WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN
About the middle of the month my family went to spend a week or two
in a cottage at a neighboring beach. I enjoyed being at the sea-side,
but I was hard up for playmates. For a few days there was a boy in the
cottage next ours, and he spent most of his time riding around the
veranda on a velocipede.
This made me feel that I needed a velocipede, too, and I suggested to
my father that he supply my lack.
"You shall have one," he said,--"when my ship comes in."
I had never heard of the ship before--had never known that my father
owned so much as a rowboat. But he had said it himself--I was to have
a velocipede "when his ship came in." I tried to find out how soon he
expected her, and where she was coming from. But he was hurrying away
to take the train which carried him each day to the city, and I could
get no particulars about his ship. He laughed, waved his hand, and was
gone.
This left me rather dissatisfied, but I reflected, as I strolled around
the veranda, that it was a good thing I had heard about this ship while
we were living at the seashore. At home there was less opportunity to
watch for ships. Here I saw dozens of them every day. Sometimes there
would not be one in sight when I went to bed, but in the morning seven
or eight would ride at anchor a mile or more from the beach.
Great steamers passed along, leaving a trail of smoke behind, and once
or twice I had seen dainty yachts, glittering with white paint and
polished brass. Then heavy barges would go slowly by, pulled by puffing
tugs. I had been told that they were loaded with coal, and I hoped that
my father's ship was not one of them. If there was a velocipede for me
on a barge, it would get black and sooty. I much preferred to have it
come by one of the yachts--or, wait a moment--once there had swept by
a fine three-masted schooner, her hull painted white and all her sails
set. She was a beauty, and she looked big enough to sail around, the
world by herself. The yachts could hardly do that.
I decided that I would rather have my father's ship turn out to be a
schooner like that white one.
By the time I had reached this decision I had come to the water's
edge. It was a warm morning, and the sun, three or four hours high,
sparkled on the ocean. The waves broke, ran hissing up the beach, and
retreated, leaving hundreds of little bubbling holes in the sand. I
knew these holes--they were the dwellings of sand-fleas, who now were
in a fair way of getting drowned out.
Farther up the beach, out of danger from the waves, I came upon a large
sand-flea hopping along energetically. I sat down to head him off,
and find what he was about. With his hard-shelled and rounded back he
looked like a small model of some prehistoric and armored monster--only
he had two very mild blue eyes. As soon as I tried to intercept him
with a piece of dried marsh-grass he put his head down and dug so
vigorously that he was soon covered with sand.
His disappearance left me alone. It was a lonely place, that beach,
for the peanut-man and the merry-go-round had not discovered it, and
its only inhabitants were a few cottagers, like our family, and the
fishermen.
But I did not miss the crowd. A few minutes' walk farther down the
beach brought me to a point of sand that ran out into the ocean for
fifty or sixty yards at low tide. At the end it curved around and
enclosed a small salt-water pond.
This was an enchanted spot.
In the first place, it was the very kind of a pond for "going in
wading." That mysterious and dangerous thing called the undertow, which
lived among the breakers, had no influence in these quiet waters. Then,
along the edges could be found, more than anywhere else, all kinds of
interesting shells and sea creatures. There were large white shells,
well adapted for scooping holes in the sand, and smaller, roundish
cockle-shells whose inmates were usually at home. When you picked up
one of them the cockle retired inside and drew a trap-door over the
entrance.
There were starfish with waving tentacles, sand-dollars, and the empty
shells of sea-urchins and razor-clams. The black and ominous-looking
objects which I implicitly believed to be sharks' eggs were often found
near the borders of that ocean pond, and horseshoe crabs crawled darkly
beneath its surface or lay dry and deceased on the sand.
Some rocks, covered with seaweed, sheltered a colony of ordinary
crabs--little ones, who scuttled away as you approached, and big,
dignified, ferocious veterans, who looked up at you defiantly and blew
a multitude of bubbles, though whether they did this through wrath and
indignation, or merely with the conscious joy of the artist, I could
never discover.
These rocks were also the haunt of sea-gulls, who took flight before
you could come close to them. The sandpipers were more neighborly,
skipping along the beach in front of you, though even they were shy and
wary.
The waves brought up many charming varieties of seaweed, red, green,
and brown. Beautiful enough it looked in the water; the disappointment
came when you took it out.
Besides all these living or growing things, each high tide cast up on
the sands an assortment of fascinating objects--pebbles of odd shapes
and colors, smooth bits of wood rounded by the waves, spindles and
spools that had come down the river from the mills of far-away towns,
and bottles which always looked as if they were going to contain a
message from some ship-wrecked mariner--but never did.
