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diff --git a/12681-h/12681-h.htm b/12681-h/12681-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e6dd36 --- /dev/null +++ b/12681-h/12681-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3073 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Us and the Bottleman, by Edith Ballinger Price</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 12%; margin-right: 12%; + font-size: 135%; line-height: 120%;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 95%; + text-indent: 0;line-height: 110%;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 30%;} + .poem {margin-left:3em; margin-right: 2em; + text-align: left; padding: 1em; line-height: 90%;} + .poem p {margin: 0em 0em 0em 0em;} + .ill {margin-left: 20%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + p.author {text-align: right; font-variant: small-caps} + p.centre {text-align: center;} + .text {text-align: left; + margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 2em;} + .text p {text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: .3em;} + .text p.first {margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: .3em; + text-indent: 0em;} + .figure {padding: .5em; margin: 0em 0em 1em 0em;text-align: center;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size: 9pt;} +--> + /*]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12681 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Us and the Bottleman, by Edith Ballinger +Price, Illustrated by Edith Ballinger Price</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1>US</h1> +<h2><i>and</i></h2> +<h1><b>THE BOTTLE MAN</b> </h1> +<br /> +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>EDITH BALLINGER PRICE</h3> + +<h5>Author of “SILVER SHOAL LIGHT,”<br /> +“BLUE MAGIC,” etc.</h5> +<br /> +<h4>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS <br />BY THE AUTHOR</h4> + +<br /><br /> + +<h4>1920</h4> +<br /><br /> +<hr /> +<br /><h3>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> + +<div class="ill"> + +<p><a href="#fig1">Greg rigged himself up as an Excavator</a></p> + +<p><a href="#fig2">We hoped the Bottle Man would like the letter</a></p> + +<p><a href="#fig3">“Hang on, Chris!” Jerry said. “I can get it”</a></p> + +<p><a href="#fig4">“Ye be Three Poore Mariners”</a></p> +</div> +<br /> +<hr class="short"/> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<h2>US AND THE BOTTLE MAN</h2> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<div class="text"> +<p class="first">It began with Jerry’s finishing off all the +olives that were left, “like a pig would +do,” as Greg said. His finishing the olives +left us the bottle, of course, and there is +only one natural thing to do with an empty +olive-bottle when you’re on a water picnic. +That is, to write a message as though you +were a shipwrecked mariner, and seal it up +in the bottle and chuck it as far out as ever +you can.</p> + +<p>We’d all gone over to Wecanicut on the +ferry,—Mother and Aunt Ailsa and Jerry +and Greg and I,—and we were picnicking +beside the big fallen-over slab that +looks just like the entrance to a pirate +cave. We had a fire, of course, and a lot +of things to eat, including the olives, which +were a fancy addition bought by Aunt +Ailsa as we were running for the ferry.</p> + +<p>When we asked her if she had any paper, +she tore a perfectly nice leaf out of her +sketch-book, and gave me her 3 B drawing-pencil +to write with. It was very soft, and +the paper was the roughish kind that +comes in sketch-books, so that the writing +was smeary and looked quite as if shipwrecked +mariners had written it with +charred twigs out of the fire. We’d +done lots of messages when we were on +other water picnics, but we’d never heard +from any of them, although one reason +for that was that we never put our address +on them. We decided we would this time, +because Jerry had just been reading about +a fisherman in Newfoundland picking up +a message that somebody had chucked +from a yacht in the Gulf of Mexico months +and months before.</p> + +<p>I wrote the date at the top, near the raggedy +place where the leaf was torn out +of Aunt Ailsa’s sketch-book, and then I +put, “We be Three Poore Mariners,” like +the song in “Pan-Pipes.”</p> + +<p>Jerry and Greg kept telling me things to +write, till the page was quite full and went +something like this:</p> + +<p>“We be Three Poore Mariners, cast away upon the lone and +desolate shore of Wecanicut, an island in the Atlantic Ocean, lat. +and long. unknown. Our position is very perilous, as we have +exhausted all our supplies, including large stores of olives, and +are now forced to exist on beach-peas, barnacles, +and—and—”</p> + +<p>“Eiligugs’ eggs,” said Greg, dreamily.</p> + +<p>Jerry pounced on him and said they only +grew on the Irish coast, but I said: +“All right! Beach-peas, barnacles, and +eiligugs’ eggs, of which only a small supply +is to be had on this bleak and dismal +coast. Our ship, the good ferry-boat +<i>Wecanicut</i>, left us marooned, and there is +no hope of our being picked up for the next +two hours. Any person finding this message, +please come to our assistance by +dropping us a line,” (I must honestly say +that this was Jerry’s, and much better than +usual) “as the surf is too heavy for boats +to land on this end of the island. +Signed:—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t sign it ‘Christine’,” Jerry +said. “Put ‘Chris,’ if we’re to be real +mariners.”</p> + +<p>So I put “Chris Holford, æt. 13,” which I +thought might look more dignified and scholarly than +“aged,” and Jerry wrote “Gerald M. Holford,” +and put “æt. 11” after it, but I’m sure he +didn’t know what it meant until I did it. Then we stuck +the paper at Greg, and he stared at it ever +so long and finally said:</p> + +<p>“Ate eleven! He ate lots more than +that; I saw him.”</p> + +<p>Jerry pounced again,—I was laughing +too hard to,—and said:</p> + +<p>“It’s not olives, silly; it’s an abbreviated +French way of saying how old we +are.”</p> + +<p>Then I had to pounce on <i>him</i>, and tell +him it was Latin, as he might know by the +diphthong. By that time Greg had written +“Gregory Holford, Ate 8,” across the +bottom, very large, and Jerry said he +might as well have put 88 and had done +with it. We folded the paper up in the +tinfoil that the chocolate came in and +jammed it into the bottle and pounded the +cork in tight with a stone. Greg was all +for chucking it immediately, but Jerry said +it would have a better chance if we +dropped it right into the current from the +ferry going home. So we cocked the bottle +up on a rock and went back to the +pirate-cave-entrance place to finish a +game of smugglers.</p> + +<p>Wecanicut is a nice place to smuggle +and do other dark deeds in, and I don’t believe +we’ll ever be too old to think it’s +fun. This time we cut the rest of the tinfoil +into roundish pieces with Jerry’s jackknife, +and stowed them into a cranny in +the cave. They shone rather faintly and +looked exactly like double moidores, except +that those are gold, I think. We also +borrowed Aunt Ailsa’s hatpin with the +Persian coin on the end. By running the +pin down into the sand all the way, you +can make it look just like a goldpiece lying +on the floor of the cave. She is a very +obliging aunt and doesn’t mind our doing +this sort of thing,—in fact, she plays lots +of the games, too, and she can groan more +hollowly than any of us, when groans are +needed.</p> + +<p>This time we didn’t ask her to, because +she was reading a book by H. G. Wells to +Mother, and anyway all our proceedings +were supposed to be going on in the most +Stealthy and Silent Secrecy. The moidores +and the Persian coin were all that +was left of an enormous lot of things +which the villainous band had buried,—golden +chains, and uncut jewels, and pots +of louis d’ors, and church chalices (Jerry +says chasubles, but I think not). Greg +and Jerry had dragged all these things up +from the edge of the water in big empty +armfuls, and we stamped the sand down +over them. It really looked exactly as if +the tinfoil moidores were a handful that +was left over. Greg was just giving the +final stamp, when Jerry crooked his hand +over his ear and said:</p> + +<p>“Hist, men! What was that?” +They were having artillery practice +down at the Fort, and just then a terrific +volley went sputtering off.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a broadside from the English vessel!” +Jerry said. “We are pursued!”