"Sudden they see from midst of all the main
The surging waters like a mountain rise,
And the great sea, puff'd up with proud disdain
To swell above the measure of his guise,
As threatening to devour all that his power despise."
--_Spenser_.
What with bathing, driving, and wandering about on foot over the lovely
moors, time flew fast to our 'Sconseters.
It was their purpose to visit every point of interest on the island,
and to try all its typical amusements. They made frequent visits to
Nantucket Town, particularly that the children might take their swimming
lessons in the quiet water of its harbor; also repeated such drives and
rambles as they found exceptionably enjoyable.
Max wanted to try camping out for a few weeks in company with Harold and
Herbert Travilla and Bob Johnson, but preferred to wait until his father
should leave them, not feeling willing to miss the rare pleasure of his
society. And the other lads, quite fond of the captain themselves, did
not object to waiting.
In the mean time they went blue-fishing (trying it by both accepted
modes--the "heave and haul" from a rowboat or at anchor, and trolling
from a yacht under full sail), hunting, eel-bobbing, and perch-fishing.
The ladies sometimes went with them on their fishing excursions; Zoe and
Betty oftener than any of the others. Lulu went, too, whenever she was
permitted, which was usually when her father made one of the party.
"We haven't been on a 'squantum' yet," remarked Betty, one evening,
addressing the company in general; "suppose we try that to-morrow."
"Suppose you first tell us what a 'squantum' is," said Mrs. Dinsmore.
"Oh, Aunt Rose, don't you know that that is the Nantucket name for a
picnic?"
"I acknowledge my ignorance," laughed the older lady; "I did not know it
till this moment."
"Well, auntie, it's one of those typical things that every conscientious
summer visitor here feels called upon to do as a regular part of the
Nantucket curriculum. How many of us are agreed to go?" glancing about
from one to another.
Not a dissenting voice was raised, and Betty proceeded to unfold her
plans. Vehicles sufficient for the transportation of the whole party
were to be provided, baskets of provisions also; they would take an
early start, drive to some pleasant spot near the beach or one of the
ponds, and make a day of it--sailing, or rather rowing about the pond,
fishing in it, cooking and eating what they caught (fish were said to be
so delicious just out of the water and cooked over the coals in the open
air), and lounging on the grass, drinking in at the same time the sweet,
pure air and the beauties of nature as seen upon Nantucket moors and
hills, and in glimpses of the surrounding sea.
"Really, Betty, you grow quite eloquent," laughed her brother;
"Nantucket has inspired you."
"I think it sounds ever so nice," said little Grace. "Won't you go and
take us, papa?"
"Yes, if Mamma Vi will go along," he answered, with an affectionate look
at his young wife; "we can't go without her, can we, Gracie?"
"Oh, no, indeed! but you will go, mamma, won't you?"
"If your papa chooses to take me," Violet said, in a sprightly tone. "I
think it would be very pleasant, but I cannot either go or stay unless
he does; for I am quite resolved to spend every one of the few days he
will be here, close at his side."
"And as all the rest of us desire the pleasure of his company," said
her mother, "his decision must guide ours."
"There, now, captain," cried Betty, "you see it all rests with you; so
please say yes, and let us begin our preparations."
"Yes, Miss Betty; I certainly cannot be so gallant as to refuse such a
request from such a quarter, especially when I see that all interested
in the decision hope I will not."
That settled the matter. Preparations were at once set on foot: the
young men started in search of the necessary conveyances, the ladies
ordered the provisions, inquiries were made in regard to different
localities, and a spot on the banks of Sachacha Pond, where stood a
small deserted old house, was selected as their objective point.
They started directly after breakfast, and had a delightful drive over
the moors and fenceless fields, around the hills and tiny emerald lakes
bordered with beautiful wild shrubbery, bright with golden rod, wild
roses, and field lilies. Here and there among the heather grew creeping
mealberry vines, with bright red fruit-like beads, and huckleberry
bushes that tempted our pleasure-seekers to alight again and again to
gather and eat of their fruit.
Everybody was in most amiable mood, and the male members of the party
indulgently assisted the ladies, and lifted the children in and out
that they might gather floral treasures for themselves, or alighted to
gather for them again and again.
