UP THE PENOBSCOT.
Perhaps because it was not considered just the thing for so many young
people to go off alone, Captain Patterdale and Dr. Darling volunteered
to accompany them, going as passengers in the steamer. Several of the
parents of the girls had objected mildly to the arrangement, fearing
that some of the young men or the young ladies might be a little
too wild if they were entirely unrestrained by the presence of any
older person. Captain Patterdale insisted that they needed a business
agent, and he went in this capacity, while Dr. Darling’s services were
absolutely required as a physician and surgeon, in case of accident or
sudden illness to any member of the party.
The distance to be accomplished was about forty miles, and it was not
yet decided whether the boat clubs would row the whole distance or
not. The fair rowists were to do as they pleased; but most of them were
so ambitious that they desired to pull the whole of the way, especially
as the excursion was to be one continuous frolic. The Ocean-Born was
at anchor off Don John’s wharf, and at ten o’clock her steam was up,
ready for a start. The members of the boat clubs were gathering on the
pier, near the boat-house, each with a small bag or bundle containing
the few needed articles for the journey, and a water-proof. They were
to encumber themselves with no extra dresses; the blue flannel uniform
was to answer for service in the boats, and for parties on shore, if
they went to any. All the shore arrangements were to be made by Captain
Patterdale, and the members did not even know what they were to be. The
bags and bundles were stowed away in the boats, though Neil Brandon
offered to carry them on board of the steamer.
One after another the beautiful barges shot out from the wharf,
with their colors flying, until all of them were in line outside of
the Ocean-Born. All the yachts that were to participate--six in
number--were ready to trip their anchors and run up their jibs.
Captain Neil Brandon was in the pilot-house of the steamer, ready to
start the boat, for she was to follow the fleet of the Dorcas Club. As
the Lily darted past the Ocean-Born, Kate Bilder waved her handkerchief
to him, and he returned the salute by swinging his cap. He could not
help thinking of what his mother had written to him; and he permitted
Ben Lunder, who was on the forecastle, to indulge without a comment in
more extravagant demonstrations. Why should his mother wish him to shun
the Bilders? Both the father and the daughter were held in the highest
esteem and regard in the city, even in spite of the loss of fortune
which had overtaken the ship-master. What had Captain Bilder done?
Certainly the fair Kate could have done nothing wrong. He had never
heard his mother mention the Bilders before, and he did not know that
she had ever been in Belfast.
[Illustration: THE LILY PASSING THE OCEAN-BORN. Page 230.]
In this connection Neil could not help thinking of his first interview
with Captain Bilder, in which that gentleman had manifested so much
surprise when he mentioned the name of his father, and also at the
name of the steamer. He recalled the questions which the ship-master
had asked him, and he was convinced that there was some sort of a
relation between Captain Bilder and his mother. Madam Brandon had
entreated him to leave Belfast at once, and avoid the Bilders. He
was not to speak to them, but he was enjoined not to be rude to
them. Perhaps Neil was not entirely satisfied with the character
of his obedience to his mother, though he was now on the point of
leaving Belfast. Certainly it would be rude for him, now that the
arrangements were all made, to back out, especially as he could give
no reasonable excuse for doing so. He would avoid Kate as much as he
could without being rude to her; but it must be acknowledged this was
not so difficult a task as it would have been for Ben Lunder. Neil
was particularly glad that he had not been called upon to avoid the
fascinating Minnie Darling, for he had spent most of the evenings of
his stay at Belfast in her father’s house.
“A gun from the foreto’-gallant forecastle of the Skylark!” shouted
Ben Lunder. “Stand by the main-royal mud-hook! Stand by your topsail
toggle-joints! Tip up your topping-lifts! Bobble to your bolt-ropes!”
“What’s the matter, Ben?” asked the captain.
“A gun from the yacht of the mighty commodore of the squadron.”
“I heard it; I’m not deaf.”
“Only a little blind in your starboard ear. There go the yachts like a
moon-raker in a hurricane. Booms and bobstays! They go it as lively as
a dolphin-striker paddling his own canoe in a nor-nor-wester.”
“Let fall!” was the signal from the Dorcas, and the oars of the five
club boats dropped into the water as one. “Give way together!” And off
went the beautiful craft abreast of each other, the girls pulling a
gentle stroke, which gave them a speed of about three miles an hour.
