Brenda's Summer at Rockley/Chapter 8
VIII
A RESCUE
When the beach-wagon with Julia and Brenda and Nora and the rest of the Barlow household passed Amy Redmond's house that Fourth of July morning, Brenda cast a glance toward the front windows, half hoping that she might see Amy herself. She was by no means indifferent to her new acquaintance, although since their chance meeting she had made no effort to see her.
As Amy was busy in the kitchen, Brenda, of course, failed to see her; and when the latter looked from her window at the passing carriage she gave a sigh, as she fancied that Brenda had quite forgotten her, and had not even tried to see her as she passed by. For in spite of her reserved and somewhat indifferent manner toward Brenda, Amy really had felt drawn toward the livelier girl. As for Brenda herself, while she could not explain the attraction, she had a strong desire to know Amy better. The sight of the house brought before her the incident of their first meeting, and she pulled Julia’s arm to make her look in the direction of the house, saying, as she did so, “That’s where Amy lives.”
“Oh,” responded Julia, “it is a neat place, is n’t it?”
“Yes—”
“Brenda,” said Mrs. Barlow, from the front seat, thus interrupting any question that Julia might have asked, “remind me, when we reach Marblehead, to stop at Crowther’s, as I wrote them last night to have a prescription put up for me.”
“Yes, ’m,” replied Brenda. “I must get some film there, too; I’m thankful that in this part of the country the apothecaries keep photographers’ supplies. I have n’t a single bit of film left, and it would he an awful waste of opportunity not to get any pictures to-day.”
“How many rolls of film have you used up this summer, Brenda; and how many photographs have you to show?” asked Mr. Barlow, with mock seriousness.
“Oh, papa, one never keeps any account of the film she uses. I ’ll probably use much more when I begin to develop the negatives myself. No; but really I don’t lose so very many, and I don’t think it’s fair to laugh at me.”
“Why, no, Brenda; sometimes you do try to be economical. What was it I heard about your trying to use the same roll twice the other day? ”
“Oh, papa, who told you that?” and Brenda herself could not help smiling at the remembrance.
“A girl of your age,” said her mother, “ought to have more system. I suppose that hardly any one else would keep used and unused rolls of film in the same drawer.”
“Well, I’m trying to be more careful now. It was pretty hard, the other day, to find that I had spoiled all the pictures that I took of the girls at school on the last day, at Miss Crawdon’s, by exposing them again down here at Rockley, when I wanted some views around our grounds.”
“How did you find it out?” asked Julia. “When did it all happen?”
“Oh, it was while you were away. I sent the film up to town to be developed; and when mamma, to oblige me, called for the negatives, the photographer told her that the roll had been exposed twice, so that there was n’t a single decent negative in the whole lot.”
“That was really too bad!” Julia’s sympathy was evidently sincere.
“Oh, well, accidents will happen. It is n’t to be expected that all one’s pictures will be perfect,” said Brenda, with unusual philosophy.
“Ah, but you ought to neglect no effort to make them perfect,” said Mr. Barlow. “Photography can be made a very valuable form of training in habits of accuracy and neatness—if one only puts her mind on it—”
“Or his mind, papa,” interposed Brenda.
“I was thinking,” replied Mr. Barlow, “of girls, chiefly, for the reason that it is a girl’s bill for photographic supplies which my pocket-book has to pay for. I would n’t begrudge the money, if the result were more satisfactory; but you must admit that you have n’t had much to show me thus far, Brenda.”
“Just wait; just wait. For one thing, I’m going to take a lot of views to-day, and I can assure you that you will be astonished and pleased. I ’m going to take you in your yachting cap, and cousin Edward in his shirt-sleeves, and—”
By this time they were driving down one of the hilly streets by which the centre of the old town was approached. They had been for some minutes driving through Marblehead, but had only just reached the more thickly settled portions.
“What queer houses!” exclaimed Julia. “I have never seen anything like them; they look as if they had just tumbled down here.”