At length they reached their destination, left their conveyances, spread
an awning above the green grass that grew luxuriantly about the old
house, deposited their baskets of provisions and extra wraps underneath
it, put the horses into a barn near at hand, and strolled down to the
pond.
A whaleboat, large enough to hold the entire company, was presently
hired; all embarked; it moved slowly out into the lake; all who cared to
fish were supplied with tackle and bait, and the sport began.
Elsie, Violet, and Grace declined to take part in it, but Zoe, Betty,
and Lulu were very eager and excited, sending forth shouts of triumph or
of merriment as they drew one victim after another from the water; for
the fish seemed eager to take the bait, and were caught in such numbers
that soon the word was given that quite enough were now on hand, and the
boat was headed for the shore.
A fire was made in the sand, and while some broiled the fish and made
coffee, others spread a snowy cloth upon the grass, and placed on it
bread and butter, cold biscuits, sandwiches, pickles, cakes, jellies,
canned fruits, and other delicacies.
It was a feast fit for a king, and all the more enjoyable that the sea
air and pleasant exercise had sharpened the appetites of the fortunate
partakers.
Then, the meal disposed of, how deliciously restful it was to lounge
upon the grass, chatting, singing, or silently musing with the sweet,
bracing air all about them, the pretty sheet of still water almost at
their feet, while away beyond it and the dividing strip of sand the
ocean waves tossed and rolled, showing here and there a white, slowly
moving sail.
So thoroughly did they enjoy it all that they lingered till the sun,
nearing the western horizon, reminded them that the day was waning.
The drive home was not the least enjoyable part of the day. They took it
in leisurely fashion, by a different route from the one they had taken
in the morning, and with frequent haltings to gather berries, mosses,
lichens, grasses, and strange beautiful flowers; or to gaze with
delighted eyes upon the bare brown hills purpling in the light of the
setting sun, and the rapidly darkening vales; Sankaty lighthouse, with
the sea rolling beyond, on the one hand, and on the other the quieter
waters of the harbor, with the white houses and spires of Nantucket Town
half encircling it.
They had enjoyed their "squantum," marred by no mishap, no untoward
event, so much that it was unanimously agreed to repeat the experiment,
merely substituting some other spot for the one visited that day.
But their next excursion was to Wanwinet, situate on a narrow neck of
land that, jutting out into the sea, forms the head of the harbor;
Nantucket Town standing at the opposite end, some half dozen miles away.
Summer visitors to the latter place usually go to Wanwinet by boat, up
the harbor, taking their choice between a sailboat and a tiny steamer
which plies regularly back and forth during the season; but our 'Sconset
party drove across the moors, sometimes losing their way among the
hills, dales, and ponds, but rather enjoying that as a prolongation of
the pleasure of the drive, and spite of the detention reached their
destination in good season to partake of the dinner of all obtainable
luxuries of the sea, served up in every possible form, which is usually
considered the roam object of a trip to Wanwinet.
They found the dinner--served in a large open pavilion, whence they
might gaze out over the dancing, glittering waves of the harbor, and
watch the white sails come and go, while eating--quite as good as they
had been led to expect.
After dinner they wandered along the beach, picking up shells and any
curious things they could find--now on the Atlantic side, now on the
shore of the harbor.
Then a boat was chartered for a sail of a couple of hours, and then
followed the drive home to 'Sconset by a different course from that of
the morning, and varied by the gradually fading light of the setting sun
and succeeding twilight casting weird shadows here and there among the
hills and vales.
The captain predicted a storm for the following day, and though the
others could see no sign of its approach, it was upon them before they
rose the next morning, raining heavily, while the wind blew a gale.
There was no getting out for sitting on the beach, bathing, or rambling
about, and they were at close quarters in the cottages.
They whiled away the time with books, games, and conversation.
They were speaking of the residents of the island--their correct speech,
intelligence, uprightness, and honesty.
"I wonder if there was ever a crime committed here?" Elsie said, half
inquiringly. "And if there is a jail on the island?"
