lighthouse and the house we played in stormy days, and every evening
it was a fresh excitement to watch the lighting of the lamps, and
think how far the lighthouse sent its rays, and how many hearts it
gladdened with assurance of safety. As I grew older, I was allowed to
kindle the lamps sometimes myself. That was indeed a pleasure. So
little a creature as I might do that much for the great world! We
waited for the spring with an eager longing; the advent of the growing
grass, the birds and flowers and insect life, the soft skies and
softer winds, the everlasting beauty of the thousand tender tints that
clothed the world,--these things brought us unspeakable bliss. To the
heart of Nature one must needs be drawn in such a life; and very soon
I learned how richly she repays in deep refreshment the reverent love
of her worshipper. With the first warm days we built our little
mountains of wet gravel on the beach, and danced after the sandpipers
at the edge of the foam, shouted to the gossiping kittiwakes that
fluttered above, or watched the pranks of the burgomaster gull, or
cried to the crying loons. The gannet's long white wings stretched
overhead, perhaps, or the dusky shag made a sudden shadow in mid-air,
or we startled on some lonely ledge the great blue heron that flew
off, trailing legs and wings, stork-like, against the clouds. Or, in
the sunshine on the bare rocks, we cut from the broad, brown leaves of
the slippery, varnished kelps, grotesque shapes of man and bird and
beast, that withered in the wind and blew away; or we fashioned rude
boats from bits of driftwood, manned them with a weird crew of
kelpies, and set them adrift on the great deep, to float we cared not
whither.
We played with the empty limpet-shells; they were mottled gray and
brown, like the song-sparrow's breast. We launched fleets of purple
mussel shells on the still pools in the rocks, left by the
tide,--pools that were like bits of fallen rainbow with the wealth of
the sea, with tints of delicate sea-weed, crimson and green and ruddy
brown and violet; where wandered the pearly eolis with rosy spines and
fairy horns, and the large round sea-urchins, like a boss upon a
shield, were fastened here and there on the rock at the bottom,
putting out from their green, prickly spikes transparent tentacles to
seek their invisible food. Rosy and lilac star-fish clung to the
sides; in some dark nook perhaps a holothuria unfolded its perfect
ferns, a lovely, warm buff color, delicate as frost-work; little
forests of coralline moss grew up in stillness, gold-colored shells
crept about, and now and then flashed the silver-darting fins of
slender minnows. The dimmest recesses were haunts of sea-anemones that
opened wide their starry flowers to the flowing tide, or drew
themselves together, and hung in large, half-transparent drops, like
clusters of some strange, amber-colored fruit, along the crevices as
the water ebbed away. Sometimes we were cruel enough to capture a
female lobster hiding in a deep cleft, with her millions of mottled
eggs; or we laughed to see the hermit-crabs challenge each other, and
come out and fight a deadly battle till the stronger overcame, and,
turning the weaker topsy-turvy, possessed himself of his ampler
cockle-shell, and scuttled off with it triumphant.
I remember in the spring kneeling on the ground to seek the first
blades of grass that pricked through the soil, and bringing them into
the house to study and wonder over. Better than a shop full of toys
they were to me! Whence came their color? How did they draw their
sweet, refreshing tint from the brown earth, or the limpid air, or the
white light? Chemistry was not at hand to answer me, and all her
wisdom would not have dispelled the wonder. Later the little scarlet
pimpernel charmed me. It seemed more than a flower; it was like a
human thing. I knew it by its homely name of poor-man's weather-glass.
It was so much wiser than I, for when the sky was yet without a cloud,
softly it clasped its little red petals together, folding its golden
heart in safety from the shower that was sure to come! How could it
know so much? Here is a question science cannot answer. The pimpernel
grows everywhere about the islands, in every cleft and cranny where a
suspicion of sustenance for its slender root can lodge; and it is one
of the most exquisite of flowers, so rich in color, so quaint and
dainty in its method of growth. I never knew its silent warning fail.
I wondered much how every flower knew what to do and to be: why the
morning-glory didn't forget sometimes, and bear a cluster of
elder-bloom, or the elder hang out pennons of gold and purple like the
iris, or the golden-rod suddenly blaze out a scarlet plume, the color
of the pimpernel, was a mystery to my childish thought. And why did
the sweet wild primrose wait till after sunset to unclose its pale
yellow buds; why did it unlock its treasure of rich perfume to the
night alone?
