Silver Shoal Light/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX
CAP'N 'BIJAH GIVES AN INVITE
A Letter from Elspeth Pemberley to Her Brother
Silver Shoal,
July 20th.
Dearest Brob:
What a nice letter you wrote me! Thank you for the news of the outer world. It is so far away that all you tell me seems like the telling of a dream. But I am very glad that you are having so much interesting work of your own, and that you are loving it more than ever. How I wish that I could see it all!
Garth still designs boats vigorously whenever the weather keeps him from being in a real one. The drawings aren't artistic, but Jim thinks them quite remarkable from a builder's point of view. Garth apparently has the talent of feeling good lines, even though his hand is not well enough trained to draw them accurately, and Jim is quite excited by the possibilities of development.
Some destroyers were in last week, and of course Garth was thrilled. Joan was thrilled, too, strange to relate, and stared at signals all day with a telescope. I did malign her dreadfully at first, when I told you that she had no imagination, but there were certainly no indications of it then. A new and absorbing game has been instituted. I don't know whether she or Garth began it, but both of them play at it with equal energy. Jim and I became aware one morning that our son was, in reality, Captain Crosstrees, and our guest Bo'sun Ben Bobstay—both belonging, as far as we can make out, to a bygone age, the "good days" of Jim's tales. Their conversation is nautical in the extreme—though I regret to say that the Captain frequently lapses into very modern speech—and their behaviour most salty. They go for long rows and short sails alone (you can see how much she has risen in Jim's estimation when he trusts her with Garth and the Ailouros). What they do on these trips, I don't know, but I imagine that they are on three-year cruises, discovering strange lands, pirate isles, and what not, beneath imaginary Southern stars. Jim sometimes joins in, playing every rôle, from Admiral and Sea Lord to cabin-boy; but I am a sorry creature and have not even been taken on as ship's cook. I am content, however, because Captain Crosstrees still has need of me in my old capacity—as his Mudder—and to see him at twilight, half-asleep in my arms, you would never suspect that he had just come in from a voyage around the Horn. But it is hard to recognize in Ben Bobstay, that rollicking and "uneddicated" salt, the stately young lady whose shade-hat blew out to sea not so long ago. So I give her credit—her, or Garth, or the Genius of the Briny Deep—for a great improvement.
I told you, I think, how she took Garth to town at a summons from the doctor, and how well she managed the expedition. Dr. Stone, by the way, said, much the same things as usual. I suppose there is nothing to be done, other than what Silver Shoal is doing, but that's a good deal.
The Count has made no further manifestations since his tea-party, though we occasionally see him flitting about with his paint-box when we go to Quimpaug. I meant to tell you, by the way, that our interest in him has cooled. He behaved rather nastily to Garth, who has feelings, even though he is a small person. Of course that finished Fishashki with Jim. We all were becoming disgusted, anyway, with his silly affectation, in spite of the enchanting music he plays. Here's your nephew, who says: "Give Uncle Brob my love, and tell him that I can tie a fisherman's bend and a becket-hitch." That's more than I can do! Much love from
"No; I won't come ashore, thank ye kindly," said Cap'n 'Bijah in response to Elspeth's invitation. "What I come to ask was, whether mebbe Miss Kirkland an' the Fust Mate yonder would keer to go outside with me a piece,—fishin'. I got the tackle an' I got some vittles. I heerd tell the mack'rel was a-runnin'. Hullo!" he chuckled, as Garth came to the edge of the pier in high glee and held out his arms to the Cap'n, who swung him into the boat; "'pears like one on 'em's goin' to accept my invite!"
"Here's the other one, Cap'n 'Bijah," said Joan. "Aren't you nice to think of us!" She took the Captain's hard, brown hand and stepped into the swaying boat. "Shall I sit here?"
The Lydia spluttered out into open water and the passengers waved their hands to Elspeth, who was a little bewildered by their sudden departure.
"Don't hev no objections to steerin' a boat ever, do ye?" Cap'n 'Bijah inquired jocularly of Garth, who sat looking with longing eyes at the tiller. "Guess ye might as well take her; I'll 'tend to the in-jine. My! you go to thet air tiller like 't was a magnet! Will it put you out, ma'am, ef I smoke my ol' pipe?"
"Please do!" Joan begged. "What a wonderful day to be on the water! Where do you mean to go, Cap'n 'Bijah?"
"Out a piece," replied the old man, slicing off a chunk of plug tobacco and rolling it in his rough palms. "Hope you're a good sailor. Kind o' tryin', ef ye ain't, anchorin' out thar."
"She's a very good sailor," said Garth, "and I don't mind it."
"You!" chuckled the Captain. "You're a reg'lar stormy-petrel. Guess 't would take a hewrycane to bother you any. But it seems to me like you thought you was steerin' a sailin' boat. What fer do ye keep headin' her up close to the wind? This la'nch don't pay no heed to wind ner nawthin' else."
"That's so!" Garth said. "I was thinking all the time that I was letting her fall off too much, but it doesn't make any diff'rence, of course. I never steered a motor-boat before."
When they had reached what the Captain considered a likely place, he stopped the Lydia's engine and anchored her.
"Here's tackle fer all on us," he said, "an' thar's bait in the kittle. Wal! Look at the lady gettin' right in an' baitin' up her own! Some on 'em's kind o' fancy an' won't get their hands in it, but I see you're salt-water folks, ma'am."
"She wouldn't do it at first," Garth said, "but she thinks it's fun now."
"You've gone and spoiled my reputation as salt-water folks," Joan complained, wiping her hand on her skirt. "Now the Captain won't believe I'm not really fancy."
