Whitby has a beautiful harbor. It is almost land-locked, the entrance
all but closed by Ship Island, leaving only a narrow passage into the
harbor. That passage is wide enough and deep enough for steam-ships to
enter by; it is wide enough for ships of size to enter, indeed, if
they are sailed well enough and if there were any object in
sailing-ships of size entering Whitby Harbor. Many a ship has
successfully navigated Ship Island Channel under its own sail, but
that was before the days of steam.
Before the days of steam Whitby had its shipping; and in the days of
shipping Whitby had its fleets of ships and barks and brigs and a
schooner or two. Although the industries of Whitby have changed, the
remnants of those fleets are active yet, or there would have been
nothing doing at the office of John Hazen, Junior, or at his wharf.
Patty and some others of the old regime, as she would have liked to
put it, were wont to sigh and to smile somewhat pathetically when that
change was alluded to, and they would either say nothing or they would
say a good deal, according to circumstances. The old industry was more
picturesque than the new, there is no doubt about that, and I am
inclined to the view of Miss Patty and her party. It is a pity.
But some of those old barks and brigs are in commission still. Only a
few years ago, the old bark Hong-Kong, a century old and known the
world over, sailed on her last voyage before she was sold to be broken
up. They were good vessels, those old barks; not fast sailers, but
what did the masters care about that? There was no hurry, and they
could be depended upon to come home when they had filled, for the
weather that would harm them is not made. In the course of their
voyages they pushed their bluff bows into many unknown harbors and
added much to the sum of human knowledge. They could have added much
more, but ship captains are uncommunicative men, seldom volunteering
information, although sometimes giving it freely when it is asked;
never blowing their own horns, differing, in that respect, from
certain explorers. Perhaps they should be called lecturers rather than
explorers. Poor chaps! It may be that if they did not blow them and
make a noise, nobody would do it for them, but they never wait to find
out. Let them blow their penny trumpets. It is safe and sane--very.
Captain Forsyth had pronounced views on this subject. "Explorers!" he
roared to Sally one day. "These explorers! Huh! It's all for Smith,
that's what it is, and if Jones says he has been there, Jones is a
liar. Where? Why, anywhere. That previously unknown harbor Smith has
just discovered and made such a fuss over--I could have told him all
about it forty years ago. Previously unknown nothing! It's Wingate's
Harbor, and when I was in command of the Hong-Kong we poked about
there for months. And there's another, about a hundred miles to the
east'ard that he hasn't discovered yet, and it's a better harbor than
his. Discover! Huh!"
"But why," Sally asked in genuine surprise,--"why, Captain Forsyth,
haven't you told about it? Why don't you, now?"
"Why don't I?" Captain Forsyth roared again. "Nobody's asked me;
that's why. They don't want to know. They'd say I was a liar and call
for proofs. Why should I? Cap'n Wingate found it, as far as I know,
but there might have been a dozen others who were there before him. I
don't know. And Cap'n Sampson and Cap'n Wingate and Cap'n Carling and
Cap'n Pilcher and--oh, all the masters knew them almost as well as
they knew Whitby Harbor. They're mostly dead now. But I'm not. And if
anybody comes discovering Whitby Harbor, why, let him look out." And
the old captain went off, chuckling to himself.
Many a time the old Hong-Kong had entered Whitby Harbor under her own
sail. Later, the tugs met the ships far down the bay and brought them
in, thereby saving some time. Whether they saved them money or not I
do not know, but the owners must have thought they did. At least, they
saved them from the danger of going aground on Ship Island Shoal, for
that passage into the harbor was hardly wide enough for two vessels to
pass in comfort unless the wind was just right.
Once in, it must have been a pretty sight for the returned sailors and
one to warm their hearts--a pretty sight for anybody, indeed; one did
not need to be a returned sailor for that. There, on the left, was the
town, sloping gently down to the water, with its church spires rising
from a sea of green, for every street was lined with elms. And there
were the familiar noises coming faintly over the water: the noise of
many beetles striking upon wood. There were always vessels being
repaired, and the masters of Whitby despised, for daily use, such
things as marine railways or dry-docks. They would haul down a vessel
in her dock until her keel was exposed and absolutely rebuild her on
one side, if necessary; then haul her down on the other tack, so to
speak, and treat that side in the same way. Even in these later years
the glory of Whitby Harbor, although somewhat dimmed, has not
departed. On the right shore there was nothing but farms and pastures
and hay-fields with the men working in them; for there is less water
toward the right shore of the harbor.