“Ah, what is this earth but paradise! especially the watery part of
it?” exclaimed Ben, clasping his hands to emphasize his rapture. “Bless
them! beaming like silver stars on my dewy toplights!”
“Call all hands, Ben, to get up the anchor!” shouted Neil from the
pilot-house.
“All you starbowlines, ahoy!” yelled Ben. “Break for the forecastle and
heave up the anchor!”
Martin Roach was the first to respond to this call, and placed himself
at the little donkey engine on the forecastle. Though the anchor was
not so very heavy, it would have been a long and hard job for the four
young fellows who were available for this duty to heave it up by hand.
As only two, or three at most, could be spared for this task when only
the four owners were on a cruise, in the Delaware, the donkey engine
had been provided for this and other heavy work. Several turns were
taken in the cable over the drum of the windlass, the young engine
puffed, and in a moment the anchor was at the hawse-hole.
“Anchor’s aweigh!” said Martin.
Neil rang one bell, and the Ocean-Born went ahead slowly. Ben and Berry
Owen washed the mud from the anchor with an old broom, and it was
hoisted up on an iron fish-davit by the engine, and then lowered to its
usual resting-place on the forecastle. The cable was coiled away neatly
by the deck-hand, the planks swept off, and everything was made as
tidy as a lady’s parlor. There was no more regular work to be done for
the next two or three hours.
“Well, Ben, how do you feel to-day?” asked Captain Patterdale, as the
deck-hand ascended to the hurricane-deck, where the two passengers were
seated.
“In good order and condition, like a ship ready for a long voyage,”
replied Ben. “I stowed away a full cargo of mutton chops, broiled ham,
fish-balls, fried cunners, omelets, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, and a
few other delicate notions, for breakfast this morning, and I feel as
though I could keep tolerably cheerful till dinner time, though I shall
be ready to take off the hatches for lunch by meridian.”
“Do you call that a full cargo?” laughed Captain Patterdale. “I should
think you would wish to eat something for your breakfast.”
“I do, as a rule. This ballasting the ship with live geese feathers
is not just the thing; still they fill up the vessel from the
fore-garboard streak up to the main-royal benders,” replied Ben,
soberly. “Ever since I began to go to sea, skotch my sky-scrapers, if I
haven’t been hungry, and at almost any time of day or night I can stow
away provender.”
“In other words, you need ballast.”
“Exactly so, sir. Ballast is the great moral, mental, and social
regulator. Because G. Washington had ballast in the hold, he was able
to keep an even keel. G. W. was an old salt, like me. That exciting
nautical scene, of which he is the central figure, the crossing of
the Delaware, proves that he was a great navigator, to say nothing
of the happy manner in which he crossed over from Long Island when
things didn’t work just right. G. W. ballasted his craft, and it is a
memorable historical fact that he was always able to tell the truth on
a full stomach. In my opinion, when a committee in Congress intend to
investigate a case of corruption, it would be a wise plan to give the
witnesses a good breakfast or a good dinner, for a man can tell the
truth better on a full stomach than on an empty one.”
“I dare say you are right, Ben; but I have not investigated your
philosophy,” added the listener.
“I know I am right, sir. A philosopher don’t amount to anything if he
has any doubts about his philosophy.”
“The subject is rather heavy for a pleasure excursion,” laughed Captain
Patterdale. “How fast are we going, Ben?”
“Not over ten knots.”
“That’s a safe answer.”
“I am opposed to loose statements; my stomach is full, and I cannot
tell a lie.”
“Not over two knots and a half, I should say,” added Captain Patterdale.
“Life is a voyage, and we are but the sailors,” said Ben, looking as
wise and solemn as an owl. “He is a prudent tar who often heaves the
log. ‘How fast are we going?’ That was your conundrum, sir. I shall
take it as my first text when I write a sermon. I am fond of nautical
figures, you know. My tongue is reeking with salt, and I can’t help
indulging in sea slang. How fast are we going?” repeated Ben, with a
flourish and a gesture.
“About two knots and a half, Ben.”
“I was looking to the moral significance of the conundrum.”
“O, the sermon?”
“Yes, sir. As I should probably be preaching it to an audience of
landlubbers, lollipops, and greenhorns, I should first explain the
nautical meaning of the expression. As you are a sailor, I need not
do so in your case. I should say to the young man, ‘How fast are you
going?’ If you don’t know, heave the log. If you can’t tell how fast
you are going, you don’t know how near you are to the sunken ledge of
Dissipation. You can’t tell how the shoals of Dishonesty bear. If you
haven’t the means of making up your dead reckoning, you may be running
for the reef of Destruction. You can’t take the sun when you get out
into the fog of Moral Indifference.”
