"And Aunty Landis?"
"I'm not so sure about Aunty Landis. The stockings might give out, you
know."
They had left Piney Cove not long after nine. With the strong
northwester behind them, they made such progress that before two o'clock
they were in sight of their destination.
Rincoteague Island lies on the very border-line between ocean and bay.
On the eastern side, it is crowned by a straggling forest of pine and
oak, and looks almost boldly toward the near waters of the Atlantic. A
small hotel, and rows of bath-houses, mark it as a "resort"--a resort
sustained by the excursion steamer that makes daily trips thereto from
the towns of the mainland.
Although aware that the _Wisp_ had been making extraordinary speed, it
was not until Fessenden bore up direct for Rincoteague that he realized
how the wind was freshening. He had put his helm down a little
carelessly, and instantly a cupful of water took him in the back. He
glanced astern, to find quite a sea racing after.
"Positively it's roughing up," he said. "Will you be afraid to face a
head sea going home, Betty?"
"No, indeed; not with such a sailor as you, Bob White."
"Good! The sloop could live through a hurricane, 'so let the wild winds
blow-ow-ow.'"
They stood in for Rincoteague pier. The excursion steamer had just
disgorged its passengers there, and the sight of the horde convinced the
party on the _Wisp_ that the inevitable fish-and-oyster dinner at the
hotel was not likely to prove a thing of beauty. Accordingly, Betty took
the wheel and skilfully put the sloop alongside a smaller pier--rather
rotted and insecure, to be sure--on the lee or ocean side of the island.
While Fessenden was making the _Wisp_ fast, Mrs. Landis and Betty
explored the larder, with highly satisfactory results. Potted slices of
chicken, strawberry jam, boxed crackers, pickles, and aerated waters of
several sorts, furnished "eatin' stuff enough for anybody," as Mrs.
Landis avowed. She herself had thought to bring half a dozen wooden
picnic plates and a complement of knives, forks, and spoons.
"Did you stock the _Wisp_ for a polar expedition, Bob White?" asked
Betty.
"Oh, all this stuff was left in her by the man I bought her from. I
suppose it would have been more trouble to move the stores than they
were worth. Have you everything you want? Then 'all ashore that's going
ashore!'"
They ate their luncheon in a sheltered hollow at the lower end of the
islet. A projecting clay bank, a huge stranded log, and an overhanging
holly-tree made almost a cave of it. Aunty Landis was a highly
satisfactory chaperon. After luncheon, when she was not darning, she was
perusing a pamphlet of Sunday School lessons. And when this was
finished, she brought a leather-bound memorandum-book from the
bottomless work-bag, and entered upon an intricate calculation of
household accounts.
Fessenden chatted with Betty. He had not yet begun to analyze the
reasons for the pleasure he felt in her company, or hardly to understand
that the farmer's daughter who could hold a man of his experience by her
side for the better part of three days must possess extraordinary charm.
"Now we are in the pirates' den," said Betty, "and that log is a
treasure-chest full of--of what?"
"Of doubloons and pieces of eight. I'm the pirate chief, and you are my
captured bride."
"Oh, goodness!"
"Do you know, I made a remark something like that to Miss Yarnell the
other day, and she took it quite seriously?"
"Was she afraid of the pirate chief?"
"She eyed me in that brooding, blazing way of hers--you remember how she
looked when she tried to ride over us on the road the other day?"
"Remember!"
"Exactly. She eyed me in that fashion, then thanked me for the
suggestion."
"What did she mean?"
"I haven't the least idea. Betty, what do you know about her?"
The girl put her hand suddenly on his arm. "What was that? A drop of
water? I do believe it's going to rain. And hear the surf! It's fairly
roaring. It must be blowing hard. I wonder if the yacht is all right."
The thought brought them to their feet, and out of their sheltered
hollow. They found a changed world.
While they ate, clouds had been gathering west and north, and now seemed
to fill the whole space from bay to sky. A mile or two beyond the
island, a white line advancing over the churning waters gave promise of
a furious squall. Worst of all, the wind had risen until, even on their
leeward side of the island, the swell was momentarily growing heavier.