“So far as the line of the street is concerned, I imagine that each Marbleheader suits his own taste. You know they are famous for being a rugged and independent set of people.”
“Their women certainly used to be,” said Nora; “at least, if the story of Floyd Ireson is to be believed.”
“There are two sides to that story. But the tarring and feathering part of it is probably true, and the house of Skipper Ireson is still standing.”
“Dear me! How I should love to see it!” cried Julia.
“Some day,” responded Mrs. Barlow, “you can make a pilgrimage over here; a great many houses more than a hundred years old are to be seen. Some of them belonged to rich merchants; but even many of the plainer buildings have some romantic story connected with them. I do not pretend to know half the landmarks myself, because we generally drive through in a hurry. But we must find some one who can walk about with you, and describe everything. For I know that you have a genuine interest in that kind of thing.”
“Miss South will be here next month.”
“That is true; and she would be an excellent person to go with you—if she can spare the time from Madame Du Launay. Brenda,”—and she touched her daughter lightly on the arm,—“I hope that you are going to cultivate an interest in history. I have spoken about it before, and you are old enough now to have an interest in that kind of thing.”
“I should like to have photographs of a lot of these old streets. They are too picturesque for anything,” responded Brenda.
“Photography for you may thus become a stepping-stone to higher things. And I won’t begrudge the money wasted—I beg your pardon—spent on films,” said Mr. Barlow, in the tone which Brenda called “making fun.”
From Crowthers’, where they stopped to have Mrs. Barlow’s prescription put up, and buy Brenda’s film, it was not far to Tucker’s wharf.
“We are to walk the rest of the way,” said Mr. Barlow, as the girls came out of the shop. “It would be hard to get the carriage down to the wharf, and I doubt that we could find a place to turn. At any rate, it is better for us not to make the attempt. Thomas is to put up the horses at a stable, and have the rest of the day to himself.”
Except for the popping of firecrackers and torpedoes here and there, the old town seemed rather quiet, and it lacked altogether the gayety that might have been expected on the Fourth of July.
“The young people who care to celebrate are probably enjoying themselves in Salem and Lynn, and even in Boston,” said Mr. Barlow, in answer to a comment of Julia’s. “The old men are down on the water-front, or up on the heights of Fort Sewall, where they can look over the harbor. To-night, when the harbor and yacht clubs are illuminated, you will see the townspeople going out in boats—small row-boats—to enjoy the band concert; but the most of them have gone off to the city to spend the day and evening.”
“Oh, papa, just wait a minute; I want to catch that little boy!” cried Brenda, and she aimed her camera at a child who was waving, triumphantly, a whole string of bright-red firecrackers. In a minute or two the narrow street in which they were walking broadened slightly, and they had a view of the water.
“That’s the wharf!” cried Nora.
“Where?” asked Julia.
“Why, there, where those people are standing,” responded Brenda.
“Oh,” said her cousin, “I see the people, but that place there is n’t exactly my idea of a wharf.”
“Nevertheless, it’s altogether a famous one,” said Mr. Barlow. “Some of the finest yachtsmen in the country have set out from Tucker’s landing to go aboard their yachts.”
“Oh, papa, just wait another minute, while I get a picture of that man! Is n’t he handsome! He must be an Italian; and his little boy, too.”
“A Portuguese, I’m more inclined to think,” said her father, eying the man critically. “Come, Julia and Nora. We will wait for you there by the railing. But I feel bound to join the rest of the party.”
“Very well,” answered Brenda; “I ’ll be only a minute.” Brenda’s camera was one of the smaller hand cameras for instantaneous work, and almost before he saw what she was doing, she had taken the good-looking Portuguese with his basket of merchandise, and his little boy leaning on his arm.
As she began to turn the spool to prepare a second plate, she walked away a few steps, wondering whether she would dare ask the man to turn around a little, to let the sun strike him more directly, so that she could be sure of a good picture. While she hesitated, the man himself came forward, and in very good English said, “I should be very happy to let you take another picture.”
