A GLOOMY SWAMP
The girls were as eager as the boy to view the old ruin from the water,
and the breeze being brisk, they were quickly blown down the coast and
into the quiet sheltered water beyond the point. “O, Gib,” Dories cried
fearfully, “do be careful! There are logs under the water along here that
come nearly to the top. Is it a wreck?”
“No, ’taint. It’s all that’s left of the long dock I was tellin’ yo’
about whar the Phantom Yacht used to tie up. Pa said ol’ Colonel Wadbury
had lights clear to the end of it and that, when ’twas lit up, ’twas a
purty sight.”
“It must have been,” Nann agreed. Then Dories inquired: “Doesn’t it make
you feel strange to realize that you are on the very spot where the
Phantom Yacht once sailed?”
“And where some day it may sail again,” Nann completed.
The high rocky point cut off the wind and so Gib let the sail flap as
they slowly drifted toward the swamp.
“Thar’s all that’s left of that sea wall I was tellin’ about,” the boy
nodded at huge rocks half sunken in mire.
“The reeds are higher than our heads,” Dories commented; then she asked,
“Is there a path through the marsh, do you think, Gib?”
“No, I’m _sure_ thar ain’t one,” the boy declared. “Me’n Dick Burton
would have found it if thar had been. We’ve looked times enough from the
land side. We never could get here by water, bein’ as we didn’t have a
boat. That’s why I’ve been savin’ to get a punt. Dick, he put in some
toward it, an’ so its half his’n.”
“Who is Dick Burton?” Nann inquired.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Gib seemed surprised. “Sort o’ thought o’ course you
knew ’bout the Burtons. Dick’s folks own the cabin that’s nearest the
rocks. He’s a city feller ’bout my age, or a leetle older, I reckon. He’s
been comin’ to these parts ever since we was shavers. You’d ought to know
him,” this to Nann, “he lives in Boston, whar you come from.”
The girl addressed laughed good-naturedly. “Gib,” she queried, “have you
ever been up to Boston?”
The boy reluctantly confessed that he had not. Then the girl explained
that since it was much larger than Siquaw Center, two people might live
there forever and not become acquainted.
“Yeah.” Gib had evidently not been listening to the last part of Nann’s
remark. “I do wish Dick was here now that we’ve got the punt,” he said.
“I sure sartin wish he was.”
“Why?” Dories inquired as she let one hand drift in the cool water.
“Wall, me’n he allays thought maybe thar was a channel through the swamp
up toward the old ruin. If he was here we’d set out to find it.”
“But why can’t Dori and I help you as much as he could?” Nann queried. “I
believe you are right, Gib,” she continued before the boy had time to
reply. “I’ve seen swamps before, and there was always a narrow channel
through them where the tide washed when it was high. See ahead there,
where the swamp comes down to the water’s edge, I wish you’d take the
sail down, Gib, and row as close to it as you can.”
The boy looked his amazement.
“But, I say, Miss Nann, like’s not we’d hit a snag, like’s not we would.”
“Who’s skeered now?” the girl taunted. The boy flushed. “Not me!” he
protested, and taking down the sail he rowed along the water side of the
dense reedy growths. “Yo’ see thar’s nothin’,” he began when Nann,
leaning forward, pointed as she cried excitedly, “There it is! There’s an
opening in the swamp leading right up to that haunted house.”
Nann was right. A narrow channel of clear water appeared among the reeds
that were higher than their heads. It led toward the middle of the marsh
and was wide enough for a larger boat than theirs to pass through.
“Now, the next question is, do we dare go in?” Nann was gleeful over her
find and how she wished that Gib’s friend, Dick Burton, were there to
share with them that exciting moment.
“Well, that question is easy to answer,” Dories hastened to say. “We most
certainly do not dare.”
The boy, having removed his nondescript cap, was scratching his ear in a
way that he always did when puzzled. Then there was a sudden eager light
in his red-brown eyes. Replacing his hat, he seized the oars and began to
row rapidly back up the shore and toward the row of eight cottages.
Nann was puzzled and voiced her curiosity. “Got to get back to Siquaw in
time for the ten-ten train,” was all the information she received.
Since he had said nothing of this when they started out, and had seemed
to be in no hurry whatever, Nann naturally wondered about it.
Some light might have been thrown on his action had she seen him, one
hour later, as he sat on the high stool at his father’s desk in the
general store. He was painstakingly writing, and, when the ten-ten train
arrived, Gibralter Strait was on the platform waiting to send to the
nearby city of Boston the very first letter that he had ever written.