A Stormy Night
EVERY one had been too busy to think about the weather. But, when
supper was on the table, Mrs. Crane noticed that Jean's dark hair had
been blown about her face, that Henrietta's, too, was flying about in
loose locks, and that the loose canvas at the doorway of the big tent
was flapping noisily.
"Look at the lake!" cried Marjory. "It's all mussed up and queer, like
something _boiling_. I hope Captain Berry got home safely."
"The wind is in his favor and he has had sufficient time. But that's
a pretty angry sea--I guess Dave and I had better pull those boats to
the top of the bank, after supper. We're going to have some waves that
_are_ waves before morning."
The lake, at that hour, however, was not so rough as it was
threatening. Its surface was of a dark, dull slate-color, marked
with long lines of deep blue and blackish purple. Some hidden force
seemed to be lifting it from underneath as if, as Marjory said, it
were boiling, or at least getting ready to boil. The sun had dropped
behind the distant hills without leaving the usual rose-pink afterglow.
Overhead, dark clouds were scurrying toward the southwest; but as yet
the waves had not gathered sufficient strength to be very noisy. The
air was colder; and that, too, seemed filled with hidden threats and
half-whispered warnings.
"I'm thankful," said Mr. Black, carving more roasted chicken for
Bettie, who said that all fowls _should_ have had eight legs apiece,
"that we have good, sound tents to sleep in to-night and that Captain
Berry knew how to put them up so they'd stay. After we've pulled the
boat up, Dave and I will see if any of the ropes need tightening. There
is one thing that everybody must remember. If it rains, you must not
touch the canvas--that makes it leak."
It was too windy for a fire on the beach that night, so the castaways,
in their warm sweaters, sat round the dining-room table, and, by
the light of the big lamps enjoyed the magazines that Mr. Saunders
had thoughtfully included. They were particularly interested in the
advertisements of tents, boats, and other camp-y things.
Just as Bettie was certain that her eyes would not stay open a single
moment longer, there was a loud crash near at hand.
"Now what?" cried startled Mrs. Crane, who was hemming some of the
queer dish-toweling that inexperienced Mr. Saunders had been obliged to
select, "is that? Not thunder, I hope."
"Our late residence, I suspect," returned Mr. Black. "It's a good thing
we moved out when we did--I guess I'd better rescue that tablecloth."
By this time the waves were running high and dashing savagely against
the bank. Usually the hurrying clouds obscured the moon; but, whenever
it gleamed forth for a moment, it showed a foaming, furious sea--their
calm, beautiful, softly tinted lake was gone.
"I'm glad," shuddered Bettie, "that I'm not out there in a boat."
"I hope," said Jean, "that nobody is. A little boat would be smashed to
bits."
"Wouldn't it be dreadful," suggested Henrietta, "if a ship were wrecked
right down there on the beach? Anyway, I guess we'd find it pretty
exciting."
"Or the ship would," offered Marjory.
"Let's hope _hard_," said Bettie, "that all the ships and sailors are
in snug, safe harbors--When I go to bed to-night I'm going to make a
little prayer about it."
But, in spite of Bettie's little prayer, if, indeed, she remembered to
make it, there were several ships abroad that night; and a passenger on
one of the smallest and least significant was probably, at that very
moment, sailing into this story; but many other things happened before
he was unceremoniously tumbled into the tale; and you must have them in
their turn.
All night long the heavy surf pounded and thundered on the beach. All
night long the wind howled and shrieked. But the castaways, snug in
their strong new tents and their warm, red blankets, slept through all
the turmoil.
They were obliged, next morning, to forego the pleasure of washing
their faces in the lake; but the river, with some help from the bright
new dishpan, served as well. Dave's ice-cold spring provided them with
excellent drinking water.
"This storm," said Mr. Black, arranging a temporary shelter for the
fire, "will bring us plenty of driftwood. We can have benches under the
trees and an extra table or two--I expect to get thin, building things."
"Well, it won't hurt you," returned Mrs. Crane. "You can begin by
building that fire--I'm ready to cook."
