This is to certify that
Miss Barbara Follett and
Mr. Bryn were my guests
on board the sch Norman
D from New Haven conn
to Bridgewater N S and are
returning home via the
Yarmouth boat to Boston
C. Avery Master
Schn. Norman D
But it wasn’t the Yarmouth boat that we took: it was the train. The
next morning early, we started off by train and rode until we came to
Digby. From Digby we took a little steamer across the Bay of Fundy to
St. John, New Brunswick. For about three hours of the afternoon we
steamed across the great bay. But there was no crew to talk to, no
rigging. I couldn’t have steered had I asked. Nothing was familiar.
The wind blew my skirts so that I could hardly take a step--for there
was a violent sailing breeze, though nothing like our gale. I wish we
could have gone across in the schooner, before a whitecapped sea like
this. It was glorious, except for the steadiness of the little ship,
and the stiffness and unfamiliarity of it. The exit to Digby Harbor was
heavenly--even lovelier than Lahave, if that were possible. It was very
much bigger, and just as you thought you had the open sea ahead of you,
you saw two great green arms of land--something like those at Lahave,
but longer and slenderer and even more like arms--reaching out from
the mainland and all but meeting.
♦ _Neque Vela, neque Armamenta_ ♦
We steamed out between those two long arms, through the narrow opening.
For a long time afterward we could look back and back at the green
against the vivid sky; then we were out of sight of land, and alone in
the sea. We passed one little fisherman very much like the one which we
had seen on the fifth day of the voyage in the schooner--the day the
sailing breeze had just begun to come. I was delighted to see a sailing
vessel again. Almost as soon as we were out of sight of Digby we came
in sight of the hills and mountains in back of St. John--billowing dark
blue hills, reaching up and up above the horizon; and at last we saw
the city itself. A few minutes later the steamer chugged into St. John,
and we disembarked.
There isn’t anything to say about the place. My mind was dwelling
wholly on the voyage just past; everything else was unimportant.
We took the train from there, staying on it all night, and in the
morning arrived in Boston. From Boston we took the train to New Haven,
and arrived there four hours later. The only interesting thing that
happened in the whole train ride was that, passing over the border
between New Brunswick and Maine, the custom-house official strode
through the train asking for identifications. He was very pleasant
about it. I showed Captain Avery’s amusing little note, and Mr.
Holbrook’s affidavit, useful at last.
Mother was to meet us at New Haven. We came walking up through the
station with our luggage--including the roll of blankets tied by Bill,
which had stayed faithfully tied through thick and thin on the train.
Mother said afterward that she could see nothing but my glowing scarlet
face and two rows of great white teeth as I grinned. Sun, wind, and
salt sea had left their mark upon me!
Everything I had once anticipated and dreamed of took place. I found
myself twice as strong and hearty as before. I swanked, and I still
rolled just a little, though that had pretty well worn off by this
time. I told my stories, in a gay manner and in a hearty sailor voice,
all the way home and for days afterward--all as I had often planned.
When I ran up the steps at home, the first person I saw was my friend
Mr. Rasmussen. I ran to him at once with huge sailor leaps, and said,
shaking him warmly by the hand: “Thanks, Mr. Rasmussen, for sending
me to Nova Scotia! Weather? We had thick fog and calm most of the
time--but one good, ripping northeast gale.”
“Well, you sure look husky enough to have been a sailor. Thick fog ’n’
calm, did you have? And nor’east wind? Hm! I kinda reckoned that was
what you was getting.”
♦ _Fidem non Fefelli_ ♦
* * * * *
The next afternoon I kept my promise to Mate Bill by going in town to
buy him a bully stout jackknife. I wrote him a shipmate-ish letter at
the same time, asking him, among other things, to keep a lookout for
a poncho and some other things which I had managed to leave on the
schooner. I received a letter from him shortly in answer. I wrote to
him again, and received another letter. But when I wrote a third time,
asking him to keep on writing to me, because I didn’t want to lose
track of him, and because I _did_ want to sail with him again sometime,
I got no answer; nor have I heard from him since. But here, hoping
you will not ridicule them in spite of their imperfections, are his
letters. It is delightful to me to have them--the evidence that I have
at last made acquaintance with a true sailor. The first is as follows:
Bridgewater
July 4 1929