There were no hay-fields visible on this day of which I am speaking,
but almost unbroken snow; and there were no noises of beetles to come
faintly to a vessel which had just got in. Indeed, no vessel could
have just got in, but, having got in, must have stayed where she
happened to lie. For Whitby Harbor was more like Wingate's Harbor, of
which Captain Forsyth had been speaking, in connection with
explorers, than it was like Whitby Harbor. It presented a hard and
shining surface, with a bark and three schooners frozen in, caught at
their anchorages, and with no open water at all, not even in the
channel.
If you will take the trouble to recall it, you will remember that the
winter of 1904-05 was very cold; even colder, about Whitby, than the
previous cold winter had been. Toward the end of January, not only was
Whitby Harbor frozen, but there was fairly solid ice for miles out
into the bay. Whitby, not being, in general, prepared for such
winters, was not provided with boats especially designed for breaking
the ice. The two tugs had kept a channel open as long as they could;
but one night the temperature fell to twenty-three below zero and the
morning found them fast bound in their docks. So they decided to give
it up--making a virtue of necessity--and to wait; which was a decision
reached after several hours of silent conference between the tugboat
captains, during which conference they smoked several pipes apiece and
looked out, from the snug pilothouse of the Arethusa, over the
glittering surface. At a quarter to twelve Captain Hannibal let his
chair down upon its four feet and thoughtfully knocked the ashes out
of his pipe.
"I guess we can't do it," he said conclusively. "I'm goin' home to
dinner."
The condition, now, reminded Captain Forsyth of other days. For nearly
two weeks the temperature had not been higher than a degree or two
above zero and the ice in the harbor, except for an occasional
air-hole, was thick enough to banish even those fears which Doctor
Sanderson had mentioned. Any timidity was out of place.
If any fear lingered in the mind of the stout horse as to the
intention of his driver; if he had any lingering fear that he might be
called upon to race, that fear was dispelled when he saw his load. He
knew very well that he would be disqualified at once. There were Patty
and Sally, and Mrs. Ladue, Fox and Henrietta, all crowded into the
two-seated sleigh. Mr. Hazen had said, smiling, that he would come,
later, from his office, on his own feet. Charlie, seeing the crowded
condition, absolutely refused to go. This was a blow to Miss Patty,
who had intended that he should drive, but was obliged to take the
coachman in his place. Sally did not blame him and made up her mind,
as she squirmed into the seat with Patty and the coachman, that she
would join Uncle John as soon as she saw him.
It seemed as if the entire population of Whitby must be on the ice.
The whole surface of the harbor was dotted thickly with people,
skating, sliding, or just wandering aimlessly about, and, on occasion,
making way quickly for an ice-boat. There was not usually ice enough
to make ice-boating a permanent institution in Whitby, and these
ice-boats were hastily put together of rough joists, with the mast and
sail borrowed from some cat-boat; but they sailed well.
The most of the people, however, were gathered in two long lines. The
harbor was black with them. They were massed, half a dozen or more
deep, behind ropes that stretched away in a straight line for more
than a mile; and between the ropes was a lane, fifty feet wide or
more, white and shining, down which the racing horses sped. The racing
was in one direction only, the returning racers taking their places in
the long line of sleighs which carried spectators and went back at a
very sober pace to the starting-point. Here the line of sleighs
divided, those not racing making a wide turn and going down on the
right, next the ropes, leaving the racers a wide path in the middle.
As the Hazens' sleigh approached to take its place in the line, a
great shouting arose at a little distance. The noise swelled and died
away and swelled again, but always it went on, along both sides of the
line, marking the pace. Fox could see the waving hands and hats.
"They seem to be excited," he said, turning, as well as he could, to
Mrs. Ladue, who sat beside him. Henrietta sat on his other side. "Do
you happen to know what it is about?"
Mrs. Ladue was smiling happily. "Some favorite horse, I suppose," she
replied, "but I don't know anything about the horses. You'd better ask
Sally."
So Fox asked Sally; but, before she could answer, Patty answered for
her. "I believe that it is Everett Morton and Sawny racing with Mr.
Gilfeather. I am not sure of the name, of course," she added hastily.
"Some low person."
Sally looked back at Fox with a smile of amusement. It was almost a
chuckle. "Mr. Gilfeather keeps a saloon," she remarked. "I believe it
is rather a nice saloon, as saloons go. I teach his daughter. Cousin
Patty thinks that is awful."
"It _is_ awful," Patty said, with some vehemence, "to think that our
children must be in the same classes with daughters of saloon-keepers.
Mr. Gilfeather may be a very worthy person, of course, but his
children should go elsewhere."
Sally's smile had grown into a chuckle. "Mr. Gilfeather has rather a
nice saloon," she repeated, "as saloons go. I've been there."
Fox laughed, but Miss Patty did not. She turned a horrified face to
Sally.
"Oh, _Sally_!" she cried. "Whatever--"
"I had to see him about his daughter. He was always in his saloon. The
conclusion is obvious, as Mr. MacDalie says."