So Brenda, rather overcome by this unusual willingness, stepped nearer to him, in order to get a larger picture. Still a third time she tried, after asking him to change his position to the better light; and she walked off, feeling that she really had accomplished something. The light was good; she had a new roll of film; and she had had what the scientific photographer would call an interesting subject.
“Come, Brenda, come, Brenda,” called her father; the boat is here.”
Brenda hurried to the others; and as she had still a few minutes to spare, she took a shot at a white-bearded old man seated on the steps of a boat-house near the wharf.
“Oh, Julia, I must take you, too; your expression is so comical,” and before Julia could remonstrate the click of the camera was heard.
“What do you mean by ‘comical’?” asked Julia, just a trifle nettled.
“Why, frightened. You look as if you were afraid to take the plunge down those steps.”
“Well, you know I am not so very fond of the water; and I think that I’d almost as soon sit here on the landing as to take the plunge.”
“You ’ll enjoy it when once you are out there,” said Nora.
“Here it is! here it is! Why, there’s Philip, too!” she exclaimed as a little launch touched the landing, just as the row-boat from the “Crusoe” arrived there. Mr. Barlow and his party had now descended the steps to the float below, and Brenda gave a hearty, “The same to you,” in answer to Philip’s greeting, “Many happy returns of the day.”
“We ’re pretty sure of a Fourth of July every year,” said Julia, laughing, as Philip leaped from the boat, and came nearer, to talk to them.
“It’s pleasant to see you, Philip,” said Mrs. Barlow, “although we did n’t expect to have the pleasure. How could you leave Manchester to-day? I understood that your mother had a houseful of guests for the day.”
“Fortunately, I was able to get off. They are all older people, and Edith has gone to Beverly for a day or two. I had to come over to try the ‘Balloon’; you know Tom and I have bought her together: that is, he owns two-thirds, and I the balance.”
“The ‘Balloon;’ but what an absurd name for a boat.”
“Well, the boat is n’t absurd, I can tell you that; and, to prove it, I am going to take you back with me to visit it.”
“But we are expected on cousin Edward’s yacht.”
“I know that; but I have settled the matter with him. At least, he said that if you would consent, he would give Brenda and Julia and Nora permission to visit the ‘Balloon.’”
“But they can’t go without me.”
“Well, of course you are included, Mrs. Barlow. Now, please don’t say ‘No.’”
“But our guests—” and she looked at Mr. and Mrs. Anstruthers, who had come with her from Rockley.
“They look like reasonable people,” said Philip, in an aside. “Besides, Mr. Elston has other guests on his boat; and with the Anstruthers and Mr. Barlow there will be plenty of people to entertain them.”
“Oh, yes, mamma, do say ‘Yes,’” pleaded Brenda; and in Julia’s eyes there was an expression that decidedly also begged her consent. So it was decided that soon after two o’clock the launch should be sent from the “Balloon” to the “Crusoe,” to convey Mrs. Barlow and the three girls to the smaller boat.
When this was settled, Philip and his skipper steamed away in the launch, and the Barlow party took their places in the long boat, rowed by two men, which Mr. Elston had sent for them. Mr. and Mrs. Barlow and Brenda had so often been taken out to the “Crusoe” that they would have recognized the men at once, even if their white caps had not been encircled with broad blue bands, bearing the name “Crusoe” in gilt letters.
The two men rowed steadily and swiftly, and in a very short time they were near the yacht, which lay at anchor far out toward the mouth of the harbor.
Mr. Elston stood at the bow, ready to welcome them; and although Julia’s heart sank a little as she saw that she must climb a little ladder to reach the deck, she screwed up her courage as well as she could, and, following the example of the others, reached the deck without any mishap.
Once safely there, after a cordial welcome from Mr. Elston, she looked around the boat with admiration. How bright and clean the deck! “Too clean for a mortal foot to walk on,” said Julia, as she looked at it. “I should think that it would distress your housemaid to know that we are walking about on it.”
