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[Illustration]
NAUTILUS
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," "MARIE," "QUEEN HILDEGARDE,"
ETC., ETC.
Illustrated
TENTH THOUSAND
BOSTON
ESTES AND LAURIAT
1895
_Copyright, 1895,_
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT
_All rights reserved
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London._
_Typography and Printing by_
_C.H. Simonds & Co._
_Electrotyping by Geo. C. Scott & Sons_
_Boston, U.S.A._
TO MY DEAR FRIENDS,
THE MEMBERS OF THE
HOWE CLUB,
OF GARDINER, MAINE,
THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER Page
I. THE BOY JOHN 13
II. THE SKIPPER 18
III. A GREAT EXHIBITION 33
IV. ABOARD THE "NAUTILUS" 48
V. MYSTERY 56
VI. MR. BILL HEN 68
VII. THE CAPTIVE 75
VIII. IN THE NIGHT 86
IX. FAMILY MATTERS 93
X. IN THE VALLEY OF DECISION 105
XI. SAILING 113
NAUTILUS
[Illustration: NAUTILUS]
CHAPTER I.
THE BOY JOHN.
The boy John was sitting on the wharf, watching the ebb of the tide. The
current was swift, for there had been heavy rains within a few days; the
river was full of drifting logs, bits of bark, odds and ends of various
kinds; the water, usually so blue, looked brown and thick. It swirled
round the great mossy piers, making eddies between them; from time to
time the boy dropped bits of paper into these eddies, and saw with
delight how they spun round and round, like living things, and finally
gave up the struggle and were borne away down stream.
"Only, in the real maelstrom," he said, "they don't be carried away;
they go over the edge, down into the black hole, whole ships and ships,
and you never see them again. I wonder where they stop, or whether it
goes through to the other side of the world."
A great log came drifting along, and struck against a pier; the end
swung round, and it rested for a few moments, beating against the wooden
wall. This, it was evident, was a wrecked vessel, and it behooved the
boy John, as a hero and a life-saver, to rescue her passengers. Seizing
a pole, he lay down on his stomach and carefully drew the log toward
him, murmuring words of cheer the while.
"They are almost starved to death!" he said, pitifully. "The captain is
tied to the mast, and they have not had anything to eat but boots and a
puppy for three weeks. The mate and some of the sailors took all the
boats and ran away,--at least, not ran, but went off and left the rest
of 'em; and they have all said their prayers, for they are very good
folks, and the captain didn't _want_ to kill the puppy one bit, but he
had to, or else they would all be dead now. And--and the reckoning was
dead,--I wonder what that means, and why it is dead so often,--and so
they couldn't tell where they were, but they knew that there were
cannibals on _almost_ all the islands, and this was the hungriest time
of the year for cannibals."
Here followed a few breathless moments, during which the captain, his
wife and child, and the faithful members of the crew, were pulled up to
the wharf by the unaided arm of the boy John. He wrapped them in hot
blankets and gave them brandy and peanut taffy: the first because it was
what they always did in books; the second because it was the best thing
in the world, and would take away the nasty taste of the brandy.
Leaving them in safety, and in floods of grateful tears, the rescuer
bent over the side of the wharf once more, intent on saving the gallant
ship from her fate; but at this moment came a strong swirl of tide, the
log swung round once more and floated off, and the rescuer fell "all
along" into the water. This was nothing unusual, and he came puffing and
panting up the slippery logs, and sat down again, shaking himself like a
Newfoundland puppy. He wished the shipwrecked crew had not seen him; he
knew he should get a whipping when he reached home, but that was of less
consequence. Anyhow, she was an old vessel, and now the captain would
get a new ship--a fine one, full rigged, with new sails as white as
snow; and on his next voyage he would take him, the boy John, in place
of the faithless mate, and they would sail away, away, down the river
and far across the ocean, and then,--then he would hear the sound of the
sea. After all, you never could hear it in the river, though that was,
oh, so much better than nothing! But the things that the shells meant
when they whispered, the things that the wind said over and over in the
pine trees, those things you never could know until you heard the real
sound of the real sea.
The child rose and stretched himself wearily. He had had a happy time,
but it was over now; he must leave the water, which he cared more for
than for anything in the world,--must leave the water and go back to the
small close house, and go to bed, and dream no more dreams. Ah! when
would some one come,--no play hero, but a real one, in a white-sailed
ship, and carry him off, never to set foot on shore again?
He turned to go, for the shadows were falling, and already a fog had
crept up the river, almost hiding the brown, swiftly-flowing water; yet
before leaving the wharf he turned back once more and looked up and
down, with eyes that strove to pierce the fog veil,--eager, longing eyes
of a child, who hopes every moment to see the doors open into
fairy-land.
And lo! what was this that he saw? What was this that came gliding
slowly, silently out of the dusk, out of the whiteness, itself whiter
than the river fog, more shadowy than the films of twilight? The child
held his breath, and his heart beat fast, fast. A vessel, or the ghost
of a vessel? Nearer and nearer it came, and now he could see masts and
spars, sails spread to catch the faint breeze, gleaming brass-work about
the decks. A vessel, surely; yet,--what was that? The fog lifted for a
moment, or else his eyes grew better used to the dimness, and he saw a
strange thing. On the prow of the vessel, which now was seen to be a
schooner, stood a figure; a statue, was it? Surely it was a statue of
bronze, like the Soldiers' Monument, leaning against the mast, with
folded arms.
Nearer! Fear seized the boy, for he thought the statue had eyes like
real eyes, and he saw them move, as if looking from right to left; the
whites glistened, the dark balls rolled from side to side. The child
stood still, feeling as if he had called up this phantom out of his own
thoughts; perhaps in another minute it would fade away into the fog, as
it had come, and leave only the flowing tide and the shrouded banks on
either side!
Nearer! and now the bronze figure lifted its arm, slowly, silently, and
pointed at the boy. But this was more than flesh and blood could stand;
little John uttered a choking cry, and turning his back on the awful
portent, ran home as fast as he could lay foot to ground. And on seeing
this the bronze figure laughed, and its teeth glistened, even as the
eyes had done.