THE “PIXIE’S” FIRST TRIP
According to her usual habit of striking while the iron was hot, Betty
sat down to write to Mr. Morris as soon as Mr. Van Court had left
Denniston. After several attempts, she composed and copied the following
epistle:
DENNISTON HALL, September 26.
MY DEAR MR. MORRIS: I am very well and happy, and my Home is
splendid. I wish you could see the beautiful autumn leaves. This
is the only time of the year that is just the right color. My
family are all well, and Sydney is a noble brute, without fear
and without reproach. And now, Mr. Morris, dear sir, I would
wish to ask you what you may know conscerning my mother’s
family, or my father’s. And if “conscerning” isn’t spelt right,
I will say “about.” But I want to know if I have any relatives
in this country, and if I have I will search them out, or in
Ireland. For I do want a real live relative besides what I have
bought, though they are good and handsome. With best respects to
your kind family. I pause for a reply.
Yours truly,
ELIZABETH MCGUIRE.
Under Mr. Mixon’s tuition, Betty read every day selections from the best
authors, and many a high-sounding phrase which pleased her particularly
she stowed away in her brain for future use; and she thought a letter to
her Australian friend was the very place to show off these elegant
speeches to advantage. She was, therefore, highly pleased with her
letter, and sent it off at once on its long journey. Having done so, she
tried to put the whole subject out of her mind for three months, for it
required as long as that for a letter to go to Australia and the reply
to come back.
On one of the last days of September Betty was invited to go on the
trial trip of Mr. Van Court’s new boat, the _Pixie_.
It was a little cat-rigged affair, and bobbed about on the water like a
cockle-shell; but Betty felt no fear, and this was partly because she
was entirely ignorant of what tricks a little cat-boat can play.
The trip was to be only a four-mile run down to the Sound, and they were
to return in time for lunch.
The party consisted of Mr. Van Court and Miss Grace, Mr. Brewster,
Betty, and Jack. They had to start at nine o’clock, for the Greenborough
River was small, and only when the tide was just right could the _Pixie_
get in and out.
Mr. Van Court and Mr. Brewster were skilled sailors, and Jack had had a
little experience with sail-boats, so they started off merrily enough.
Betty was fairly wild with joy. The sensation of flying over the water
was entirely new to her, and she soon learned to jump from one side of
the boat to the other at the call of “Hard alee!”
She wore a trim little yachting-suit of white flannel with broad collar
and bands of navy blue, and a jaunty sailor-hat was perched on her black
curls, which grew curlier than ever in the salt spray.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “this is the best fun I ever had! Mr. Dick, could I
go and sit on that little point of deck in front of the big stick?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Dick, after he had taught her to say “forward of the
mast,” instead of the unmeaning phrase she had used; “yes; I want you to
learn to be a sensible, careful girl on a yacht, so go on, and get out
there the best way you can. Remember, if you fall overboard you won’t be
drowned, for I’ll jump in and save you; but it would make me an awful
lot of trouble, and possibly we’d both get our clothes wet, and, worst
of all, Grace would probably scream.”
So, feeling very much like an acrobat, Betty cautiously went forward,
holding on by the boom until she reached the mast. Then she stepped
around in front of it, and, firmly grasping the halyards, sat like a
cross-legged little figurehead, and rapturously watched the bow of the
boat cut through the water.
The wind and tide were both favorable, and the _Pixie_ skimmed along so
fast that she was out of the river and into the Sound much sooner than
her crew had expected.
“We can run down the Sound a few miles,” said Mr. Brewster, “and still
get home for lunch, though perhaps a bit late.”
“All right; let’s do it,” said Mr. Van Court. “Come in now, Popinjay;
you can fall into the river if you like, but I don’t want you drowned in
the Sound.”
Betty came aft and sat down demurely beside Miss Grace.
“Oh,” said Betty, “isn’t it just perfect! Mr. Brewster, _I_ want to buy
a boat.”