</p> + +<p>We crept out from the cave and made +off up the shore as fast as possible. Jerry +went ahead and jumped up on a rock to +reconnoiter. He did look quite piratical, +with my black sailor tie bound tight over +his head and two buttons of his shirt undone. +Greg had his own necktie wrapped +around his head, but several locks of hair +had escaped from under it. He always +manages to have something not quite right +about his costumes. He has very nice +hair—curly, and quite amberish colored—but +it’s not at all like a pirate’s. I poked +him from behind to make him hurry, for +Jerry was pointing at a big schooner that +was coming down the harbor. We all lay +down flat behind the rock until she had +gone slowly around the point. We could +see the sun winking on something that +might have been a cannon in her waist—that’s +the place where cannon always are—and +of course the captain must have +been keeping a sharp lookout landward +with his spy-glass.</p> + +<p>“Eh, mon,” said Jerry, when the schooner +had passed, “but yon was a verra close +thing!”</p> + +<p>That’s one of the worst things about +Jerry,—the way he mixes up language. +We’d been reading “Kidnapped,” and I +suppose he forgot he wasn’t <i>Alan</i>.</p> + +<p>“Silence, dog!” I said, to remind him +of who we were. “Very like she’s but +hove to in the offing, and for aught you +know she’s maybe sending ashore the +jolly-boat by now.”</p> + +<p>“Then let’s go to the end of the point +and have a look,” Greg suggested.</p> + +<p>He doesn’t often make speeches, because +Jerry is apt to pounce on him and +tell him he’s “too plain American,” but I +think it isn’t fair, because he hasn’t read +as many books as Jerry and I. So I hurried +up and said:</p> + +<p>“Bravely spoke, my lad; so we will, my +hearty!” And we crawled and clambered +along till we came to the end of the point +where it’s all stones and seaweed and big +surf sometimes. The surf was not very +high this time,—just waves that went +<i>whoosh</i> and then pulled the pebbles back +with a nice scrawpy sound. The schooner +was half-way down to the Headland, not +paying any attention to us.</p> + +<p>“Ah ha!” Jerry said, “safe once more +from an ignominious death. But, Chris, +look at the Sea Monster! What’s happened +to it?”</p> + +<p>The Sea Monster is a bare black rock-island +off the end of Wecanicut. We +called it that because it looks like one, and +it hasn’t any other name that we know of. +We’d always wanted awfully to go out +there and explore it, but the only time we +ever asked old Captain Moss, who has +boats for hire, he said, “Thunderin’ bad +landin’. Nothin’ to see there but a clutter +o’ gulls’ nests,” and went on painting the +<i>Jolly Nancy</i>, which is his nicest boat.</p> + +<p>But the thing that Jerry was pointing +out now was very queer indeed. It was +just a little too far away to see clearly +what had happened, but it seemed as if a +piece of rock had fallen away on the side +toward us, leaving a jaggedy opening as +black as a hat and high enough for a person +to stand upright in.</p> + +<p>“The entrance to a subaground tunnel!” +Greg shouted, leaping up and down in the +edge of a wave.</p> + +<p>He <i>will</i> say “subaground,” and it really +is quite as sensible as some words.</p> + +<p>“The entrance to a real pirate cave, you +mean!” said Jerry. “Glory, Chris, I really +shouldn’t wonder if it were. Captain +Kidd was up and down the coast here. +What if they buried stuff in there and +then propped a big chunk of rock up +against the hole?”</p> + +<p>“I wish we had a telescope,” I said, +“though I don’t suppose we could see into +the blackness with it. Mercy, I wish we +<i>could</i> get out there! It’s more worth exploring +than ever.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s tell Mother and Aunt!” said +Greg, and started running back down the +beach, shouting something all the way.</p> + +<p>Mother said, “Nonsense!” and, “Of +course it’s a natural cave in the rock. +You probably only noticed it today.”</p> + +<p>But she and Aunt Ailsa shut up the +H. G. Wells book and came to look. They +did think, when they saw it, that it was +something new. Aunt Ailsa thought it +looked very exciting and mysterious, but +she agreed with Mother that it was no sort +of place to go to in a boat.</p> + +<p>“Just look at the white foam flinging +around those rocks,” she said; “and +there’s practically no surf on today.”</p> + +<p>We had to admit that it wasn’t a nice-looking +place to land on from a rowboat, +but we did wish that we were hardy adventuring +men, bold of heart and undeterred +by grown-ups. We knew, too, that +Captain Moss would say, “Pshaw!” if we +told him there might be treasure on the +Sea Monster, and he certainly wouldn’t +risk the <i>Jolly Nancy</i> on those rocks in her +nice new green paint.</p> + +<p>We were so much excited about the +Sea Monster suddenly having a big +black hole in it that we almost forgot to +take the bottle when we went home. We +did forget Aunt Ailsa’s hatpin, and Greg +had to run back for it, because he can run +faster than any of the rest of us, and +Captain Lewis held the ferry for him. +Everybody leaned out from the rail and +peered up the landing, because they +thought it must be a fire or the President +or something. They all looked awfully +disappointed when it was only Greg, with +the black necktie still around his head and +Aunt’s hatpin held very far away from +him so that it wouldn’t hurt him if he fell +down. He tumbled on board just as the +nice brown Portuguese man who works +the rattley chain thing at the landings was +pushing the collapsible gate shut, and +Greg gasped:</p> + +<p>“I brought—the moidores—too!”</p> + +<p>But Jerry collared him and pulled the +necktie off his head. Jerry hates to have +his relatives look silly in public, but I +thought Greg looked very nice.</p> + +<p>We chucked the bottle overboard from +the upper deck, just when the <i>Wecanicut</i> +was halfway over. The nice Portuguese +man shouted up, “Hey! You drop something?” +but we told him it was just an +old bottle we didn’t want, and not to +mind. We watched it go bob-bobbing +along beside an old barrel-head that was +floating by, and we wondered how far it +would go, and if it would leak and sink. +The tide was exactly right to carry it outside, +if all went well.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” said Greg, when we were +halfway up Luke Street, going home, and +had almost forgotten the bottle, “perhaps +it will land on the Sea Monster, and the +pirates will find it.”</p> + +<p>“Glory!” said Jerry, “perhaps it will.”</p> +</div> +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<div class="text"> +<p class="first">Just in the middle of the rainiest week came the +thing that made Aunt Ailsa so sad. She read it in the newspaper, in +the casualty list. It was the last summer of the war, and there were +great long casualty lists every day. This said that +Somebody-or-other Westland was “wounded and missing.” We +didn’t know why it made her so sad, because we’d never +heard of such a person, but of course it was up to us to cheer her +up as much as possible. Picnics being out of the question, it had to +be indoor cheering, which is harder. Greg succeeded better than the +rest of us, I think. He is still little enough to sit on +people’s laps (though his legs spill over, quantities). He sat +on Aunt Ailsa’s lap and told her long stories which she seemed +to like much better than the H. G. Wells books. He also +dragged her off to join in attic games, and she liked those, too, +and laughed sometimes quite like herself.</p> + +<p>Attic games aren’t so bad, though summer’s not the +proper time for them, really. There is a long cornery sort of closet +full of carpets that runs back under the eaves in our attic, and if +you strew handfuls of beads and tin washers among the carpets and +then dig for them in the dark with a hockey-stick and a pocket +flash-light, it’s not poor fun. Unfortunately, my head knocks +against the highest part of the roof now, yet I still do think +it’s fun. But Aunt Ailsa is twenty-six and she likes it, so I +suppose I needn’t give up.</p> + +<p>The day Aunt Ailsa really laughed was when Greg rigged himself up +as an Excavator. That is, he said he was an excavator, but I never +saw anything before that looked at all like him. He had the round +Indian basket from Mother’s work-table on his head, and some +automobile goggles, and yards and yards of green braid wound over +his jumper, and Mother’s carriage-boots, which came just below +the tops of his socks. In his hand he had what I think was a +rake-handle—it was much taller than he—and he had the +queerest, glassy, goggling expression under the basket.</p> + +<a name="fig1"></a> +<div class="figure"><img src="images/image1.png" alt="Greg rigged +himself up as an excavator" /></div> + + +<p>He never will learn to fix proper clothes. He might have seen +what he should have done by looking at Jerry, who had an old felt +hat with a bit of candle-end (not lit) stuck in the ribbon, and a +bandana tied askew around his neck. But Aunt Ailsa laughed and +laughed, which was what we wanted her to do, so neither of us +remonstrated with Greg that time.