Few flowers bloomed for me upon the lonesome rock; but I made the most
of all I had, and neither knew of nor desired more. Ah, how beautiful
they were! Tiny stars of crimson sorrel threaded on their long brown
stems; the blackberry blossoms in bridal white; the surprise of the
blue-eyed grass; the crowfoot flowers, like drops of yellow gold spilt
about among the short grass and over the moss; the rich, blue-purple
beach-pea, the sweet, spiked germander, and the homely, delightful
yarrow that grows thickly on all the islands. Sometimes its broad
clusters of dull white bloom are stained a lovely reddish-purple, as
if with the light of sunset. I never saw it colored so elsewhere.
Dandelions, buttercups, and clover were not denied to us; though we
had no daisies nor violets nor wild roses, no asters, but gorgeous
spikes of golden-rod, and wonderful wild morning-glories, whose long,
pale ivory buds I used to find in the twilight, glimmering among the
dark leaves, waiting for the touch of dawn to unfold and become each
an exquisite incarnate blush,--the perfect color of a South Sea shell.
They ran wild, knotting and twisting about the rocks, and smothering
the loose boulders in the gorges with lush green leaves and pink
blossoms.
Many a summer morning have I crept out of the still house before any
one was awake, and, wrapping myself closely from the chill wind of
dawn, climbed to the top of the high cliff called the Head to watch
the sunrise. Pale grew the lighthouse flame before the broadening day
as, nestled in a crevice at the cliff's edge, I watched the shadows
draw away and morning break. Facing the east and south, with all the
Atlantic before me, what happiness was mine as the deepening
rose-color flushed the delicate cloud-flocks that dappled the sky,
where the gulls soared, rosy too, while the calm sea blushed beneath.
Or perhaps it was a cloudless sunrise with a sky of orange-red, and
the sea-line silver-blue against it, peaceful as heaven. Infinite
variety of beauty always awaited me, and filled me with an absorbing,
unreasoning joy such as makes the song-sparrow sing,--a sense of
perfect bliss. Coming back in the sunshine, the morning-glories would
lift up their faces, all awake, to my adoring gaze. It seemed as if
they had gathered the peace of the golden morning in their still
depths even as my heart had gathered it.
_Celia Thaxter._
[Illustration]
THE CRUISE OF THE DOLPHIN.
Every Rivermouth boy looks upon the sea as being in some way mixed up
with his destiny. While he is yet a baby lying in his cradle, he hears
the dull, far-off boom of the breakers; when he is older, he wanders
by the sandy shore, watching the waves that come plunging up the beach
like white-maned sea-horses, as Thoreau calls them; his eye follows
the lessening sail as it fades into the blue horizon, and he burns for
the time when he shall stand on the quarter-deck of his own ship, and
go sailing proudly across that mysterious waste of waters.
Then the town itself is full of hints and flavors of the sea. The
gables and roofs of the houses facing eastward are covered with red
rust, like the flukes of old anchors; a salty smell pervades the air,
and dense gray fogs, the very breath of Ocean, periodically creep up
into the quiet streets and envelop everything. The terrific storms
that lash the coast; the kelp and spars, and sometimes the bodies of
drowned men, tossed on shore by the scornful waves; the shipyards, the
wharves, and the tawny fleet of fishing-smacks yearly fitted out at
Rivermouth,--these things, and a hundred other, feed the imagination
and fill the brain of every healthy boy with dreams of adventure. He
learns to swim almost as soon as he can walk; he draws in with his
mother's milk the art of handling an oar: he is born a sailor,
whatever he may turn out to be afterwards.
To own the whole or a portion of a row-boat is his earliest ambition.
No wonder that I, born to this life, and coming back to it with
freshest sympathies, should have caught the prevailing infection. No
wonder I longed to buy a part of the trim little sail-boat Dolphin,
which chanced just then to be in the market. This was in the latter
part of May.
Three shares, at five or six dollars each, I forget which, had already
been taken by Phil Adams, Fred Langdon, and Binny Wallace. The fourth
and remaining share hung fire. Unless a purchaser could be found for
this, the bargain was to fall through.
I am afraid I required but slight urging to join in the investment. I
had four dollars and fifty cents on hand, and the treasurer of the
Centipedes advanced me the balance, receiving my silver pencil-case as
ample security. It was a proud moment when I stood on the wharf with
my partners, inspecting the Dolphin, moored at the foot of a very
slippery flight of steps. She was painted white with a green stripe
outside, and on the stern a yellow dolphin, with its scarlet mouth
wide open, stared with a surprised expression at its own reflection in
the water. The boat was a great bargain.
I whirled my cap in the air, and ran to the stairs leading down from
the wharf, when a hand was laid gently on my shoulder. I turned, and
faced Captain Nutter. I never saw such an old sharp-eye as he was in
those days.