"Yes, mother," Edward answered; "there is a jail, but so little use for
it that they think it hardly worth while to keep it in decent repair. I
heard that a man was once put in for petty theft, and that after being
there a few days he sent word to the authorities that if they didn't
repair it so that the sheep couldn't break in on him, he wouldn't stay."
There was a general laugh; then Edward resumed: "There has been one
murder on the island, as I have been informed. A mulatto woman was the
criminal, a white woman the victim, the motive revenge; the colored
woman was in debt to the white one, who kept a little store, and,
enraged at repeated duns, went to her house and beat her over the head
with some heavy weapon--I think I was told a whale's tooth.
"The victim lingered for some little time, but eventually died of her
wounds, and the other was tried for murder.
"It is said the sheriff was extremely uneasy lest she should be found
guilty of murder in the first degree, and he should have the unpleasant
job of hanging her; but the verdict was manslaughter, the sentence
imprisonment for life.
"So she was consigned to jail, but very soon allowed to go out
occasionally to do a day's work."
"Oh, Uncle Edward, is she alive now?" Gracie asked, with a look of
alarm.
"Yes, I am told she is disabled by disease, and lives in the poorhouse.
But you need not be frightened, little girlie; she is not at all likely
to come to 'Sconset, and if she does we will take good care that she is
not allowed to harm you."
"And I don't suppose she'd want to either, unless we had done something
to make her angry," said Lulu.
"But we are going to Nantucket Town to stay a while when we leave
'Sconset," remarked Grace uneasily.
"But that woman will not come near you, daughter; you need, not have the
least fear of it," the captain said, drawing his little girl to his knee
with a tender caress.
"Ah," said Mr. Dinsmore, "I heard the other day of a curiosity at
Nantucket which we must try to see while there. I think the story
connected with it will particularly interest you ladies and the little
girls."
"Oh, grandpa, tell it!" cried Rosie; "please do; a story is just what we
want this dull day."
The others joined in the request, and Mr. Dinsmore kindly complied, all
gathering closely about him, anxious to catch every word.
"The story is this: Nearly a hundred years ago there lived in Nantucket
a sea-captain named Coffin, who had a little daughter of whom he was
very fond."
Gracie glanced up smilingly into her father's face and nestled closer to
him.
"Just as I am of mine," said his answering look and smile as he drew
her closer still.
But Mr. Dinsmore's story was going on.
"It was Captain Coffin's custom to bring home some very desirable gift
to his little girl whenever he returned from a voyage. At one time, when
about to sail for the other side of the Atlantic, he said to her that he
was determined on this voyage to find and bring home to her something
that no other little girl ever had or ever could have."
"Oh, grandpa, what could that be?" exclaimed little Walter.
"Wait a moment and you shall hear," was the reply.
"What the captain brought on coming back was a wax baby, a very
life-like representation of an infant six months old. He said it was a
wax cast of the Dauphin of France, that poor unfortunate son of Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette; that he had found it in a convent, and paid
for it a sum of money so enormous that he would never tell any one, not
even his wife, how large it was."
"But it isn't in existence now, at this late day, surely?" Mrs. Dinsmore
remarked inquiringly, as her husband paused in his narrative.
"It is claimed that it is by those who have such a thing in possession,
and I presume they tell the truth. It has always been preserved with
extreme care as a great curiosity.
"The little girl to whom it was given by her father lived to grow up,
but has been dead many years. Shortly before her death she gave it to a
friend, and it has been in that family for over forty years."
"And is it on exhibition, papa?" asked Elsie.
"Only to such as are fortunate enough to get an introduction to the lady
owner through some friend of hers; so I understand; but photographs have
been taken and are for sale in the stores."
"Oh, I hope we will get to see it!" exclaimed Lulu eagerly.
"As far as I'm concerned, I'm bound to manage it somehow," said Betty.
"How much I should like to know what was really the true story of that
poor unfortunate child," said Elsie, reflectively, and sighing as she
spoke.
"It--like the story of the Man in the Iron Mask--is a mystery that will
never be satisfactorily cleared up until the Judgment Day," remarked her
father.
"Oh, do tell us about it," the children cried in eager chorus.