“Housemaid!” laughed Brenda. “Why, Julia, you are a regular land-lubber! All the work on a yacht is done by men—the very men who brought us over. Is n’t that so, cousin Edward?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Mr. Elston. “They scrub the paint and polish the brass, and do more than any five women—begging your pardon, ladies—ever could.”
“Well, all the same, I wonder what they use to get it so absolutely perfectly clean.”
“Elbow-grease, plenty of elbow-grease.” And Mr. Elston smiled at the look of amazement on the faces of the girls. “Surely you remember the lines from ‘Pinafore’:—
“‘ When I was a lad, I served a term
As office-boy in an attorney’s firm.
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door,
I polished up the handle so carefully,
That now I am the ruler of the Queen’s Navee.’
“You see, the sailors carry this principle into all their work. And all expect, some time, to rise like Sir Joseph Porter, K. C. B.”
Now, while the older people talked and laughed at one end of the boat, in the shade of the awning extending from the cabin, Julia, Nora, and Brenda, in the bow, amused themselves by commenting on the various yachts in sight. There were not, to be sure, so very many to be seen, as the greater number of large craft had gone off on cruises extending over the holiday. Those remaining inside were simply those that did not belong to the classes entered for the races, or they were boats whose owners had guests whom they did not care to take sailing until the afternoon.
“It really is a very picturesque old town, isn’t it?” said Brenda, as Julia stood enjoying the view of the old wharves, and the houses sloping upward, rising in irregular rows behind one another.
“What is that Point out there? There seems to be an old fort, or something like it,” said Julia, without directly answering her cousin’s remark.
“Oh, there is a fort, although I ’ve never been there,” answered Brenda.
“All the better. Then we can go together. You may grow as fond as I of exploring.”
“Perhaps—”
Just then one of the sailors walked the length of the deck, striking a Chinese gong.
“Delightful sound! Come, Julia, that’s cousin Edward’s way of having us called to luncheon.”
“Come, girls; luncheon! luncheon!” cried Mr. Elston. And, following their elders, the girl cousins, a minute later, found themselves below decks, at the cosey dining-table.
“The cabin is just a little warm,” said Mr. Elston; “but all our edibles are iced, and I know that you ’ll excuse me if I do not serve you regular sailors’ fare to-day. I was almost sure that you would n’t care for hard tack and bacon. Now, show me that I was not wrong.”
Thereupon, his guests did show him that they did appreciate iced bouillon and salad and sliced tomatoes and boned chicken, and last, but not least, the sherbet in small glass cups.
The promise to Philip had been explained to Mr. Elston, and he had agreed to let Mrs. Barlow and the girls go for a while, although his consent was given with many expressions of reluctance.
“Nevertheless,” he said, as they reached the deck, “as I’m to be self-sacrificing, it becomes my painful duty to tell you that Philip, or rather, his launch, is almost here.
“I had begun to hope that you might lose your way,” he said, as the little craft appeared.
“Ah! no, indeed, sir; there’s no danger of that when I have the chance of entertaining ladies. Are you ready, Mrs. Barlow? I can’t very well leave the boat; but if Mr. Elston will help you down—”
Mrs. Barlow hesitated as she looked at the little naphtha launch.
“Will it hold us all?”
“Yes, indeed; why, eight or nine persons could be crowded in, if necessary,” he added.
“You’re sure you can manage it yourself?” again asked Mrs. Barlow.
“Oh, yes, indeed! Why not? It’s the simplest kind of an engine. I ’ll do my best to get you safely to the ‘Balloon.’ Why, you ’re not afraid, are you, Julia?” he continued, as Julia stood there, gazing at the launch. It seemed to him that there was a shade of anxiety on her face.
“Well, I’m not such a mermaid as Brenda; and if anything should happen—”
“Don’t be a goose, Julia; nothing ever does happen,” said Brenda, a little sharply, as she took Philip’s proffered hand, and took her place in the boat beside her mother. Julia was the last to step into the launch, and she stepped very gingerly, much to Philip’s amusement, as she prepared to take her place.
