss
Bonbright, shall I take you?”
She replied with a smile,--
“Thanks, Mr. Burton, my brother will take me.” Adelbert at once took
her up and followed by the same path which Tapley had taken. Just
before reaching the dry rock with his burden, his foot slipped on the
treacherous seaweed, and he fell forward with Helen underneath, both
for the moment nearly disappearing beneath the waves.
Burton plunged in, and quickly lifted Bert to his feet, and then raised
Helen from her prostrate position and lightly deposited her upon the
dry rock.
“I hope you are not bruised, Miss Bonbright.”
Upon regaining her breath, she assured him that she was uninjured, and,
after thanking him, suggested that he give his attention to the others.
While this was taking place, Tapley had returned, and by a coincidence
offered his services to Miss Jenness at the same moment that Van Roden
was tendering his aid, each, in the excitement of the occasion, being
unaware of the action of the other. Either by chance or intention, Miss
Jenness resigned herself to Tapley, who bore her safely through the
waves to the rock.
Rosamond cast an imploring glance at the Englishman, but, before he had
responded, Van Roden turned from where Miss Jenness had stood, and,
feeling that he was warranted in dispensing with formality, took her up
and went through the waves, landing her without difficulty. In the mean
time, Burton and Tapley had made their way back, where no one remained
but Lord Percival, who was about to plunge in.
“It is quite unnecessary for you to get wet,” said Tapley, and, suiting
the action to the word, he lifted the unresisting lord and took him to
the other side.
Burton hastily gathered up the rugs, and, flinging them upon his
shoulder, followed, thus completing the transfer. With the exception of
the wetting, none of the party were the worse for the adventure. The
weather was still very sultry, and the discomfort but slight. Helen
gathered up her long blond tresses, which had fallen down while she was
struggling in the water, and signified her readiness to return to the
buckboard. Tapley insisted that she should wrap herself in a rug, but
she protested that, with the prevailing temperature, the walk would not
be uncomfortable.
“This party can be traced by their drip,” said Bert, who before
starting poured the water from his boots. The buckboard was soon
regained, and, with exuberant hilarity, all took their seats for the
return. The episode of the peculiar exit from the cave added spice to
the excursion, which all voted a great success.
With peals of laughter echoing through the woods as the various
incidents of the transfer were reviewed, the vehicle made its way
rapidly homeward. “Sea-bathing,” “gallant rescue,” “graceful posing,”
“instantaneous photograph,” and various other expressions, might have
been overheard by any one in the vicinity as they passed along. The
duets and trios were composed as before. Helen was obliged to submit
to a wrapping of two large rugs, and if they were not well tucked in,
it was no fault of a kind friend on either side.
Rosamond declared that she believed there was something out of order
with the tide, although she had enjoyed the “adventure,” and was glad
it had happened.
“We needed a diversion,” said she.
“My dear cousin--slightly removed,” responded his lordship, “I believe
that all this entertainment was on your programme from the beginning.”
“I will neither say yes nor no,” declared Rosamond, with melodious
hilarity.
Van Roden regretted only the loss of the proposed subject for
dissection. Helen consoled herself with the theory that “wet packs”
were wholesome.
“See! we are again passing the camp of the noble red man,” observed
Rosamond.
“And don’t you forget the promised walk, cousin,” replied his lordship,
in an undertone.
The party were quickly distributed, and the “Anemone-Cave” picnic
belonged to the annals of the past.