"All of you older ones have certainly some knowledge of the French
Revolution, in which Louis XVI. and his beautiful queen lost their
lives?" Mr. Dinsmore said, glancing about upon his grandchildren; "and
have not forgotten that two children survived them--one sometimes called
Louis XVII., as his father's lawful successor to the throne, and a
daughter older than the boy.
"These children remained in the hands of their cruel foes for some time
after the beheading of their royal parents. The girl was finally
restored to her mother's relatives, the royal family of Austria; but the
boy, who was most inhumanly treated by his jailer, was supposed to have
died in consequence of that brutal abuse, having first been reduced by
it to a state of extreme bodily and mental weakness.
"That story (of the death of the poor little dauphin, I mean, not
of the cruel treatment to which he was subjected) has, however, been
contradicted by another; and I suppose it will never be made certain in
this world which was the true account.
"The dauphin was born in 1785, his parents were beheaded in 1793; so
that he must have been about eight years old at the time of their death.
"In 1795 a French man and woman, directly from France, appeared in
Albany, New York, having in charge a girl and boy; the latter about
nine years old, and feeble in body and mind.
"The woman had also a number of articles of dress which she said had
belonged to Marie Antoinette, who had given them to her on the scaffold.
"That same year two Frenchmen came to Ticonderoga, visited the Indians
in that vicinity, and placed with them such a boy as the one seen at
Albany--of the same age, condition of mind and body, etc.
"He was adopted by an Iroquois chief named Williams, and given the name
of Eleazer Williams.
"He gradually recovered his health, and at length the shock of a sudden
fall into the lake so far restored his memory that he recollected some
scenes in his early life in the palaces of France. One thing he recalled
was being with a richly dressed lady whom he addressed as 'mamma.'
"Some time later--I cannot now recall the exact date--a Frenchman died
in New Orleans (Beranger was his name), who confessed on his death-bed
that he had brought the dauphin to this country and placed him with the
Indians of Northern New York. He stated that he had taken an oath of
secrecy, for the protection of the lad, but could not die without
confessing the truth."
"I'm inclined to think the story of the dauphin's death in France was
not true," remarked Betty.
"Didn't Beranger's confession arouse inquiry, grandpa?" asked Zoe. "And
did Eleazer Williams hear of it?"
"I think I may say yes to both your queries," Mr. Dinsmore answered.
"Eleazer's story was published in the newspapers some years ago, and I
remember he was spoken of as a very good Christian man, a missionary
among the Indians; it was brought out in book form also under the title
'The Lost Prince: A Life of Eleazer Williams.'
"Eleazer himself stated that in 1848 he had an interview, on board a
steamer from Buffalo, with the Prince de Joinville, who then told him he
was the son of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, and tried to induce him
to sign away his right to the throne of France, and that he refused to
do so.
"In his published statement he said he thought the Prince would not deny
having made that communication. But the Prince did deny that, though he
acknowledged that the interview had taken place."
"Did Eleazer ever try to get the throne, grandpa?" asked Max.
"No, he never urged his claim; and I dare say was happier as an obscure
Indian missionary than he would have been as King of France. He died at
the age of seventy."
"Poor Marie Antoinette!" sighed Elsie; "I never could read her story
without tears, and the very thought of her sorrows and sufferings makes
my heart ache."
"I don't think I ever read it," said Zoe, "though I have a general idea
what it was."
"We have Abbott's life of her at Ion," said Elsie. "I'll get it for you
when we go home."
Harold stepped to the window. "It is raining very little now, if at
all," he said, "and the sea must be in a fine rage; let us go and have a
look at it"
"Oh, yes, let's go!" cried Betty, springing to her feet; "but I'm afraid
we've missed the finest of it, for the wind isn't blowing half so hard
as it was an hour ago."
"Don't be discouraged," said Captain Raymond, sportively; "the waves are
often higher than ever after the wind has subsided."
"Oh, papa, may I go too?" Grace said, in a pleading tone.
"Yes; if you put on your waterproof cloak and overshoes it will not hurt
you to be out for a short time," answered the indulgent father. "Lulu,
don't go without yours."