</p> + +<p>Father plays the ’cello,—that is, he does when he has +time,—and he found time to play it with Aunt, who does piano. +I think she really liked that better than the attic games, and we +did, too, in a way. The living-room of our house is quite +low-ceilinged, and part of it is under the roof, so that you can +hear the rain on it. The boys lay on the floor, and Mother and I sat +on the couch, and we listened to the rain on the roof and the +sound—something like rain—of the piano, and +Father’s ’cello booming along with it. They played a +thing called “Air Religieux” that I think none of us +will ever hear again without thinking of the humming on the roof and +the candles all around the room and one big one on the piano beside +Aunt Ailsa, making her hair all shiny. Her hair is amberish, too, +like Greg’s, but her eyes are a very golden kind of brown, +while his are dark blue.</p> + +<p>We thought she’d forgotten about being sad, but one night +when I couldn’t sleep because it was so hot I heard her +crying, and Mother talking the way she does to us when something +makes us unhappy. I felt rather frightened, somehow, and wretched, +and I covered up my ears because I didn’t think Aunt would +want me to hear them talking there.</p> + +<p>The next day the sun really came out and stayed out. All of +<i>us</i> came out, too, and explored the garden. The grass had +grown till it stood up like hay, and there were such tall green +weeds in the flowerbeds that Mother couldn’t believe +they’d grown during the rain and thought they were some phlox +she’d overlooked. The phlox itself was staggering with +flowers, and all the lupin leaves held round water-drops in the +hollows of their five-fingered hands. Greg said that they were fairy +wash-basins. He also found a drowned field-mouse and a sparrow. He +was frightfully sorry about it, and carried them around wrapped up +in a warm flannel till Mother begged him to give them a military +funeral. Jerry soaked all the labels off a cigar-box, and then +burned a most beautiful inscription on the lid with his pyrography +outfit. Part of the inscription was a poem by Greg, which went like +this:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p>“O little sparrow,</p> +<p>Perhaps to-morrow</p> +<p>You will fly in a blue house.</p> +<p>And perhaps you will run</p> +<p>In the sun,</p> +<p>Little field-mouse.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Jerry didn’t see what Greg meant by a “blue +house,” but I did, and I think it was rather nice. I copied +the poem secretly, before the cigar-box was buried at the end of the +rose-bed. I think Greg really cried, but he had so much black +mosquito netting hanging over the brim of his best hat that I +couldn’t be sure.</p> + +<p>Fourth of July came and went—the very patriotic one, when +everybody saved their fireworks-money to buy W.S.S. with. We bought +W.S.S. and made very grand fireworks out of joss-sticks. Joss-sticks +have wonderful possibilities that most people don’t know +about. The three of us went down to the foot of the garden after +dark and did an exhibition for the others. By whisking the +joss-sticks around by their floppy handles you can make all sorts of +fiery circles. I made two little ones for eyes, and Greg did a nose +in the middle, and Jerry twirled a curvy one underneath for a mouth +that could be either smiling or ferocious. A little way off you +can’t see the people who do it at all, and it looks just like +a great fiery face with a changing, wobbly expression.</p> + +<p>Then Greg did a fire dance with two sparklers. He dances rather +well,—not real one-steps and waltzes, but weird things he +makes up himself. This one lasted as long as the sparklers burned, +and it was quite gorgeous. After that we had a candle-light +procession around the garden, and the grown people said that the +candles looked very mysterious bobbing in and out between the trees. +We felt more like high priests than patriots, but it was very +festive and wonderful, and when we ended by having cakes and +lime-juice on the porch at half-past nine, everybody agreed that it +had been a real celebration and quite different.</p> + +<p>In spite of being up so late the night before, Greg was the first +one down to breakfast next morning. Our postman always brings the +mail just before the end of breakfast, and we can hear him click the +gate as he comes in. This morning Jerry and Greg dashed for the mail +together, and Greg squeezed through where Jerry thought he +couldn’t and got there first. When they came back, Jerry was +saying:</p> + +<p>“Let me have it, won’t you; it’ll take you all +day!” and dodging his arm over Greg’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Messrs. Christopher, Gerald, and Gregory Holford; 17 Luke +Street,” Greg read slowly. Then he tripped over the threshold +and floundered on to me, flourishing the big envelope and +shouting:</p> + +<p>“It’s funny paper, and it’s funny writing, and +I <i>know</i> it’s from The Bottle!”</p> + +<p>“My stars!” said Jerry, with a final snatch.</p> + +<p>But I had the envelope, and I looked at it very carefully.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” I said, “I truly believe that it +is.”</p> <br /> </div> + +<hr class="short"/> + +<br /> +<br /> + + +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> <div class="text"> + +<p class="first">The envelope was a square, thinnish one, addressed +in very small, black handwriting.</p> + +<p>“It <i>must</i> be from The Bottle,” Jerry said; +“otherwise they wouldn’t have thought you were a boy and +put Christopher.”</p> + +<p>I had been thinking just the same thing while I was trying to +open the envelope. It was one of the very tightly stuck kind that +scrumples up when you try to rip it with your finger, and we had to +slit it with a fruit-knife before we could get at the letter. There +were sheets of thin paper all covered with writing, and when Jerry +and Greg saw that, they both fell upon it so that none of us could +read it at all. I persuaded them that the quickest thing to do would +be to let me read it aloud, and as we’d finished breakfast +anyway, we each took our last piece of toast in our hands and went +out and sat on the bottom step of the porch. I read:</p> </div> +<blockquote> <p><i>Fellow Adventurers and Mariners in +Distress</i>:</p> + +<p>By this time there may be naught left of you but a whitening +huddle of bones, surf bleached on the end of Wecanicut,—for I +know well what meager fare are eiligugs’ eggs and barnacles. +However, I take the chance of finding at least one of you alive, and +address you fraternally as a companion in distress.</p> + +<p>I am myself stranded on a cheerless island where, against my +will, I am kept captive—for how long a time I cannot guess. I +was brought here at night, only forty-eight hours ago, and landed +from a vessel which almost immediately departed whence it had come, +into the darkness. My captors left me to go with the vessel, the +chief of them threatening to return every week to torment me unless +I obeyed his slightest command. I stand in great fear of this man, +who is tall and bearded, for he brings with him instruments of +torture and bottles containing, without doubt, poison.</p> + +<p>Can you imagine my joy when, tottering down the beach this +morning, supporting my frame upon two sticks, I beheld your bottle +cast up on the sands? Now, thought I, I can unburden myself to these +three unfortunate men, obviously in even greater distress than my +own, and we can, perhaps, ease each other’s monotonous +maroonity. Scholars, too, I perceive you to be,—witness the +Latin following your signatures. Ah well, <i>Grata superveniet quae +non sperabitur hora,</i> as the poet so truly says, and I cannot +express to you how eager, how happy I am, in the thought of +communicating with some one other than the natives of this desolate +isle. These inhabitants, though friendly on the whole, are uncouth +and barbaric. They spend their entire time fishing from boats which +they build themselves, or squatting beside their huts mending their +fishing implements.</p> + +<p>The good soul with whom I am lodging is calling me to my scanty +repast. In the rude language of the place she tells me that there is +“Krabss al ad an dunny.” How can I live long, I ask, on +such fare?</p> + +<p align="right"> Hopefully, your </p> + +<p align="right"> CASTAWAY COMRADE. </p> <p>P.S. My +address—mail reaches me from time to time, by aforesaid +vessel—is P.O. Box 14, Blue Harbor, Me. ME stands for Mid +Equator, but the abbreviation is sufficient. Blue Harbor is my own +literal translation of the native Bluar Boor. Box 14 refers to the +native system of delivering messages. P.O. has, I think, something +to do with the P. & O. steamers, which, however, do not very +often touch here. </p> </blockquote> <div class="text"> + +<p>“I <i>told</i> you it would go around the world!” +Greg said, when I had finished, and Jerry and I were staring at each +other.