“That will make a very good sermon; but I trust you will see the
necessity of heaving the lead in such a dangerous sea as you describe.”
“Heave the lead shall be the text of another sermon, for I can’t afford
to put all my subjects into one. The young man must heave the log, and
if he don’t go any faster than the Ocean-Born at this moment, he will
be in no danger of becoming a fast young man.”
Neil Brandon had given the helm to Berry Owen, and joined the party
on the hurricane deck. He had listened to a part of Ben’s speech, and
perhaps he was glad to have his friend show that there was something in
his composition besides nonsense.
“Der gook dinks you petter told us how much beoples you haf to dinner
in der gabins to-day.” said Karl, addressing the captain.
“I shall invite the twenty-five members of the Dorcas Club to dine on
board,” replied Neil.
“No, no, captain!” interposed Captain Patterdale; “you will upset all
my arrangements if you do that.”
“What are your plans, sir?”
“For the present I must ask you to excuse me, and not get dinner for
anybody,” replied the managing agent.
“But I intended to feed the ladies on board the Ocean-Born.”
“Perhaps you may have the opportunity to-morrow, but not to-day.”
Neil submitted, and Karl was not sorry to be spared the labor of
setting the table. The breeze was tolerably fresh, and the fleet of
yachts was by this time a mile ahead of the Dorcas Club. The water was
rather rough for the boats in this part of the bay, though they were
all doing very well. They were now pulling “by twos,” with the Dorcas
ahead.
“I should think those young ladies would be tired,” said Neil, after
they had been rowing about an hour.
“They are used to it; but they are advised not to pull over an hour
without a rest,” replied Captain Patterdale. “Their muscles have been
trained; and at the stroke they pull, it is not so hard work as it is
to sweep a carpet, run a sewing machine, or even to sew. The air gives
them strength, and they don’t hurry. A stout boy could pull one of
those boats as fast as they are going, and without any great exertion.
I am told that those who are still pupils in the High School get their
lessons better than before they engaged in this exercise; and certainly
their health is much improved.”
At this moment the boats stopped to take the rest enjoined upon them.
The girls boated their oars, and the Ocean-Born steamed around them,
going near enough to engage in a chat with them.
“O that I were a member of that club!” said Ben, as the steamer passed
the Lily.
“We will take you as a passenger for a time,” replied Kate Bilder.
“Roses and posies! may I have that bliss?”
“You may.”
The steamer was stopped, and the Lily backed up to her gangway. Ben
leaped lightly into the stern-sheets. Captain Brandon was invited to
accept a place in the Dorcas, and he did so.
“We should be glad to take a passenger,” said Jenny Waite, in the Fairy.
“Whom?” laughed Captain Patterdale.
“Mr. Berry Owen,”
“But he must steer,” added Neil.
“Mr. Gerald Roach, then.”
The engineer was at liberty then, and took his place on the Fairy.
The boats went off by twos again, and the steamer followed; but it was
observed that the three which contained passengers did not keep their
places in the procession as well as before.
“Now, really, I don’t feel just right to sit here, and see four ladies
pulling before me,” said Ben. “I am like a selfish fly in a sugar-bowl,
enjoying all the sweets.”
“We are satisfied, and you ought to be,” replied Kate. “Do you know how
far we are going to-day, Mr. Lunder.”
“I do not; but the high and mighty managing agent has a plan which he
keeps to himself. I have never navigated these waters, and I don’t know
which way the cat-harpings point.”
“I hope we shall stop at Fort Point,” said one of the fair rowists.
“That is a delightful place,” added Kate. “There is a new hotel on the
Point.”
“How far is it from Belfast?” asked Ben.
“Not more than ten miles.”
“We shall be there all too soon,” sighed the old salt, as he glanced at
Kate. “I may not again be permitted to take passage on this celestial
barge, pulled by peris from paradise. What steamer is that approaching?”
“That is an excursion steamer from Belfast. She takes out parties,”
replied Kate, after glancing at the boat.
“She seems to be headed towards this celestial fleet.”
“Perhaps she is going up to Bangor,” suggested Kate.