“Do, Betty,” cried Jack; “I’ll learn to sail it for you.”
The boy had been watching and studying every movement of the two young
men who had the boat in charge, and now he was doing the steering.
“I knew a little before,” he said modestly; “but Mr. Brewster and Mr.
Van Court have showed me a lot, and I think I could learn to manage a
boat alone.”
Then Betty tried to steer, and did pretty well at it; and suddenly they
all discovered that they were hungry.
“I brought a basket of fruit,” said Miss Grace, “but I thought we
wouldn’t stay out long enough to need a regular lunch.”
“I wish we had brought one,” said her brother, “for I’m ravenous. Well,
let’s eat the fruit, and then start for home.”
But though this plan was all right, they were unable to carry it out;
for after they had eaten all the fruit, and wished for more, they found
it was impossible to start for home, because the breeze had entirely
died away.
“Nothing to do,” said Mr. Van Court, cheerily, “but to sit and wait an
hour or two. If we had something to eat I wouldn’t mind it so much.”
They waited an hour, and two hours, and three hours, and still no signs
of a breeze.
[Illustration: “BETTY BOARDS THE ‘PIXIE.’”]
Betty began to think that sailing had its drawbacks, like most other
things. The sun was hot, and the salt air made them all dreadfully
hungry, and by four o’clock even Betty’s spirits began to droop.
They tried every way known to amateur sailors to call up a breeze: they
whistled for it, and they scratched the mast; and finally Mr. Dick
declared that Betty was the “Jonah,” and threatened to throw her
overboard.
Six o’clock, and no breeze yet. But soon the sun went down, and then it
was cooler, and they had one less hardship to endure. About seven
o’clock they felt a little puff of air.
“Hooray!” cried Jack, “here comes our breeze.”
And sure enough it did come—a good, strong breeze from the southwest;
and the _Pixie_ shrugged her sail and began to rouse herself.
Mr. Brewster sprang to the tiller, and Mr. Van Court began to trim in
the sheet, and in a moment they were dancing along at a fine rate.
But it was dark, and rapidly growing darker. Betty could just see the
faces of the two men, and instead of looking glad they expressed the
deepest concern.
The little girl crept close to Miss Grace, and sat still, wondering what
was the matter.
Mr. Van Court spoke first.
“Grace and Betty,” he said, “this isn’t only a breeze; it’s the
beginning of a squall, and perhaps a storm. We can’t hope to get up the
river; all we can do is to make a landing at the nearest point possible,
which is Crossville, on the other side of the Sound. We can’t land on
this side, for it is only salt meadows. Steer straight for those
Crossville lights, Brewster. Look out! Hard alee!”
For just then the squall struck them, the boom swung over and stopped
with a jerk that nearly capsized the boat, and Grace and Betty slid from
the narrow seats to the floor.
“Stay down there, girls,” shouted Dick. “Jack, take the tiller and steer
straight for that light on the point. Brewster, come here and help me
reef!”
Mr. Van Court spoke in a low, tense voice that showed the gravity of the
situation; but his tone of authority seemed to imply that he was master
of it, and carried comfort to the quaking hearts of Grace and Betty.
These two frightened ones huddled together in the bottom of the boat,
knowing that all they could do to help was to keep out of the way as
much as possible, and to be still.
It was quite dark now, and the wind had become a gale. Even under a
double reef the _Pixie_ tore along over the black water like a mad
thing.
Not a star was to be seen; the heavens were inky masses of clouds, and
now and then a rumble of thunder was heard. Jack felt his
responsibility, and guided the tiller with his eyes fixed intently on
the distant light, when suddenly Dick wrenched it from his hand and
pushed it hard down to starboard.
The _Pixie_ gave a lurch, the sail flew over, and in a moment they were
just grazing the side of a huge black hulk that seemed to have risen out
of the water.