</p> + +<p>“<i>Well!”</i> Jerry said at last. “<i>What</i> +luck!”</p> + +<p>“I should rather say so,” I said; “suppose a +fisherman had found it, or no one at all.”</p> + +<p>“Bless his old heart,” said Jerry, taking the +letter.</p> + +<p>I wanted to know why “old.”</p> + +<p>“He must be ancient if he has to totter along on two +sticks,” Jerry said. “Besides, he has a stately, +professorish sort of style. Do you suppose he really does want us to +write to him?”</p> + +<p>“Of course he does,” Greg said; “he tells us to +often enough. Think of being alone out there with savages, and that +bearded chief coming with poison bottles and all.”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, Greg,” said Jerry; “you don’t +understand. There’s more in this than meets the eye, Chris. I +didn’t get on to this crab salad business when you read +it.”</p> + +<p>Neither had I; in fact, I hadn’t got on to it until Jerry +said it in proper English.</p> + +<p>“He’s a good sort, poor old dear,” I said. +“Why do you suppose they keep him out there?”</p> + +<p>“He’s there of his own free will, right +enough,” Jerry said.</p> + +<p>But I didn’t think so.</p> + +<p>We were still confabbing over the letter, and explaining bits to +Greg, who was hopelessly mystified, when Mother came out to +transplant some columbine that had wandered into the lawn. We did a +quick secret consultation and then decided to let her in on the +Castaway. So we bolted after her and took away the trowel and showed +her the letter. She read it through twice, and then said:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ailsa must hear this, and Father!” But what we +wanted to know was whether or not we might write to the Castaway, +because we didn’t quite want to without letting her know about +it. She laughed some more and said, “yes, we might,” and +that he was “a dear,” which was what we thought.</p> + +<p>We decided that we would write immediately, so Jerry dashed off +to Father’s study and got two sheets of nice thin paper with +“17 Luke Street” at the top in humpy green letters, and +I borrowed Aunt Ailsa’s fountain-pen, which turned out to be +empty. I might have known it, for they always are empty when you +need them most. Jerry, like a goose, filled it over the clean paper +we were going to use for the letter, and it slobbered blue ink all +over the top sheet. But the under one wasn’t hurt, and we +thought one page full would be all we could write, anyway. We took +the things out to the porch table, and Greg held down the corner of +the paper so it wouldn’t flap while I wrote. Jerry sat on the +arm of my chair and thought so excitedly that it jiggled me.</p> + +<p>But minutes went on, and the fountain pen began to ooze from +being too full, and none of us could think of a single thing to +say.</p> + +<p>“If we just write to him ourselves,—in our own form, +I mean,” Jerry said, “it’ll be stupid. And I +don’t feel maroonish here on the porch. We’ll have to +wait till we go to Wecanicut again, and write from there.”</p> + +<p>I felt somehow the way Jerry did, so we put away the things again +and went out under the hemlock tree to talk about the Castaway. Greg +didn’t come, and we supposed he’d gone to feed a tame +toad he had that year, or something. The toad lived under the +syringa bush beside the gate, and Greg insisted that it came out +when he whistled for it, but it never would perform when we went on +purpose to watch it, so I don’t know whether it did or +not.</p> + +<p>Under the hemlock is one of the best places in the garden for +councils and such. The branches quite touch the grass, and when you +creep under them you are in a dark, golden sort of tent, crackley +and sweet-smelling. You can slither pine-needles through your +fingers as you discuss, too, and it helps you to think. We thought +for quite a long time, and then I got out the letter and spread it +down in one of the wavy patches of sunlight, and we read it +again.</p> + +<p>“Did you really think anybody’d find it?” Jerry +asked suddenly, and I told him I hadn’t thought so.</p> + +<p>“Neither did I,” he said; “let alone such a +jolly old soul. Why, he’d be better than Aunt on a +picnic.”</p> + +<p>“I do wonder why he has to stay there,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he’s a fugitive from justice,” Jerry +suggested; “or perhaps he’s a prisoner and the bearded +person comes out with Spanish Inquisition things to make him confess +his horrible crime.”</p> + +<p>“He <i>sounds</i> like a person who’d done a horrible +crime, doesn’t he!” I said in scorn.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Jerry, who really has the most +inspired ideas for plots, “perhaps he’s an innocent old +man whose wicked nephews want to frighten him into changing his +will, leaving an enormous fortune to them. And they’re keeping +him on the island till he’ll do it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, whatever it is,” I said, “I don’t +think he’s awfully happy somehow, and it’s nice of him +to write such a gorgeous thing.”</p> + +<p>So we both decided that whether he was staying on the island of +his own free will, or in bondage, in any case it must be frightfully +dull for him and that our letter ought to be interesting and +cheerful.</p> + +<p>Just then the hemlock branches thrashed apart and Greg crawled +under with pine-needles in his hair. He sat back on his heels and +blinked at us, because he’d just come out of the sunlight.</p> + +<p>“I thought <i>some</i>body ought to write to the Bottle +Man,” he said, “so I did.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I never!” Jerry said.</p> + +<p>Greg fished up a bent piece of paper from inside his jumper and +handed it to me.</p> + +<p>“You can see it,” he said, “but not +Jerry.”</p> + +<p>“As if I’d want to!” Jerry said; but he did, +fearfully.</p> + +<p>Greg is the most unexpected person I ever knew. He’s always +doing things like that, when everyone else has given up.</p> + +<p>I spread his paper out on top of the other letter, and he +sprawled down beside me, all ready to explain with his finger. What +with his dreadfully bad writing and the sunlight moving off the +paper all the time as the branches swayed, it took me ever so long +to read the thing. This is what it was:</p> </div> + +<blockquote> <p><i>Dear Bottle Man</i>:</p> + +<p>To-day we got your leter wich surprised us very much. Although I +kept hopeing and hopeing some body would find the bottle. We are not +so distresed now because we were picked up and now have toast and +other things beter than barnicles. I mesured from here to the +equater on the big map and it is an aufuly far way for the bottle to +go. Only I thought it would. I am sorry you are so imprisined on the +iland and please dont let the cheif with the beard poisen you +because we would like to hear from you agan. If there is tresure on +that iland I should think you could look for it and it would be +exiting. But prehaps there is none. We hope there is some on +Wecanicut. But it is hard to know sirtainly. Chris and Jerry are +going to do a leter. But I thought I would first. I hope the saviges +will be frendly allways.</p> + +<p>Your respecfull comrade,</p> + +<p align="right">GREGORY HOLFORD.</p> + + +<p>P.S. None of us are Bones yet.</p> </blockquote> + +<div class="text"> +<p>“Will it do?” Greg asked anxiously, when I folded it +up. His eyes grow very dark when he’s anxious, and they were +perfectly inky now. You never would have guessed that they were +really blue.</p> + +<p>“It’ll do splendidly,” I said, for I did think +the Castaway man would like Greg’s letter tremendously.</p> + +<p>“Better let me see it, my lad,” said Jerry, rolling +over among the pine-cones and sitting up.</p> + +<p>Greg got his precious letter with a snatch and a squeak, and +scurried off with it. I pitched Jerry back on to the pine-needles, +because I knew he’d never let the thing go if he saw it.</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>let</i> him send it,” I said. +“It’s perfectly all right, and it will do the Bottle Man +heaps of good.”</p> + +<p>But Jerry growled about “beastly scrawls” and +wasn’t pleased with me until supper-time.</p> + +<p>Somehow we all began calling our island person the “Bottle +Man” after Greg did, for it seemed as good a name as any for +him, seeing that we didn’t know his real one. We read the +letter from him after supper to Aunt Ailsa, and she laughed and +liked it, and so did Father. We also asked Father what the Latin +meant, and he made a funny face and said he’d forgotten such +things, but then he looked at it again and told us it meant +something like this:</p> + +<p>“The happy hour shall come, all the more appreciated +because it comes unexpectedly.”