Half an hour later, the steamer came up abreast of the fleet of boats,
and slowed down so as to keep alongside. It was rather a pretty craft,
so far as white, blue, and red paint could make her so. Her name,
painted under the front windows of her pilot-house, was the “Monogram.”
She was a small screw steamer, with a cabin aft, and a cook-room
in her forecastle. On the hurricane-deck, which was railed in, and
provided with seats, walked with folded arms, in solitary grandeur, Mr.
Arthur McGusher. He was not to be cheated out of the pleasures of the
excursion up the Penobscot by the swinishness of Ben Lunder, to whom
alone he attributed his exclusion from the party.
“As I live, there is Mr. McGusher!” exclaimed Kate, as she recognized
her “long-lost brother.”
“And he seems to be the only passenger,” added Ben.
At this moment, Mr. McGusher caught the eye of Kate, and taking off
his new white hat, he bowed very low, and flourished with his right
hand. Kate nodded to him, but bestowed no further notice upon him.
“Ladies, yaw most obedient! I hope I see you vewy well this mawning,”
said the long-lost.
No one in the Lily made any reply. Mr. McGusher descended to the main
deck, and took a position near the pilot-house. Seeing Ben in the Lily,
he did not continue the conversation. The Monogram then dropped astern,
till she was abreast of the Psyche, whose name Mr. McGusher spelled out
from his position.
“Chickee, ahoy!” said he, taking off his hat again, and indulging in a
tremendous flourish.
Mr. McGusher was not deeply versed in mythology, and had never read the
story of Cupid and Psyche. His spelling of the name of the beautiful
maiden who became immortal resulted in nothing more classic than
“Chickee.” Carrie West, the leader of the boat, made no reply, for she
did not know what the gentleman in the white hat meant.
“In the Chickee!” called Mr. McGusher.
“Are you speaking to us?” asked Carrie, when the Monogram came so near
as almost to interfere with the movement of the oars.
“I addwessed the ladies in the Chickee.”
“The Chickee!” laughed the leader; and her companions screamed with her.
“I beg your pawdon; but what is the name of your beautiful boat?”
demanded the swell.
“The Chickee,” answered Carrie. “And we are all Chickees.”
The fair rowers laughed so that they almost lost their stroke.
“You must be vewy fatigued. Allow me to offaw the sawvices of my
steamaw to tow the Chickee.”
“No, I thank you,” replied Carrie, smartly.
“Allow me to invite you on board of the Monogwam; and she is entiawly
at your sawvice.”
“No, thank you; but you will oblige me by keeping your steamer a little
farther from the ends of our oars,” added Carrie.
Mr. McGusher did not comply with this request, but attempted to
continue the parley.
“Oars!” said Carrie, suddenly. “Pull, port; back, starboard.”
The headway of the Psyche was checked, and she swung quarter around.
“Oars! Give way together!” she continued, when the boat’s head was
pointed directly from the Monogram, and she darted away, to the
astonishment and chagrin of the “charter party” of the steamer.
All the other boats did the same thing. The Ocean-Born, which had
before rung her speed-bell, came up abreast of the Monogram, and placed
herself between the intruder and the fleet.
“On board the Monogram!” shouted Captain Patterdale from the deck of
the Ocean-Born, as she slowed down abreast of that steamer.
“On board of the Ocean-Born,” replied the captain of the Monogram, from
the pilot house; and the two steamers were hardly six feet apart.
“Captain Post, I will thank you to keep at a proper distance from the
boats of the young ladies,” said Captain Patterdale, politely, but in a
tone not to be mistaken.
“I only obey orders,” replied Captain Post, who knew that it was not
prudent to offend a man of so much influence in the City as Captain
Patterdale.
“Whose orders?”
“The orders of the gentleman who hired the boat.”
“Who is he?”
“I have the honaw to be the gentleman,” interposed Mr. McGusher.
“You are no gentleman! You don’t know what the word means! You have
no more right to speak to those young ladies, having no acquaintance
with them, than you would if you met them in the street,” said Captain
Patterdale, sharply. “Sheer off, Captain Post, and don’t come within
hailing distance of those boats. Go ahead, if you please, Mr. Owen.”
The Ocean-Born started her screw and went ahead. The club boat had
swung around again, and was laying her course for the mouth of the
river. Mr. McGusher was blustering at the captain of “his steamer,” but
the Ocean-Born kept between her and the Dorcas Club till they reached
Fort Point, where all hands were to remain till the next morning.