Previously to this time, the days had been warm and comparatively
quiet; but to-day it was decidedly cold. The wind, sweeping through the
clearing, carried off all the bits of paper and string that the eager
girls had torn from their parcels the night before and thoughtlessly
scattered about. It was necessary to fasten things down to keep them
from swirling out of sight. The big waves still thundered in and their
white spray dashed high above the edge of the battered bank.
But, for all that, it proved a delightful day, because the clear air
was wonderfully bracing, the campers were really camping, and one could
escape the buffeting of the wind and the continuous roar of the waves
by taking long walks in the sheltered trails and roads.
"This," said Mr. Black, when the morning's work was done, "would be a
good time to walk to Barclay's Point to see the waves. These are just
tiny wavelets beside what we'll see over there--they'll be perfectly
terrific on the north side of that peninsula. I _was_ going to fish in
the river with those nice angleworms that Saunders sent; but I can take
you there first and do my fishing afterwards."
There were two ways of getting to Barclay's Point. In ordinary weather,
one walked up the beach. In stormy weather, there was a very roundabout
way by the road and a more direct route by a woodsy trail that wasn't
exactly visible--one _felt_ rather than saw it. Some persons have an
instinct for following trails. Jean had it, Marjory had it to a lesser
degree; but Mabel and Henrietta were without it; while Dave, Indian
that he was, could see trails where none existed for any one else.
Since Jean possessed the trail-instinct, she walked ahead, while Mr.
Black, in order to keep Mabel and Henrietta from straying from the
path, marched behind. Mrs. Crane remained in camp with Bettie, who was
not yet permitted to take long walks.
To reach Barclay's, one crossed the river twice. The first crossing
was easy, for there was a rude bridge built of heavy timber. But
the second was a different matter. Nature had provided a bridge by
conveniently dropping a huge tree across the stream, which was wide and
about three feet deep at this point. The log--the branches had long
ago been chopped away--was very wide at one end but tapered somewhat
toward the other. When the water was low, there was room for a canoe
to pass under this log. Jean walked steadily across it, Marjory flitted
over it like a bird, Henrietta, with fancy steps that would have been
impossible for the others even on solid ground, danced across; but
Mabel, wavering and wabbling, had to be assisted by Mr. Black, who
stretched forth a helping hand the moment she began to falter.
"I guess," declared Mabel, indignantly, "that old tree was a slippery
elm."
"No," returned Mr. Black, "it was pine, and a big fellow at that. It's
been here for many years."
"How can you tell?" queried Henrietta.
"See that birch tree growing from the upper side of its root? That
birch has had time to grow from a seed into a good-sized tree since
some mighty tornado or some unusual freshet uprooted this great
pine--pine does not rot as quickly as some of the harder woods."
"I see one reason why it fell," asserted Jean. "There's water bubbling
out down there, under the root."
"So there is," said Mr. Black. "I'm glad I brought my cup--that's a
spring. We'll have a drink."
So everybody drank some of the clear, cold water before proceeding to
Barclay's.
There was no sign of civilization at Barclay's Point; just a long,
rocky promontory that ran out into the lake and, in fair weather,
furnished a fine place to fish from. Its north coast was particularly
rough and jagged. Here, as Mr. Blank had prophesied, the waves,
roaring and booming like ceaseless artillery, struck with tremendous
force against the rocks and dashed to prodigious heights--a grand and
unforgettable sight.
But Mabel's sweater was not unforgettable. She had taken it off because
she was too warm after the steep climb to the spot from which the waves
presented the finest spectacle (nobody wanted to get _too_ close to all
that mountain of water) and anchored the garment firmly to the ground
by means of a heavy stone. She returned to camp without missing it--she
had something more exciting to think of, for Henrietta had mentioned
that one of the contributions from her grandmother was a large box of
candy.
"We'll have some," promised Henrietta, "as soon as we get back to camp."
Naturally Mabel, who was inordinately fond of sweet things and who had
had no candy for a week, forgot all about her gray sweater, so near the
color of the rocks that nobody else noticed it. But, notwithstanding
the discomfort she endured without it, she was glad afterwards that she
_had_ forgotten it.