</p> + +<p>So we went to bed thinking about our poor old Bottle Man +consoling himself out there on his island with Latin quotations.</p> + +</div> +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<div class="text"> +<p class="first">We all went to Wecanicut next day, which was a glorious one, and +when the food had disappeared we three walked up the point and wrote +to the Bottle Man from there. We’d decided that the paper with +“17 Luke Street” on it was much too grand for +“poore mariners” anyway, so we’d just brought +brownish paper that comes in a block. We told the Bottle Man how +wonderful we thought it was that he had found our message, and how +his letter had cheered our lonely watching for a sail. Also, how we +had been picked up and were returned now to Wecanicut of our own +will, seeking rich treasure. We described the “Sea +Monster” very carefully, and wrote about the black +cave-entrance-looking place that had happened, where no boat would +dare to venture. Jerry’s description of it was quite wild. He +dictated it to me above the shrieking of a lot of gulls which were +flying over us all the time. It went like this:</p> + +<blockquote> +“The Sea Monster was quite terrific enough looking before, +like the slimy black head of something huge coming out of the water. +Now it looks as if it had opened a cavernous maw” (I’m +sure he nabbed that from some book) “as black as ink, ready to +swallow any unfortunate mariner which came near. Below the base of +this fearsome hole roars the cruel surf, ready to engulf a boat +which would never be seen more if it was once caught in this deadly +eddy.” +</blockquote> + +<p>I thought “deadly eddy” sounded like Illiteration, or +something you shouldn’t do, in the Rhetoric Books, but Jerry +was much excited over his description. He sat on top of a rock, +pointing out at the Sea Monster like a prophet. He has quite black +hair which blows around wildly, and he looked very strange sitting +up there raving about the cavern. The letter was very long by the +time we’d put in everything, and we hoped the Bottle Man would +like it. Just before we signed it, I said:</p> + +<a name="fig2"></a> +<div class="figure"><img src="images/image2.png" alt="We hoped the +Bottle Man would like the letter" /></div> + +<p>“Do you think we’d better tell him I’m really +Christine and not Christopher?”</p> + +<p>“<i>No</i>,” Jerry said; “put Chris, the way +you did before. He’s writing now as man to man. He might be +disgusted if he knew it was just a mere female.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>thank</i> you,” I said; but I did put +“Chris,” on account of our all being fellow +castaways.</p> + +<p>When we’d finished the letter we walked a long way down the +other shore toward the Fort. The wind was blowing right, and we +could hear bits of what the band was playing and now and then +peppery sounds from the rifle practice. It’s not a very big +fort, but it squats on the other side of Wecanicut, watching the +bay, and real cannon stick out at loopholes in the wall. The ferry +really only goes to Wecanicut on account of the Fort, because +there’s nothing else there but a few farm houses and some ugly +summer cottages near the ferry-slip. The point from which you see +the Monster is not near the Fort or the houses at all, and is much +the wildest part of Wecanicut. When you’re standing on the +very end you might think you really were on a deserted island, +because you can look straight out to sea.</p> + +<p>We cut back cross-country through the bay-bushes and the dry, +tickly grass to our usual part of Wecanicut, where the grown-ups +were just beginning to collect the baskets and things and to look at +their watches. We posted the letter on the way home, and Greg +jiggled the flap of the letter-box twice to make sure that it +wasn’t stuck.</p> + +<p>It was that week that Jerry sprained his ankle jumping off the +porch-roof and had to sit in the big wicker chair with his foot on a +pillow for days. He hated it, but he didn’t make any fuss at +all, which was decent of him considering that the weather was the +best we’d had all summer. We played chess, which he likes +because he can always beat me, and also “Pounce,” which +pulls your eyes out after a little while and burns holes in your +brain. It’s that frightful card game where you try to get rid +of thirteen cards before any one else, and snatch at aces in the +middle, on top of everybody. Jerry is horribly clever at it and +shouts “Pounce!” first almost every time. Greg always +has at least twelve of his thirteen cards left and explains to you +very carefully how he had it all planned very far ahead and would +have won if Jerry hadn’t said “Pounce” so +soon.</p> + +<p>Also, Father let Jerry play the ’cello, and he made +heavenly hideous sounds which he said were exactly like what the Sea +Monster’s voice would be if it had one. Just when we were all +rather despairing, because Dr. Topham said that Jerry mustn’t +walk for two days more, the very thing happened which we’d +been hoping for. Greg came up all the porch steps at once with one +bounce, brandishing a square envelope and shouting:</p> + +<p>“The Bottle Man!”</p> + +<p>It was addressed to all of us, but I turned it over to Jerry to +do the honors with, on account of his being a poor invalid and +Abused by Fate. He had the envelope open in two shakes, with the +complicated knife he always carries, and pulled out any amount of +paper. He stared at the top page for a minute, and then said:</p> + +<p>“Here, Greg, this is for you. You can be pawing over it +while we’re reading the proper one.”</p> + +<p>But I said, “Not so fast,” and “Let’s +hear it all, one at a time.”</p> + +<p>So I took Greg’s and read it aloud, because he takes such +an everlasting time over handwriting and this writing was rather +queer and hard to read. This is his letter:</p> </div> + +<blockquote> <p><i>Respected Comrade Gregory Holford:</i></p> + +<p>I am writing to you separately because you wrote to me +separately, and very much I liked your letter. I cannot tell you how +much relieved I am to hear that toast has been substituted for +barnacles in your diet. In the long run, toast is far better for a +mariner, however hardy he may be.</p> + +<p>It is indeed a long way from Wecanicut to the Equator,—but +are you sure you measured to ME.—<i>Mid</i> Equator? It is +very different, you know. The bearded one is pleased with me and has +not brought his poison bottles of late, but thank you for not +wanting me to die just now. I do not know of any treasure in Bluar +Boor, but I refer you to the enclosed letter which tells something +of treasure elsewhere. I hope your search on Wecanicut, my dear sir, +will be richly rewarded.</p> + +<p>Please note that I refer to <i>natives</i>, not <i>savages</i>. +There is a vasty difference; more than you perhaps might +suppose.</p> + +<p>May I inscribe myself your most humble servant,</p> + +<p align="right">THE BOTTLE MAN.</p> + +<p>P.S. I’m so glad your Bones are still where they +belong.</p> </blockquote> + +<div class="text"> <p>Greg was counting elaborately on his fingers, +and said:</p> + +<p>“I believe he answered <i>everything</i> in my letter, but +please let me have it, because there are some things I need to work +out myself.”</p> + +<p>“Now for the business,” Jerry said. “This must +be the whole sad story of his life,—there’s pages of it. +Coil yourself up comfortably, Chris, and I’ll fire +away.”</p> + +<p>So I coiled up beside Greg on the Gloucester hammock, and Jerry +began to read.</p> + +</div> +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<div class="text"> + + +<blockquote> <p class="first">From my desolate island refuge I salute the Intrepid +Trio! Good sirs, what you tell me of the “Sea Monster” +makes my flesh creep and my hair stir with terror. A murderous bad +place I should call it, and not one to trifle with. Yet it might +well be, as you think, that the sudden-appearing cavern is the mouth +of a pirate cave fairly bursting with treasure, and only now exposed +to the eyes of such daring adventurers as yourselves by a trick of +the elements. Strange things there be above and below the waters of +the world—which serves to remind me of a tale you might not +scorn to hear. You may take it or leave it, as you will, but at +least the penning of it will pass some of my hours of banishment in +a pleasant fashion.</p> + +<p>In the year of grace 18— (I shudder to think how long ago) +I was a bold youth of perhaps the age of the valiant +Christopher.