“No, it won’t explode, and it can’t tip over,” he explained, as she asked a question or two. “Just trust your skipper, and you ’ll enjoy your voyage much better.”
“We are n’t going very fast,” said Brenda, after they had been out a few minutes. “I ’ve been noticing that we don’t get much nearer to that boat at anchor.”
“I hope there isn’t anything wrong,” added Mrs. Barlow, a little nervously. “Does your engine usually make as much noise?”
“Oh, yes,” said Philip; “it is n’t a quiet machine. But now it does n’t seem exactly right. It’s been a little cranky lately; but I thought that it had got through misbehaving. Dear me!” and there was just a little anxiety in his voice. “I wonder what that was?” For the boat, instead of going straight ahead, whirled about in a half circle.
In spite of their slow progress, they had reached a point well out in the harbor, and there were no other boats near them. Mr. Elston’s yacht was under sail, going out of the harbor toward the point with the lighthouse. The yachts that were not in the race, large or small, were outside, watching for the return of the racers.
“We ’re certainly not progressing,” said Philip. “I wish that I had brought an oar. There ought to be a pair in the boat. Then we could row on.”
“Probably Tom will see you from the ‘Balloon,’ and bring the oars,” suggested Mrs. Barlow.
“Unluckily, our row-boat is on shore, getting painted. You see, we ’ve been depending on this launch.”
“Oh, well,” said Brenda, “all we can do is to sit still until some one comes along with a row-boat, or until Tom discovers our predicament. I suppose that he could signal to some one, could n’t he, over at the yacht club, or somewhere.”
“Oh, yes,” said Philip; “of course, it’s only a matter of waiting here.”
Yet, although he spoke without much impatience, his face showed his annoyance. It really was very provoking to have to admit that he did not understand the engine of the little launch. A Harvard sophomore is supposed to understand everything; and yet, here was a miserable little boat which was acting much after the fashion of a balky horse. In his inward heart, Philip knew that he had undertaken more than he was justified in undertaking. It was Tom, and not he, to whom the mechanism of the little boat had been explained; and although the engine was not really very complicated, Philip had assumed that he could manage the small craft without expert knowledge.
Mrs. Barlow, reading correctly his puzzled expression, asked anxiously, “It won’t blow up, will it?”
At this question of her aunt’s, Julia betrayed her own nervousness by an excited, “Oh, is it likely to?” and of the five, Brenda was the only one who seemed not to be afraid of the sputtering, throbbing little engine.
Nevertheless, Brenda herself would have been as glad as Philip to see one of the distant yachts turn about and come to their help. It was n’t that there was any danger of their drifting ashore, of striking a rock, or anything of that kind. It was simply that she felt that if Philip did n’t understand the engine, and if the miserable little thing kept on spluttering like that, why, all in a moment something terrible might happen.
“There,” said Philip, “I know why Tom does n’t signal, or send some one. He’s gone ashore. One of the men on the ‘Sachem’ was to take him over to the ‘Eastern’ to introduce him to a party of ladies whom he wanted him to meet. He expected to be back on the ‘Balloon’ by the time we got there. But we ’re really a little ahead of time, and—”
Brenda herself was now really perturbed. “Do you mean to say, Philip Blair, that we ’ve got to sit here just to see what will happen? Really, it seems as if you might have thought to bring your oars with you, or something.”
“There’s a boat coming this way,” said Nora, who sat facing Philip.
“Where?” exclaimed Brenda. “Let’s fly signals of distress,” and Julia followed her example by shaking out her handkerchief. The row-boat now seemed to move along more quickly, and, as it drew nearer, they saw that it contained two people, one of whom, a girl, was rowing vigorously.
In a minute or two it was alongside. “Steamboat in distress!” exclaimed Philip; and the boy responded with a hearty “Aye, aye, sir!”
Brenda, in the mean time, was looking intently at the other occupant of the boat.