But for Dick’s quickness the little craft would have been crashed into
by the big steamboat, which the sail had hidden from Jack’s view. The
_Pixie_ had no lights, and the danger of being run down in the darkness
by larger vessels made it almost impossible to cross the Sound.
The thunder grew louder, and lightning-flashes began to dart across the
sky. Dick held the tiller now, and Mr. Brewster managed the sail, while
Jack was on the alert to obey orders from either.
The wind blew furiously, and drove the little boat before it like a
paper toy. She careened to one side until the coaming was under water,
and but for the reassurance of Mr. Dick’s calm, quiet voice as he gave
his orders, Betty felt she must have screamed.
And then the rain came—first a few great big splashing drops, and then
a sudden torrent. What would have been a steady downpour was driven and
twisted by the wind until it looked like great waterspouts. The thunder
came in deafening crashes, and the lightning in sharp, blinding glares
that seemed to scorch their very eyeballs. In five minutes they were all
drenched to the skin.
Betty and Grace, one each side of the center-board, had crawled into the
little hold as far as they could, and listened to the creaking of the
mast, which sounded to them almost as loud as the thunder. Betty had
given up all hope, and was wondering whether they would be struck by
lightning, or only drowned, when she heard Mr. Dick call out:
“It’s our last chance. We’ll head for the shore, and land wherever we
may.”
They put about and steered for the west shore, as there was no hope of
crossing the Sound.
The brave little boat flew along, and though all the lights were
obscured by the rain, Dick saw the shore by the lightning-flashes, and
steered toward it.
Suddenly the boat bumped up against something solid, and Mr. Brewster,
who was at the bow, grasped it and held on firmly, though it nearly
pulled him off his feet. The next lightning-flash showed that they had
reached some sort of a wharf.
Shouting the good news to the girls, Dick and Mr. Brewster pushed the
boat along slowly from one pile to the next until they reached a flight
of old broken-down steps which evidently led up to the pier. They
quickly secured the boat with ropes, and called to Jack and the girls to
come and land.
The storm had abated a little, but it was still raining hard, and the
thunder and lightning were terrific, though not so frequent as at first.
By the light of the occasional flashes, the party set out to climb the
dangerous stairs.
Mr. Van Court went first, and found, to his horror, that the steps were
not only wet and slippery, but very old and rickety, and liable to break
down beneath a heavy weight. After mounting them, he called to the
others to come up one at a time; and then, when the five were all
huddled on the little landing at the top, they waited for another
lightning-flash, to proceed farther.
When it came it showed that the pier they had landed at was only a
skeleton pier. The supports and crossbeams were there, but the flooring
had evidently been burned away.
But Mr. Van Court’s calmness did not desert him.
“We will go on and pick our way across these beams,” he said; “but we
must be very careful. I will take Betty’s hand, and Brewster, you take
Grace’s. Jack, my boy, you must shift for yourself, and remember that a
false step may be fatal. Now we will start; and don’t try to talk, for
we couldn’t hear each other through this wind and rain and thunder. Wait
for a flash of lightning, then go as far as possible, and then wait for
another.”
In silence they all obeyed his directions, and started on their
dangerous way. Fortunately, Grace and Betty were sensible, rational
girls, not given to screaming or hysterics; and realizing that their
safety depended almost entirely on their self-control, they followed
their guides, stepping carefully and surely along the narrow, slippery
beams, and waiting quietly in the dark intervals. The pier was not very
long, and they all reached the other end in safety, and stepped off on
to the marshy salt meadow-land, with feelings of thankfulness almost too
deep for words.
The whole party was drenched, weary, hungry and thirsty; the storm was
still raging, and they knew of no shelter near; but they realized what
other and greater dangers they had escaped, and their present
discomforts seemed trifling in comparison.
They walked aimlessly along for a few minutes, when suddenly Jack spied
a tiny, flickering light in the distance.
“That must be a house of some kind,” he said, and they all started
eagerly toward it.