</p> </blockquote> + +<p>Here Jerry paused to give a muffled hoot at me. I chucked a +hammock cushion at him, and he went on:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>My father’s house stood on a rambling street in an old +waterside town, and from the windows of my room I could see the +topmasts of sailing ships thrusting upward above gray roofs. Small +marvel that my head should be filled with the ways of the sea and +the wonder of it, or that I should spend long hours dreaming over +books that told of adventures thereon. It was over such a book that +I was poring one summer’s evening as I sat in the library +bow-window. The breeze from the harbor came in and stirred the +curtains beside my head, and brought with it the last westering +ripple of sunlight and a smell of climbing roses. The book had +dropped from my hand and I was well-nigh drowsing, when I saw, as +plain as day, the queerest figure possible clicking open our garden +gate. He looked to be some sort of South American +half-breed,—swart face under rough black hair, and striped +blanket gathered over dirty white trousers. Now I had seen many a +strange man disembark from ships, but, never such a one as this, and +when I saw that he was coming straight toward my window, I was half +tempted to make an escape.</p> + +<p>He leaned on the sill of the open casement with his dark face +just below mine and began to pour out, in halting English, a tale +which at first I had some trouble in understanding. The most that I +made of it was that he, and he alone, knew the whereabouts of a city +buried ages since under the sea and filled with treasure of an +unbelievable description. But you may imagine that even the hint of +such a thing was enough to set me all athrill, and I was not greatly +surprised at myself when I found that I was following the queer, +slinking figure down our bare little New England street.</p> + +<p>He led me to a ship, an old brigantine heavy with age and +barnacles and hung about with the sorriest gray rags of canvas that +ever did duty for sails. No wonder that nine days out we lost our +fore tops’l. But stay; I fear I go too fast! For you must know +that I went aboard that brigantine, and once aboard I could not go +ashore again, partly because the strange, ill-assorted crew detained +me at every turn, and partly because the longing was so strong upon +me to see the things I had read of so often. And that night found me +still upon the vessel, nosing down to the harbor light, with the +lamps of my father’s house winking less and less brightly on +the dim shore astern.</p> + +<p>Well, sirs, it would weary you to tell much of that voyage, and +besides, many’s the time you yourselves must have weathered +the Horn. For it was ’round Cape Stiff we went—no Panama +Canal in those days—and I served a bitter apprenticeship on +ice-coated yards, clutching numbly at battering sails frozen stiff +as iron. It was Peru we were bound for,—Peru where the +submarine city lay beneath uncounted fathoms waiting for us. The +captain and I were the only ones Acuma, the half-breed, had taken +into his confidence; all the others sailed on a blind errand, +trusting to the skipper, who was a shrewd man and severe. And the +brigantine wallowed around the Cape and toiled on and on up the +coast, and every day Acuma grew more restless; every day he cast +about the water with eyes that seemed to pierce to the very bottom +of the Pacific.</p> + +<p>One day of blue sky and little breeze, when we were pushing the +brigantine with all sails set, Acuma flung himself at a bound to the +quarterdeck, and a moment later the skipper shouted quick orders +that the crew could not understand for the life of them. For to +heave the ship to, just when we all had been whistling for enough +breeze to give her something more than steerage way, seemed nothing +short of insane. Acuma climbed to the maintop and looked at the +coast of Peru with a telescope, and the captain took bearings with +his instruments.</p> + +<p>It was Acuma and I who went over the side in diving suits, for no +others save the captain knew what we sought, as I have said. Down I +went and down, with the weight of water crushing ever more strongly +against me, till I stood upon the sea’s floor. That in itself +was quite wonderful enough—the green whiteness of the sand and +the strange, multi-colored forest of weed and coral through which my +searchlight bored a single, luminous pathway. But right ahead, +looming and wavering, seen for an instant, lost again when a deep +vibration stirred and swayed the water, shone the faintly golden +shape of a great portal. Acuma I had lost sight of, but I had no +need to ask him what lay before me. The wild pounding of my heart +told me that I stood at the gateway of the city that had been +covered a thousand thousand years ago by the unheeding sea. Leaning +at an angle against the tide, I struggled forward till the great +gate towered above me, its arch half lost in the green, swimming +shadow of the water. But as I flashed my light up across its +pillars, it answered with the shifting sparkle of gems crusted thick +upon it.</p> + +<p>I walked then, breathless, into a street paved with rough silver +ingots, each one surely weighing a quintal, between tremulous shapes +of buildings which pointed lustrous towers upward through fathoms of +green water. It was many minutes before I dared enter one of those +great silent halls. Dragging my heavy leaden-soled boots, I pushed +through a shapely silver doorway, and a fish darted past me as I +entered. Who could imagine the wonder of that vast room! The mosaic +that covered the walls and ceilings was of gold and jewels, not +porphyry and serpentine, such as delight the wondering visitor to +Venice, but precious stones—rubies, sapphires, emeralds, +amethysts as richly purple as grape clusters, topaz as clear and +mellow as honey.</p> + +<p>Behind a traceried grillwork lay heaped a mound of treasures such +as no human eye will ever see again. I lifted a little tree +fashioned all of gold,—each leaf wrought of the +metal—and strung with jewelled fruits on which ruby-eyed +golden birds fed. In despairing rapture I clutched after a neck +ornament hung with pendulous pearls as large as plums. But as I +reached for it, I felt that something was looking at me from the +corner. Not Acuma; no human being was in sight. Peering out through +the glass visor of my helmet, I saw fixed on me from low down beside +the doorway two inky, moveless eyes as large as saucers. They were +not human eyes, nor did they belong to any sea creature I had ever +beheld or read of. They were round and fixed, pools of bottomless +blackness, staring at me through two varas of clear, swaying water. +I took an uncertain step backwards, and as I did so I felt something +soft and heavy laid slowly and slimily upon my shoulder....</p> + +<p>Ah me, here is an interruption! A native child approaches, +bearing as an offering a Lol Ipop (one of the native fruits). Just +before he reaches me he falls face down, doubtless out of respect +for my gray hairs, and, on arising, proffers me the Lol Ipop, now +coated with sand. In this state I am expected to eat it, and, being +in great awe and fear of the inhabitants, I proceed to do so, which +incapacitates me for further epistolatory effort.</p> + +<p>So, till I recover from the effects of my enforced meal, believe +me your devoted correspondent,</p> + +<p align="right">THE BOTTLE MAN.</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + +<div class = "text"> +<p>“Well, of all mean tricks!” Jerry said.</p> + +<p>“It’s worse than a continued story,” I said. +“Bother the horrid native child! Do you suppose that’s +really why he stopped?”</p> + +<p>“Probably not; he knew it was the excitingest place to +stop. What did I tell you about his being ancient? Now he +<i>says</i> he has gray hairs, so that proves it.”</p> + +<p>“I should think he might,” I said, “after such +experiences. What do you think it could have been that stared at +him?”</p> + +<p>“An octopus, most likely,” Jerry said. “They +have goggly black eyes; I’ve read it.”</p> + +<p>“But he said he’d never seen such eyes on any sea +beast he knew of, and he’s read as much as you have; +that’s sure.”</p> + +<p>“That treasure! Oh, my eye!” Jerry sighed. “Do +you suppose he brought home hunks of it?”</p> + +<p>“Just the same hunks that we dig up on Wecanicut, I +suppose,” I said.</p> + +<p>“You mean you think he’s making up the whole +yarn?” Jerry asked. “Well, even if he is, it’s a +mighty good one, and it might have happened to him, at +that.”</p> + +<p>Greg looked up suddenly from beside me, and said:</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> think the thing what stared at him was a +mer-person.”</p> + +<p>“My child,” said Jerry, “I believe you’re +right.”