"Oh, 'shaw!" said "Bijah. "You bean't the kind I mean. Some o' them frilly folks up to the Hotel, I'm thinkin' about. Don't you let a great ol' monstrous codfish take an' pull ye overboard now, Ga'th."
They settled themselves silently to the business of fishing. The mackerel showed no signs of activity, and the occupation took on its most peaceful form. Across the blue field of the sky small puffs of cloud followed each other endlessly, "like sheep jumping over a wall," thought Joan drowsily, "but I mustn't begin counting them, or I shall go to sleep." The water lapped rhythmically against the boat, a little slumbrous accompaniment wholly in tune with the rest of the dreaming world. Far up—wheeling flecks of light against the clouds—the gulls hovered and sailed; their cries dropped down faintly like the echo of a wild wind. Up the coast Hy Brasail lifted a purple outline; through some freak of atmosphere the islet seemed to be floating above the water.
"'Tis cur'ous," 'Bijah said, when Joan remarked upon it. "An' look at the end o' the p'int, whar it makes out yonder; you'd say 't was curled up like. All them little sticks that looks like fishnet stakes ain't really thar at all."
"And see how queer that schooner is out there," Garth said. "All wobbly; and you'd think she hadn't any hull. It's mirage, isn't it?"
"No; 'tis a loom," the Cap'n replied. "Reg'lar miradge turns things upsydown an' shows 'em to ye whar they ain't. I 'member oncet when I was a young feller cruisin', I see a ship in the sky, wrong side up an' sailin' along. We was down in the Agulhas, an' there was one feller thought't was the Flyin' Dutchman sartin an' come near havin' a fit. But the miradge was so plain we made her out by her rig to be the ol' Britomart out o' Salem. An' tubbe sure, byme-by she come up over the horizon, an' 't was the Britomart, right enough."
"How weird!" Joan said.
Garth's eyes had taken on the distant look that always filled them when he heard tales of the sea.
"There's nothing in the world so wonderful as a ship, is there?" he said, dreamily.
The Captain thumped a horny fist on the gunwale.
"You're right, by Jawge!" he said. "Nawthin' in the world so wonderful—ner so handsome—ner—ner so much wuth while!"
"No," said Garth.
"Fer the matter o' thet," 'Bijah pursued, excitedly, "they ain't nawthin' in the world that is wuth while, 'ceptin' only a ship!"
"No," Garth said; "nothing."
The fishers sat silent, now and then drawing in the lines to see that they were still baited properly. 'Bijah smoked his pipe and studied the horizon with narrowed, sea-worn eyes. The Lydia rose and fell with a monotonous motion, flicking a shimmering string of drops from her anchor cable each time she lifted.
The line Garth held sang suddenly through his hand. He let it go with a little gasp, and caught it again immediately. 'Bijah sprang across the boat and seized it.
"Leggo thar," the Captain said, "an' lemme hev thet; it's most got the hand off you already. What in thunder you got here, anyways? Feels like you'd hooked the Ol' Sea-Sarpint hisself."
He hauled away at the line, while Garth, holding his cut fingers, leaned eagerly over the gunwale.
"This ain't no mackerel," 'Bijah said, "Gorry! it's a codfish you got, Ga'th. Look at here!" He flopped a great shining fish into the dingy cockpit. "Eight pounds, or I'm a land-lubber!"
"That's a gorgeous catch!" Joan cried. "Much bigger than my blackfish. Garth! What's the matter with your hand?"
He held it out, showing a long gash across the fingers.
"Line cut it," he said briefly.
"He shore did pull some," 'Bijah said. "Guess thet hurts ye, hey? Want to stop an' go home?"
"Go home!" Garth exclaimed. "Gracious, no! Why, we've only caught one, and we haven't had lunch, and you've got to tell us a yarn! Will you tie your handkerchief round it, Joan? I haven't any. I'll fish with the other hand. Of course I don't want to go home."
"Didn't know but ye might," the Cap'n said. "Keep fergettin' you ain't one o' them sissy kids up to the Hotel. I take them out consid'able, an' it's enough to get a saint sorry fer hisself. Wal, s'posing we get the lines up fer a while an' tackle the vittles."
The "vittles," which Cap'n 'Bijah produced from sundry dinner-pails and paper bags, were quite different from the sort which generally figured in Pemberley picnics. They were the kind with which the Captain usually supplied himself, with a few fancy touches for the guests. There were enormously thick sandwiches of meat between slices of bread; there were dill-pickles and hermit-cookies, also a can of cold coffee and half a blueberry pie.
"'T ain't much," the Captain apologized, setting the things in a row on the seat. "Jest plain stuff, but fillin'. Fall to! My gracious, I ain't brought no tools to eat with!"
He looked quite horrified, until Joan and Garth, laughing, assured him that knives and forks on a picnic were unknown to them and that they would have considered it much too grand, had he brought them.
"Wal!" beamed the Captain, taking a hearty circular bite from a sandwich, followed at once by a gulp of coffee, "you folks out thar, you're sartinly all right. They jest ain't no rubbish about you a-tall. No, sir!"
"If this is coffee, it's awfully good," observed Garth over the top of his cup. "I don't get any at home."
The good Captain put down his dill pickle in dismay.
"I never thought o' thet. Guess you ain't allowed it, hey? Mebbe you'd better not; don't want yer payrents thinkin' I done yer di-gestion no ha'm."
"They wouldn't mind," Garth said, holding out his cup. "Once won't hurt me. Besides, it's nice. More, please!"