I knew he wouldn't be angry with me for buying a row-boat; but I also
knew that the little bowsprit suggesting a jib, and the tapering mast
ready for its few square yards of canvas, were trifles not likely to
meet his approval. As far as rowing on the river, among the wharves,
was concerned, the Captain had long since withdrawn his decided
objections, having convinced himself, by going out with me several
times, that I could manage a pair of sculls as well as anybody.
I was right in my surmises. He commanded me, in the most emphatic
terms, never to go out in the Dolphin without leaving the mast in the
boat-house. This curtailed my anticipated sport, but the pleasure of
having a pull whenever I wanted it remained. I never disobeyed the
Captain's orders touching the sail, though I sometimes extended my row
beyond the points he had indicated.
The river was dangerous for sail-boats. Squalls, without the slightest
warning, were of frequent occurrence; scarcely a year passed that six
or seven persons were not drowned under the very windows of the town,
and these, oddly enough, were generally sea-captains, who either did
not understand the river, or lacked the skill to handle a small craft.
A knowledge of such disasters, one of which I witnessed, consoled me
somewhat when I saw Phil Adams skimming over the water in a spanking
breeze with every stitch of canvas set. There were few better
yachtsmen than Phil Adams. He usually went sailing alone, for both
Fred Langdon and Binny Wallace were under the same restrictions I was.
Not long after the purchase of the boat, we planned an excursion to
Sandpeep Island, the last of the islands in the harbor. We proposed to
start early in the morning, and return with the tide in the moonlight.
Our only difficulty was to obtain a whole day's exemption from school,
the customary half-holiday not being long enough for our picnic.
Somehow, we couldn't work it; but fortune arranged it for us. I may
say here, that, whatever else I did, I never played truant in my life.
One afternoon the four owners of the Dolphin exchanged significant
glances when Mr. Grimshaw announced from the desk that there would be
no school the following day, he having just received intelligence of
the death of his uncle in Boston. I was sincerely attached to Mr.
Grimshaw, but I am afraid that the death of his uncle did not affect
me as it ought to have done.
We were up before sunrise the next morning, in order to take advantage
of the flood tide, which waits for no man. Our preparations for the
cruise were made the previous evening. In the way of eatables and
drinkables, we had stored in the stern of the Dolphin a generous bag
of hardtack (for the chowder), a piece of pork to fry the cunners in,
three gigantic apple-pies (bought at Pettingil's), half a dozen
lemons, and a keg of spring-water,--the last-named article we slung
over the side, to keep it cool, as soon as we got under way. The
crockery and the bricks for our camp-stove we placed in the bows with
the groceries, which included sugar, pepper, salt, and a bottle of
pickles. Phil Adams contributed to the outfit a small tent of
unbleached cotton cloth, under which we intended to take our nooning.
We unshipped the mast, threw in an extra oar, and were ready to
embark. I do not believe that Christopher Columbus, when he started on
his rather successful voyage of discovery, felt half the
responsibility and importance that weighed upon me as I sat on the
middle seat of the Dolphin, with my oar resting in the row-lock. I
wonder if Christopher Columbus quietly slipped out of the house
without letting his estimable family know what he was up to?
How calm and lovely the river was! Not a ripple stirred on the glassy
surface, broken only by the sharp cutwater of our tiny craft. The sun,
as round and red as an August moon, was by this time peering above the
water-line.
[Illustration]
The town had drifted behind us, and we were entering among the group
of islands. Sometimes we could almost touch with our boat-hook the
shelving banks on either side. As we neared the mouth of the harbor, a
little breeze now and then wrinkled the blue water, shook the spangles
from the foliage, and gently lifted the spiral mist-wreaths that still
clung alongshore. The measured dip of our oars and the drowsy
twitterings of the birds seemed to mingle with, rather than break, the
enchanted silence that reigned about us.
The scent of the new clover comes back to me now, as I recall that
delicious morning when we floated away in a fairy boat down a river
like a dream!
The sun was well up when the nose of the Dolphin nestled against the
snow-white bosom of Sandpeep Island. This island, as I have said
before, was the last of the cluster, one side of it being washed by
the sea. We landed on the river side, the sloping sands and quiet
water affording us a good place to moor the boat.
It took us an hour or two to transport our stores to the spot selected
for the encampment. Having pitched our tent, using the five oars to
support the canvas, we got out our lines, and went down the rocks
seaward to fish. It was early for cunners, but we were lucky enough to
catch as nice a mess as ever you saw. A cod for the chowder was not so
easily secured. At last Binny Wallace hauled in a plump little fellow
crusted all over with flaky silver.