</p> +</div> +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<div class="text"> +<p class="first"> Next day Jerry was well enough to walk around with +a cane, and when he’d broken Father’s second-best +malacca stick by vaulting over the box border with it, we decided +that he was quite all right, and the summer went on again as usual. +Of course we wrote to the Bottle Man at once, and told him, as +respectfully as we could, just what we thought of him for letting +the native child interrupt him in such an exciting part. We also +begged him to write again as soon as possible, and to choose a place +where the inhabitants weren’t likely to come with offerings. +We kept waiting and waiting, and no letter came, so we settled +ourselves to Grim Resignation, as Jerry said. It was worse than +waiting for the next number of a serial story, because you’re +pretty certain when that will come, but we had no idea how long it +would be before the Bottle Man wrote to us.</p> + +<p>Aunt Ailsa still needed cheering up a good deal, and that kept us +busy. The cheering was great fun for us, because it consisted mostly +of picnics and long, long walks,—the kind where you take a +stick and a kit-bag and eat your lunch under a hedge, like a tinker. +We also wrote a story which we used to put in instalments under her +plate at breakfast every other day. We took turns writing the story, +and Greg’s instalments always made Aunt Ailsa the most cheered +up of all. The story was much too long to put in here, and rather +ridiculous, besides.</p> + +<p>By this time it was almost September, and asters were beginning +to bloom in the garden and the hollyhocks were almost gone. +Wecanicut was turning the dry, russetty color that it does late in +the summer, and the harbor seemed bluer every day. Captain Moss took +us out in the <i>Jolly Nancy</i> one afternoon just for +kindness—we didn’t hire her at all. She is a +sixteen-footer and quite fast, in spite of being rather broad in the +beam. He let each of us steer her and told us a great many names of +things on her, which I forgot immediately. Jerry always remembers +things like that and can talk about reef-cringles and topping-lift +as if he really knew what they were for. We went quite far out and +saw the Sea Monster from a different side in the distance, and +tacked down to the other end of Wecanicut under the Fort guns.</p> + +<p>It was when we got in from the gorgeous sail, with Greg carrying +the little basket all made of twisted-up rope Captain Moss had done +for him, that we found a big, square envelope lying on the hall +table. And, to our despair, supper was just ready and we +couldn’t read the letter till afterward. Supper was good, I +must admit,—baked eggs, all crusty and buttery on top, and +muffins, and cherry jam. We ate hugely, because of the <i>Jolly +Nancy</i> making us so hungry.</p> + +<p>When we’d finished we went into Father’s study, where +he wasn’t, and turned on the desk-light and got at the letter. +I read it, while the boys crouched about expectantly. Here it +is:</p> +</div> + +<blockquote> + +<p><i>Dear Comrades</i>:</p> + +<p>I should have answered your frantic appeals for news of me long +since, had I not been slavishly occupied in carrying out the demands +of the Man of Torture from whom I am now completely released, +praises be. I am even contemplating escape from Bluar Boor by +stealth. But no doubt you have no desire for these modern details +and are all agog to find out whether or not I met a wretched death +at the bottom of the sea. I think you left me—or I left +you—with a soft and hideous something resting upon my +shoulder.</p> + +<p>Sirs, it was a Hand, a webbed hand, and turning, I looked +straight down into another pair of flat dark eyes. They belonged to +a creature not as tall as I, and certainly not human in shape. Arms +and legs it had, of a sort, and scales, also, and finny spines, and +a soft slimy body. Then, through the door which led to the silver +street, I saw more of the creatures, and more,—a soft, +hurrying crowd patting over the ingot blocks which paved the road, +peering in at the door, beckoning with webby fingers.</p> + +<p>My helmet smothered the cry I gave as I struggled against the +horrible resistance of the water toward the door. Out in the street +the mer-crowd surrounded me, fingered my arms, looking at me with +unfathomable, disc-like eyes, black as ink. With dawning +comprehension it came over me that these creatures inhabited the +desolate, sea-filled city, lived in the mighty golden halls that +once had echoed to the footsteps of Peruvian kings, fared about the +rich streets where coral now grew instead of tree and flower.</p> + +<p>The things were speechless, with no seeming means of +communication, and I saw, too, that they could not leave the +sea-bottom, but walked upon it as we do upon earth, and could no +more rise than we can leap into the air and swim upon it. I tried to +push my difficult way through the clinging swarm, who seemed +friendly enough in a weird, inhuman way, but I could not pass +through. Dimly through the swinging water I could see others coming +from every carven doorway down the silent street. I thought then of +the weights attached to me, and I decided to cut them loose at once +and rise from the ghostly place, of which I had seen quite enough to +suit me. But I determined to take with me at least one thing from +the vast mounds of treasure which held me breathless with utter +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>So I turned and with my long knife began prying from its doorway +a ruby as large as my fist. Instantly, without warning, the creature +nearest me raised its scaly hand in a flinging gesture, and I felt a +hot and rushing pain just above my right elbow. I felt, too, a +coldness of water spurting down my arm and clutched wildly at the +sleeve of my diving-suit to seal the little hole which I saw in it. +Holding it tightly with my left hand, I slashed with my right at the +creatures who were now moving upon me menacingly, pressing me close. +If they forced me back into the doorway, all hope would be gone. I +cut desperately at the fastenings that secured the weights; felt +myself rising; felt my legs pull out from the clinging, slimy arms; +looked down at them—a sea of bobbing smooth heads, of round, +expressionless, black eyes; saw them waving their tentacle-like arms +in fury; saw at last the dim, golden crest of the tallest tower +below my feet; burst above the blessed sea-level and saw good blue +waves slapping the bow of the brigantine drifting lazily down toward +me.</p> + +<p>I know nothing of the voyage home. I must have been poisoned by +the missile, whatever it was, that the sea-creature flung at me. (I +bear the scar to this day.) For I have no recollection of much more, +until I sat in the library bow-window of my father’s house, +very tired and stiff and thoroughly thankful that the voyage was +over. It was dark, and my mother sat sewing beside a shaded lamp and +singing to herself. I fingered the book that lay beside me, on the +window-seat, and said:</p> + +<p>“Mother, did you keep the book just here all the time I was +gone because you were sorry I went and wanted to remember +me?”</p> + +<p>She laughed, and said: “Yes, all the time while you were +sailing to the Port of Stars. Come now to supper, my +dear.”</p> + +<p>So I got up very stiffly, for I felt weak and dizzy still, and +went with her. I said:</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Mother, that after all I couldn’t +bring you any of the jewels.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon she laughed again and said something about +“Cornelia” which I am too modest to repeat, but which, +being scholars, you will know by heart, and said that she was glad +enough to have me back at all.</p> + +<p>Sirs, you cannot think how beautiful our little dining-room +looked to me, with the old brass-handled highboy in the corner and +the pots of flowers on the sill—far more beautiful than the +fretted golden towers and gem-girdled walls of the City under the +Sea.</p> + +<p>So take my advice, young sirs, the advice of a man many years +older than you bold young blades: don’t you ever go listening +to a half-breed Peruvian that comes slinking to your window, no +matter how enticing may be his tales of treasure.</p> + + +<p align="right"> +Your most faithful +</p> + + +<p align="right">BOTTLE MAN.</p> + + +</blockquote> +<div class="text"> +<p>“<i>Do</i> you think he dreamed it?” Jerry said.</p> + +<p>“Whatever it was, he must have been glad to get +back,” I said, switching off the light so that we could talk +in the dark, which is more creepy and pleasant.</p> + +<p>“But the treasure!” Jerry said. “Do you suppose +there ever was such treasure in the world? That’s something +like! Imagine finding gold trees and birds eating jewels on the Sea +Monster! By the way, do you know about +‘Cornelia’?”