“Why, it’s Amy!” she exclaimed, turning to Julia.
Amy herself, a trifle embarrassed, soon brought her boat alongside the launch. She bowed pleasantly to Brenda. “What can we do for you?” she asked.
For a moment Philip was at a loss what to answer.
“Well, if we had your oars,” he said, “if you would lend them to us—”
“But what would she do?” exclaimed Julia.
“Oh, I could tie my boat on, and you could tow us.”
As Amy spoke, she uncoiled a rope from the end of her boat, and, with Philip’s aid, pushed her little craft toward his stern. The row-boat was soon made fast to the launch, and Amy prepared to hand her oars to Philip.
“But you must come in here with us; there’s plenty of room for both of you.” At first Amy hesitated. But, on second thoughts, she saw that this was the best thing that she could do for herself. With a little crowding, a seat was found for her, and Fritz remained in the boat.
“Let me take one oar,” she said, as Philip prepared to ply them both. “With so many passengers, two rowers will be better.”
The little launch now sped along rapidly, and although the engine continued to pound and hammer, no one minded this very much, since the “Balloon” would so soon be reached.
“Oh! but she is a beauty!” exclaimed Fritz, and Amy echoed his words. You, too, would have been enthusiastic, had you seen the up-to-date twenty-five footer, with her long, over-hanging ends, and low cabin-trunk, and her fashionable, cross-cut sails outlined against the sky. From her mast-head floated the Club flag, with its triangular divisions of white, red, and blue,—a solitary blue star showing on the white field. Philip’s private signal, a kind of fish-tail flag, was also displayed.
“I thought you said that it ought not to fly when you are off the boat,” said Brenda.
“Oh! when I’m off for so short a time, it is n’t worth while to haul it down. Besides, I thought that Tom was to remain aboard, and he and I are one—so far as the boat is concerned.”
“I should like to go all over her,” said Fritz, with a sigh, as if to do this were out of the question.
“Why, of course you must come aboard,” responded Philip hospitably. Fritz looked anxiously at Amy. He was very much afraid that she would decline the invitation. But for once she was ready to accept a pleasure when first offered her. Perhaps she felt that she had in this case earned the right to a little fun. Perhaps, too, the fact that she had never before been so near a regular yacht influenced her, and therefore, when she heard Mrs. Barlow second the cordial invitation, she accepted it.
The little engine was still thumping and sputtering, although not as noisily as a few minutes before, hut Philip was uneasy. In his heart he repented that with sophomorific audacity he had undertaken to manage something that he did not really understand, and he decided that it would be a long time before he should again undertake to run a naphtha launch, at least without first receiving instruction as to its mechanism.
As soon as they had seen Mrs. Barlow and the girls safely on board the “Balloon,”—for it was only a step from the deck of the launch up the side ladder to the deck of the yacht,—Fritz turned to Philip, saying politely, “Can’t I help you with that engine? It seems to need something.”
“Why, certainly, if you can,” responded Philip, looking with some surprise at the younger boy whose appearance did not suggest a familiarity with machinery. Yet after Fritz had spent a few minutes examining the engine, he reported that he had found the exact cause of the difficulty. A certain valve which should have been open, had accidentally closed, and caused the trouble. One or two other little technical matters relating to the management of the engine Fritz was able to explain.
“How do you happen to know so much about this engine? The launch was made in Pennsylvania;” Philip looked with admiration on the younger boy.
“Oh, the principle is the same in all engines,” answered Fritz, “and there’s a boiler factory on the road to Beverly, where I drop in sometimes toward noon. I ’ve picked up a lot from the men.”
“Well—I’m certainly obliged to you,” said Philip. “It would n’t have been exactly pleasant to have had fragments of iron flying about the heads of our visitors. I’m glad to have the thing fixed before Tom comes back. He hesitated about letting me take the launch, but I was sure that I could manage it.”
“Come, Philip,” called Mrs. Barlow, from the “Balloon,” “we ’re waiting to have you show us about.”