To skin the fish, build our fireplace, and cook the dinner, kept us
busy the next two hours. The fresh air and the exercise had given us
the appetites of wolves, and we were about famished by the time the
savory mixture was ready for our clam-shell saucers.
I shall not insult the rising generation on the seaboard by telling
them how delectable is a chowder compounded and eaten in this Robinson
Crusoe fashion. As for the boys who live inland, and know naught of
such marine feasts, my heart is full of pity for them. What wasted
lives! Not to know the delights of a clam-bake, not to love chowder,
to be ignorant of lobscouse!
How happy we were, we four, sitting cross-legged in the crisp salt
grass, with the invigorating sea-breeze blowing gratefully through our
hair! What a joyous thing was life, and how far off seemed
death,--death, that lurks in all pleasant places, and was so near!
The banquet finished, Phil Adams drew forth from his pocket a handful
of sweetfern cigars; but as none of the party could indulge without
risk of becoming sick, we all, on one pretext or another, declined,
and Phil smoked by himself.
The wind had freshened by this, and we found it comfortable to put on
the jackets which had been thrown aside in the heat of the day. We
strolled along the beach and gathered large quantities of the
fairy-woven Iceland moss, which, at certain seasons, is washed to
these shores; then we played at ducks and drakes, and then, the sun
being sufficiently low, we went in bathing.
Before our bath was ended a slight change had come over the sky and
sea; fleecy-white clouds scudded here and there, and a muffled moan
from the breakers caught our ears from time to time. While we were
dressing, a few hurried drops of rain came lisping down, and we
adjourned to the tent to await the passing of the squall.
"We're all right, anyhow," said Phil Adams. "It won't be much of a
blow, and we'll be as snug as a bug in a rug, here in the tent,
particularly if we have that lemonade which some of you fellows were
going to make."
By an oversight, the lemons had been left in the boat. Binny Wallace
volunteered to go for them.
"Put an extra stone on the painter, Binny," said Adams, calling after
him; "it would be awkward to have the Dolphin give us the slip and
return to port minus her passengers."
"That it would," answered Binny, scrambling down the rocks.
Sandpeep Island is diamond-shaped,--one point running out into the
sea, and the other looking towards the town. Our tent was on the river
side. Though the Dolphin was also on the same side, it lay out of
sight by the beach at the farther extremity of the island.
Binny Wallace had been absent five or six minutes, when we heard him
calling our several names in tones that indicated distress or
surprise, we could not tell which. Our first thought was, "The boat
has broken adrift!"
We sprung to our feet and hastened down to the beach. On turning the
bluff which hid the mooring-place from our view, we found the
conjecture correct. Not only was the Dolphin afloat, but poor little
Binny Wallace was standing in the bows with his arms stretched
helplessly towards us,--_drifting out to sea_!
"Head the boat in shore!" shouted Phil Adams.
Wallace ran to the tiller; but the slight cockle-shell merely swung
round and drifted broadside on. O, if we had but left a single scull
in the Dolphin!
"Can you swim it?" cried Adams, desperately, using his hand as a
speaking-trumpet, for the distance between the boat and the island
widened momently.
Binny Wallace looked down at the sea, which was covered with white
caps, and made a despairing gesture. He knew and we knew, that the
stoutest swimmer could not live forty seconds in those angry waters.
A wild, insane light came into Phil Adams's eyes, as he stood
knee-deep in boiling surf, and for an instant I think he meditated
plunging into the ocean after the receding boat.
The sky darkened, and an ugly look stole rapidly over the broken
surface of the sea.
[Illustration]
Binny Wallace half rose from his seat in the stern, and waved his hand
to us in token of farewell. In spite of the distance, increasing every
instant, we could see his face plainly. The anxious expression it wore
at first had passed. It was pale and meek now, and I love to think
there was a kind of halo about it, like that which painters place
around the forehead of a saint. So he drifted away.
The sky grew darker and darker. It was only by straining our eyes
through the unnatural twilight that we could keep the Dolphin in
sight. The figure of Binny Wallace was no longer visible, for the boat
itself had dwindled to a mere white dot on the black water. Now we
lost it, and our hearts stopped throbbing; and now the speck appeared
again, for an instant, on the crest of a high wave.
Finally it went out like a spark, and we saw it no more. Then we gazed
at each other, and dared not speak.