All were eager for the sight; there was a moment of hasty preparation,
and they trooped out and stood upon the edge of the high bank at the
back of their cottages gazing upon the sea in its, to most of them, new
and terrible aspect; from shore to horizon it was one mass of seething,
boiling waters; far out in the distance the huge waves reared their
great foam-crested fronts and rushed furiously toward the shore, rapidly
chasing each other in till with a tremendous crash and roar they broke
upon the beach, sending up showers of spray, and depositing great flakes
of foam which the wind sent scudding over the sand; and each, as it
retreated, was instantly followed by another and another in unbroken,
endless succession.
Half a mile or more south of 'Sconset there is a shoal (locally called
"the rips") where wind and tide occasionally, coming in opposition,
cause a fierce battle of the waves, a sight well worth a good deal of
exertion to behold.
"Wind and tide are having it out on the rips," the captain presently
remarked. "Let us go down to the beach and get the best view we can of
the conflict."
"Papa, may we go too?" asked Lulu, as the older people hastily made a
move toward the stairway that led to the beach; "oh, do please let us!"
Grace did not speak, but her eyes lifted to his, pleaded as earnestly as
Lulu's tongue. He hesitated for an instant, then stooped, took Grace in
his arms, and saying to Lulu, "Yes, come along; it is too grand a sight
for me to let you miss it," hurried after the others.
Violet had not come out with the rest, her attention being taken up
with her babe just at that time, and he would give her the sight
afterward on taking the children in.
On they went over the wet sands--Mr. Dinsmore and his wife, Edward and
his, Betty holding on to Harold's arm, Rose and Walter helped along by
Herbert and Bob.
To Max Raymond's great content and a little to the discomfiture of her
sons, who so delighted in waiting upon and in every way caring for her,
Elsie had chosen him for her companion and escort, and with Lulu they
hastened after the others and just ahead of the captain and Grace, who
brought up the rear.
The thunder of the surf prevented any attempt at conversation, but now
and then there was a little scream, ending with a shout of laughter from
one or another of the feminine part of the procession, as they were
overtaken by the edge of a wave and their shoes filled with the foam,
their skirts wetted by it. Not a very serious matter, as all had learned
ere this, as salt water does not cause one to take cold.
Arrived at the spot from where the very best view of the conflict could
be had, they stood long gazing upon it, awestruck and fascinated by the
terrific grandeur of the scene. I can best describe it in the words of a
fellow-author far more gifted in that line than I.
"Yonder comes shoreward a great wave, towering above all its brethren.
Onward it comes, swift as a race-horse, graceful as a great ship,
bearing right down upon us. It strikes 'The Rips,' and is there itself
struck by a wave approaching from another direction. The two converge in
their advance, and are dashed together--embrace each other like two
angry giants, each striving to mount upon the shoulder of the other and
crush its antagonist with its ponderous bulk. Swift as thought they
mount higher and higher, in fierce, mad struggle, until their force is
expended; their tops quiver, tremble, and burst into one great mass of
white, gleaming foam; and the whole body of the united wave, with a
mighty bound, hurls itself upon the shore and is broken into a flood of
seething waters--crushed to death in its own fury.
"All over the shoal the waves leap up in pinnacles, in volcanic points,
sharp as stalagmites, and in this form run hither and yon in all
possible directions, colliding with and crashing against others of equal
fury and greatness--a very carnival of wild and drunken waves; the
waters hurled upward in huge masses of white. Sometimes they unite more
gently, and together sweep grandly and gracefully along parallel with
the shore; and the cavernous hollows stretch out from the shore so that
you look into the trough of the sea and realize what a terrible depth
it is. The roar, meanwhile, is horrible. You are stunned by it as by the
roar of a great waterfall. You see a wave of unusual magnitude rolling
in from far beyond the wild revelry of waters on 'The Rips.' It leaps
into the arena as if fresh and eager for the fray, clutches another
Bacchanal like itself, and the two towering floods rush swiftly toward
the shore. Instinctively you run backward to escape what seems an
impending destruction. Very likely a sheet of foam is dashed all around
you, shoe-deep, but you are safe--only the foam hisses away in impotent
rage. The sea has its bounds; 'hitherto shalt thou come, but no
farther.'"[A]
[Footnote A: A. Judd Northrup, in "Sconset Cottage Life."]