And now the greatest delight of all had been added, for I could watch
for my father's ship to come in. It would naturally land there, I
argued; while he was living at the seashore he would have it come as
near as possible to his house. It might run right up to the beach;
they would put out a gangplank and one of the sailors would wheel my
velocipede ashore.
Then I could spend the day riding it around the veranda of our cottage.
Or perhaps the ship would not be able to come so close to the shore. It
would anchor a mile or two out, and send a boat. The velocipede might
get wet coming in an open boat that way, and, if it were made of iron,
the water would rust it. I hoped they would know enough to cover it up
before they started to row in to the beach.
There were certainly no ships in sight that I could believe were my
father's. Two fishing schooners were riding at anchor, and the smoke
of a steamer showed on the horizon--that was all. I left the pond
behind and walked out to the end of the little cape. At any moment my
father's ship might come in sight, and it was surely well for me to be
ready for her. The sailors would be glad to see me, for then they could
hand over the velocipede, sail away again to wherever they came from,
and get anything else my father might want.
Where _were_ they coming from?
That was an interesting question. I could see no land out there, but I
had been told that if a ship sailed straight ahead in that direction
the first land reached would be Portugal.
"I wonder what kind of velocipedes they have in Portugal?"
I uttered this aloud, and I jumped when I heard a voice say:--
"What's that you are wondering?"
A man had walked up behind me. He was a stranger--a tall man, carrying
his hat in his hand. He repeated his question, and I told him that I
was wondering about the velocipedes in Portugal.
"Portugal--Portugal," he ruminated. "I've never been in Portugal. I've
been near it, though. I've been in Spain. In fact, I own some property
in Spain."
"Do you?" I queried in astonishment. "But you look like an American.
And Portugal's right straight out there. Why didn't you go there first?"
"Well, I went another way, you see. And then the Spaniards are easier
to get along with--they're better landlords."
"Can you talk Spanish?" I demanded.
"A little," he replied modestly; "enough to answer. Tell me about this
velocipede of yours. How did it get to Portugal?"
"It didn't get there," I told him; "it's coming from there. Or,
anyhow, it's coming from somewhere. On my father's ship."
"Oh, your father has a ship, has he?"
"Yes. He told me this morning that I could have a velocipede when his
ship came in."
He looked down at me seriously enough.
"I see. And so now you're waiting for his ship to come in."
"Yes."
There was a pause. Then he seemed struck by the appearance of my bare
legs.
"What is the matter with your shins?" he asked.
"Mosquito bites," I replied briefly.
After another pause he said, gravely:
"Camphor is good for mosquito bites."
"Yes, I know. My mother puts it on every night."
I thought a moment, and then asked,
"Do they have mosquitoes in Spain?"
"Not on my estates," he assured me; "nothing unpleasant on them at all.
But it's funny you should be here waiting for a ship to come in. For
that's just what I am doing."
"Have you a ship?"
"One exactly like your father's."
"Do you know my father?"
"No, but I know his ship."
"Is it a three-masted schooner, painted white?"
"Why, it's white. I am not sure about the three masts. But it's white
sure enough, all bright and shiny. So is mine. Most of 'em are."
"Do many people have ships?"
"Oh, yes, lots and lots. Some of them have velocipedes on board, and
some have--oh, all kinds of things."
"What have you on yours?"
He eyed me again.
"You would laugh if I told you."
"No, I wouldn't either."
"Yes, you would."
"No, I wouldn't _either_," I insisted. "Tell me what you've got on your
ship."
"Promise you won't tell?" he asked.
"Yes, of course."
"Cross your throat?"
"Yes."
And I did so.
He bent down. "Well, then, it's a--"
He broke off and looked along the beach. I looked too, but saw nothing
remarkable; only Miss Norton, who lived in the cottage next but one to
ours. She had Boojum, the Nortons' bull terrier, on a leash. Boojum was
pulling at the leash and dragging her along as usual, and she seemed to
be quite out of breath when she reached the little sandy point.
My friend, the man, told me to come on, and hurried off to meet Miss
Norton. They shook hands and began to talk. I stood where I was and
watched them. At last the man turned toward me and shouted:--
"Come on! Don't you want to go for a walk? We'll watch for your ship as
we go."
But I shook my head. I did not intend to be drawn from my vigil as easy
as that. Miss Norton did not interest me particularly--I could see her
any day.
The man was apparently glad to see her; they slipped Boojum's leash,
let him rush off by himself, and then started together along the sand.
He could not have had anything valuable on his ship, for he never
glanced at the ocean at all.
I turned again to inspect the horizon, reflecting that it was quite
different when you expected your ship to bring you a velocipede.