Absorbed in following the course of the boat, we had scarcely noticed
the huddled inky clouds that sagged down all around us. From these
threatening masses, seamed at intervals with pale lightning, there now
burst a heavy peal of thunder that shook the ground under our feet. A
sudden squall struck the sea, ploughing deep white furrows into it,
and at the same instant a single piercing shriek rose above the
tempest,--the frightened cry of a gull swooping over the island. How
it startled us!
It was impossible to keep our footing on the beach any longer. The
wind and the breakers would have swept us into the ocean if we had not
clung to each other with the desperation of drowning men. Taking
advantage of a momentary lull, we crawled up the sands on our hands
and knees, and, pausing in the lee of the granite ledge to gain
breath, returned to the camp, where we found that the gale had snapped
all the fastenings of the tent but one. Held by this, the puffed-out
canvas swayed in the wind like a balloon. It was a task of some
difficulty to secure it, which we did by beating down the canvas with
the oars.
After several trials, we succeeded in setting up the tent on the
leeward side of the ledge. Blinded by the vivid flashes of lightning,
and drenched by the rain, which fell in torrents, we crept, half dead
with fear and anguish, under our flimsy shelter. Neither the anguish
nor the fear was on our own account, for we were comparatively safe,
but for poor little Binny Wallace, driven out to sea in the merciless
gale. We shuddered to think of him in that frail shell, drifting on
and on to his grave, the sky rent with lightning over his head, and
the green abysses yawning beneath him. We fell to crying, the three of
us, and cried I know not how long.
Meanwhile the storm raged with augmented fury. We were obliged to hold
on to the ropes of the tent to prevent it blowing away. The spray from
the river leaped several yards up the rocks and clutched at us
malignantly. The very island trembled with the concussions of the sea
beating upon it, and at times I fancied that it had broken loose from
its foundation, and was floating off with us. The breakers, streaked
with angry phosphorus, were fearful to look at.
The wind rose higher and higher, cutting long slits in the tent,
through which the rain poured incessantly. To complete the sum of our
miseries, the night was at hand. It came down suddenly, at last, like
a curtain, shutting in Sandpeep Island from all the world.
It was a dirty night, as the sailors say. The darkness was something
that could be felt as well as seen,--it pressed down upon one with a
cold, clammy touch. Gazing into the hollow blackness, all sorts of
imaginable shapes seemed to start forth from vacancy,--brilliant
colors, stars, prisms, and dancing lights. What boy, lying awake at
night, has not amused or terrified himself by peopling the spaces
round his bed with these phenomena of his own eyes?
"I say," whispered Fred Langdon, at length, clutching my hand, "don't
you see things--out there--in the dark?"
"Yes, yes,--Binny Wallace's face!"
I added to my own nervousness by making this avowal; though for the
last ten minutes I had seen little besides that star-pale face with
its angelic hair and brows. First a slim yellow circle, like the
nimbus round the moon, took shape and grew sharp against the darkness;
then this faded gradually, and there was the Face, wearing the same
sad, sweet look it wore when he waved his hand to us across the awful
water. This optical illusion kept repeating itself.
"And I, too," said Adams. "I see it every now and then, outside there.
What wouldn't I give if it really was poor little Wallace looking in
at us! O boys, how shall we dare to go back to the town without him?
I've wished a hundred times, since we've been sitting here, that I was
in his place, alive or dead!"
We dreaded the approach of morning as much as we longed for it. The
morning would tell us all. Was it possible for the Dolphin to outride
such a storm? There was a lighthouse on Mackerel Reef, which lay
directly in the course the boat had taken, when it disappeared. If the
Dolphin had caught on this reef, perhaps Binny Wallace was safe.
Perhaps his cries had been heard by the keeper of the light. The man
owned a life-boat, and had rescued several people. Who could tell?
Such were the questions we asked ourselves again and again, as we lay
in each other's arms waiting for daybreak. What an endless night it
was! I have known months that did not seem so long.
Our position was irksome rather than perilous; for the day was certain
to bring us relief from the town, where our prolonged absence,
together with the storm, had no doubt excited the liveliest alarm for
our safety. But the cold, the darkness, and the suspense were hard to
bear.
Our soaked jackets had chilled us to the bone. To keep warm, we lay
huddled together so closely that we could hear our hearts beat above
the tumult of sea and sky.
We used to laugh at Fred Langdon for always carrying in his pocket a
small vial of essence of peppermint or sassafras, a few drops of
which, sprinkled on a lump of loaf-sugar, he seemed to consider a
great luxury. I don't know what would have become of us at this
crisis, if it hadn't been for that omnipresent bottle of hot stuff. We
poured the stinging liquid over our sugar, which had kept dry in a
sardine-box, and warmed ourselves with frequent doses.