"Oh, _Sally_!" cried Patty again. "You know you didn't."
"And who," asked Fox, "is Sawny?"
"Sawny," Sally answered, hurrying a little to speak before Patty
should speak for her, "Sawny is a what, not a who. He is Everett
Morton's horse, and a very good horse, I believe."
"He seems to be in favor with the multitude." The shouting and yelling
had broken out afresh, far down the lines. "Or is it his owner?"
Sally shook her head. "It is Sawny," she replied. "I don't know how
the multitude regards Everett. Probably Mr. Gilfeather knows more
about that than I do."
They had taken their place in the line of sleighs and were ambling
along close to the rope. The sleighs in the line were so close that
the stout horse had his nose almost in the neck of a nervous man just
ahead, who kept looking back, while Fox could feel the breath of the
horse behind.
He looked at Mrs. Ladue. "Does it trouble you that this horse is so
near?" he asked. "Do you mind?"
"Nothing troubles me," she said, smiling up at him. "I don't mind
anything. I am having a lovely time."
And Fox returned to his observation of the multitude, collectively and
individually. They interested him more than the horses, which could
not truthfully be said of Henrietta. Almost every person there looked
happy and bent upon having a good time, although almost everybody was
cold, which was not surprising, and there was much stamping of feet
and thrashing of arms, and the ice boomed and cracked merrily, once in
a while, and the noise echoed over the harbor. Suddenly Fox leaned out
of the sleigh and said something to a man, who looked surprised and
began rubbing his ears gently. Then he called his thanks.
"That man's ears were getting frost-bitten," Fox remarked in reply to
a questioning glance from Mrs. Ladue. "Now here we are at the end of
the line and I haven't seen a single race. I say, Sally, can't we get
where we can see that Sawny horse race? I should like to see him and
Mr. Gilfeather."
"He's a sight. So is Mr. Gilfeather." And Sally laughed suddenly. "If
we should hang around here until we hear the noise coming and then get
in the line again, we should be somewhere near halfway down when he
comes down again. Can we, Cousin Patty?"
Patty inclined her head graciously. "Why, certainly, Sally. Anything
Doctor Sanderson likes."
"Doctor Sanderson is greatly obliged," said Fox.
The nervous man appeared much relieved to find that they were to hang
around and that he was not condemned to having the nose of their horse
in his neck all the afternoon. They drove off to join a group of
sleighs that were hanging around for a like purpose.
A light cutter, drawn by a spirited young horse, drew up beside them.
"Good afternoon," said a pleasant voice. "Won't some one of you come
with me? You should have mercy on your horse, you know."
"Oh, Dick!" Sally cried. There was mischief in her eyes. "It is good
of you. Will you take Edward?"
Even Edward, the stolid coachman, grinned at that.
"With pleasure," said Dick, not at all disconcerted, "if Miss Patty
can spare him."
"Oh," cried Miss Patty, "not Edward."
"Well," continued Sally, "Miss Sanderson, then."
"With pleasure," said Dick again. There was no need to ask Henrietta.
The introductions were gone hastily through, and Henrietta changed
with some alacrity.
"You are not racing, Dick?" Sally asked, as he tucked the robe around
Henrietta.
"Oh, no," Dick replied solemnly, looking up. "How can you ask, Sally?
You know that I should not dare to, with this horse. He is too young."
"Gammon!" Sally exclaimed. "I shall keep my eye on you, Dick."
"That's a good place for it," Dick remarked. "Good-bye."
Henrietta was laughing. "Will you race, Mr. Torrington?" she asked.
"Oh, no," Dick repeated, as solemnly as before. "I have no such
intention. Of course, this horse is young and full of spirits and I
may not be able to control him. But my intentions are irreproachable."
Henrietta laughed again. "Oh, I hope so," she said, somewhat
ambiguously.
Another cutter, the occupant of which had been waiting impatiently
until Dick should go, drew up beside the Hazens'. The aforesaid
occupant had eyes for but one person.
"Won't you come with me, Sally?" He did not mean that the wrong one
should be foisted upon him.
Sally smiled gently and shook her head. There were so many things she
had to deny him! "Thank you, Eugene. I shall join Uncle John as soon
as he comes down--as soon as I see him."
"Well, see him from my sleigh, then. The view is as good as from
yours. Isn't it a little crowded?"
Sally shook her head again.
"Won't you come?" he persisted.
Sally sighed. "No, I thank you, Eugene. I will stay until I see Uncle
John."
Bowing, Eugene Spencer drove off, leaving Sally rather sober and
silent. Fox watched her and wondered, and Mrs. Ladue, in her turn,
watched Fox. She could do that without being observed, now that
Henrietta was gone. But the noise that told of that Sawny horse was
coming, and they got into line.