"By George!" said Fessenden. "It looks as if we were in for it. Betty,
we'd better have a look at the _Wisp_. That rotten old wharf!"
"I'll race you to it!" she cried.
He overtook her in half a dozen strides, and throwing his arm about her
shoulders, fairly swept her along with himself. She came no higher than
his shoulders as she ran. Her eyes laughed up at him, and her shining
hair brushed his lips. Aunty Landis was left hopelessly in the rear.
At the old pier, the waves, running far in beneath the flooring, were
breaking against the ancient piles, while the structure complained in
every joint. The _Wisp_, tied stem and stern to a string-piece, was
plunging furiously.
"She seems to be all right," said Fessenden, "but I think I'll put an
extra half-hitch in each of those lines." He still steadied Betty
against the wind as he spoke. "It wouldn't be pleasant to be forced to
go home in that excursion boat."
Releasing his companion, reluctantly enough, he made his way out on the
wharf. She promptly followed.
"Go back, child. The wind will blow you away."
"I'm--all--right," she gasped as he bent over the stern-line. "The rain
will be here in a minute, and we'll need the rain-coats." She sprang
aboard gaily.
"Come back!" he ordered. "I don't believe it's safe, Betty."
"Only a minute," she called. She waved a careless hand and dived into
the cabin.
At that instant, a wave struck the _Wisp_ on the inboard quarter and
heaved her strongly outward. The stern-line held staunchly, but under
the tremendous strain the string-piece gave way like the rotted punk it
was, not a foot in front of Fessenden.
"Betty!" he roared. "Betty!"
His cry stirred the heart of the girl within the cabin, and brought her
instantly onto the floor of the cockpit. Before she could realize the
danger of the situation, the worst had occurred.
He was already kneeling at the forward line, heaving hand over hand to
haul the bow of the _Wisp_ alongside. The sloop was almost within reach
when another wave struck her. The line was snatched from his fingers,
and the yacht, flung to the full length of the rope, carried away the
string-piece as before. The _Wisp_ was adrift!
As the timber sank under his feet, Fessenden clutched at a wharf
stanchion. By a miracle, he saved himself from going overboard.
As if recoiling from the freedom so suddenly won, the _Wisp_ took a
slight sheer toward the pier. The tide, running like a mill-race, swept
her broadside past Fessenden.
"Betty!"
The girl, her body lithe and alert, had been steadying herself by the
safety-rail of the cabin roof. Her face had whitened at the sight of
Fessenden's peril, but it was only now, in response to his hoarse shout,
that a sound escaped her.
"Bob White!" she cried, her arms suddenly extended in piteous appeal.
"Oh, Bob White!"
The watery space between the wharf and the sloop was hopelessly wide,
but, uttering an inarticulate and despairing oath, he took two running
steps and leaped.
He struck fair on his feet on the very rail of the _Wisp_, stood
tottering, fought wildly for his balance--and then Betty's firm little
hand plucked him safely inboard.
"Thank you, Bob White," she said.
There was no time to return even a smile in answer. He gripped the wheel
and gave the sloop a sheer with the hope of beaching her outright. But
wind and wave caught her.
"Close the hatch!" he roared.
As it happened, the forward hatch-cover was already in place. Betty
snapped to the sliding storm-door of the cabin barely in time. A sea
swept the Wisp from end to end, flattening Betty against the side of the
cabin, and nearly swamping the yacht at a blow.
Fessenden was glad to escape by putting the craft dead before the wind.
Bare-poled as she was, the Wisp fled southeastward like a frightened
thing. The rain, the clouds, and the night overtook them together.
With a thrill, Fessenden felt a long, regular swell suddenly begin to
lift the battling yacht. There was still enough of daylight to permit
him a sight of Betty's pale little face.
"Betty," he said, "don't be frightened, but I'm afraid we're clear of
the Capes. This feels like the Atlantic."
She made a staggering rush and reached the lockers. There she sat down
beside him as he struggled with the wheel. The spray flew clear over
them again and again.
She laid her wet cheek an instant against his arm. "The ocean?" she
said. "I hope you won't be seasick, Bob White. I know _I_ won't."
"You're a trump," he said.