</p> + +<p>I said I thought she had something to do with sitting on a hill +and her children turning to stone one after the other, but Jerry +said that was Niobe and that it was she who turned to stone, not the +children. He has a fearfully long memory. So we put on the light +again and looked it up in “The Reader’s Handbook,” +because we didn’t want to bother the grown-ups, and we found, +of course, that she was the Roman lady who pointed at her sons and +said, “These are my jewels!” when somebody asked her +where her gold and ornaments were. So naturally the Bottle Man +didn’t feel like repeating such a complimentary thing, being +an un-stuck-up person, but we did think it was nice of his +mother.</p> + +<p>We put away the “Handbook” and made the room dark +again and were arguing over all the exciting places in the Bottle +Man’s story, when Greg spoke up suddenly from the corner where +we’d almost forgotten him.</p> + +<p>“If <i>I</i> found a thing like those mer-persons,” +he said drowsily, “I wouldn’t let it bite me. I’d +keep it in the bath-tub and teach it how to do things.”</p> + +<p>“Like your precious toad, I suppose,” said Jerry. +“Don’t be idiotic.”</p> + +<p>So we all went to bed, and I, for one, dreamed about all kinds of +glittering treasures and heaps of jewels each as big as your hat, +and of our nice old Bottle Man, with his long white beard flowing in +the wind.</p> +</div> + +<p class="centre"> * + * + * * + *</p> <br /> <p class="text">And +now comes the perfectly awful part.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<div class="text"> + +<p class="first">I must say at the beginning that it was all my +fault. Jerry says that it was just as much his, but it wasn’t, +because I’m the oldest and I ought to have known better. To +begin with, Father had to go to New York to give a talk at the +American Architects’ League, or something, and Mother decided +to go with him. At the last minute Aunt Ailsa got a weekend +invitation from somebody she hadn’t seen for ages and went +away, too, which left us alone with Katy and Lena. Katy has been +with us next to forever and took care of Jerry and Greg when they +were Infant Babes, so that Mother never imagined, of course, that +anything could happen in two days. It wasn’t Katy’s +fault either. </p> + + +<p>The first day was foggy, and the garden dripped, so we went down +to call on Captain Moss, who lives near the ferry-landing. Besides +having boats for hire, he sells such things as fishing-tackle and +very strong-smelling rope, and sometimes salt herring on a stick. +The things he sells are all mixed up with parts of his own boats and +pieces of canvas and rope-ends, and curly shavings that skitter +across the floor when the wind blows in from the harbor. There is a +window at one end of his shop-place that goes all the way to the +floor, like a doorway, and it is always open. His shop is half on +the ferry-wharf so that the window hangs right over the water, very +high above it. It is quite a dizzyish place, but wonderful to look +out at. Far away you see boats coming in, and Wecanicut all flat and +gray, and then right below is nice sloshy green water with old boxes +and straws floating by, and sometimes horrid orange-peels that +picnic people throw in.</p> + +<p>That afternoon Captain Moss was mending the stern of one of his +boats, and when we asked him what he was fitting on, he said: +“Rudder-gudgeons.”</p> + +<p>He grunted it out so funnily that it sounded just like some queer +old flounder trying to talk, and we thought he was joking. But he +wasn’t at all. Sometimes he is very nice and tells us the +longest yarns about when he shipped on a whaler, but this time he +was busy and the rudder-gudgeons didn’t behave right, I think, +so he let us do all the talking. We told him a good deal about the +bottle, and also something about the city under the sea. He said he +shouldn’t wonder at it, for there was powerful curious things +under the sea. He also said he supposed now we’d be wanting to +hire the <i>Jolly Nancy</i> “fer to find submarine cities, +sence he wouldn’t let us have her to go a-stavin’ in her +bottom on them rocks off Wecanicut.”</p> + +<p>We decided that he really didn’t want to be bothered, so we +went away presently. To soothe him, Jerry bought some of the dry +herring things and carried them home in a pasteboard box that said +“1/2 doz. galvanized line cleats. Extra quality” on the +lid. Lena cooked the herrings for supper, but I don’t think +she could have done it right, because they were quite horrid.</p> + +<p>The second day was the perfectly gorgeous kind that makes you +want to go off to seek your fortune or dance on top of a high hill +or do anything rather than stay at home, however nice your own +garden may be. We agreed about this at breakfast, and I said:</p> + +<p>“Let’s go to Wecanicut.”</p> + +<p>We’d never gone to Wecanicut alone, but I couldn’t +see any reason why we shouldn’t. Captain Lewis, on the ferry, +always watches over every one on board with a fatherly sort of eye, +and Wecanicut itself is a perfectly safe, mild place, without any +quicksands or tigers or anything that Mother would object to.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what,” Jerry said, “let’s +make it a real adventure and take some costumes along. We never had +any proper ones there before.”</p> + +<p>I thought this was a rather good idea, and after breakfast we +went up to select things that wouldn’t be too bothersome to +carry, from the Property Basket.</p> + +<p>“Is it to be pirates or smugglers or what?” Greg +asked, poking in the corner where he keeps his own special rigs.</p> + +<p>“Explorers, my fine fellow,” Jerry said, +“exploring after a submerged city.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” Greg said, evidently changing his ideas.</p> + +<p>Jerry and I went down to ask Katy to make us some lunch.</p> + +<p>“Just food; nothing careful,” Jerry explained.</p> + +<p>“What are ye goin’ to do with it?” Katy +asked.</p> + +<p>Jerry was all ready to say, “Eat it, of course,” but +I saw what Katy meant and said:</p> + +<p>“We’re going out; it’s such a nice day. We +thought we’d take our lunch with us to save Lena +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t get streelin’ off too far,” Katy +said, “Where are ye goin’?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, down by the shore,” I said, which was not quite +the whole truth, because of course it was not our shore, but the +shore of Wecanicut I meant. Yes, <i>all</i> of it was my fault.</p> + +<p>Just as we were putting the lunch into the kit-bag Greg came +staggering downstairs, trailing along the weirdest lot of stuff +he’d collected.</p> + +<p>“What on earth is all that?” Jerry asked him. +“Drop it and get your hat.”</p> + +<p>“It’s—my costume,” Greg explained, out of +breath from having dragged all the things down from the attic.</p> + +<p>“Glory!” Jerry said, “You don’t suppose +you’re going to lug all that rubbish on to the ferry, do you? +Not while <i>I’m</i> with you, my boy.”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t begin to put on half of it, +Gregs,” I said. “Let’s weed it out a +little.”</p> + +<p>“And look sharp about it,” Jerry said, +jingling the money for the ferry in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Greg finally took a Turkish fez thing, and a black-and-orange +sash, and a white brocade waistcoat that Father once had for a +masque ball ages ago. We hadn’t time to tell him that it was +no sort of outfit for an explorer, so we bundled the things up with +our own and stuffed them all into the kit-bag on top of the +lunch.</p> + +<p>Luke Street has a turn in it just beyond our house, so neither +Katy nor Lena could have seen which way we went; anyhow, I think +they were both in the back kitchen, which looks out on the +clothes-yard. I thought perhaps we should have told Katy where we +were going after all, but Jerry said:</p> + +<p>“Fiddlesticks, Chris; we’re not babies. I suppose +you’d like Katy to take us in a perambulator.”</p> + +<p>This was horrid of him, but he made up for everything later +on.</p> + +<p>Our Captain Lewis was not in the pilot-house of the +<i>Wecanicut</i>. Instead there was a strange captain, a scraggly, +cross-looking person, staring at a little book and not watching the +people who came on board, the way Captain Lewis does. Jerry and I +sat on campstools on the windy side, and Greg went to watch the +walking-beam, which he thinks will some day knock the top off its +house. It always stops and plunges down just when he thinks it +surely will forget and go smashing on up through the roof. He is +quite disappointed that it never does. It behaved perfectly properly +this time and paddled the old ferry-boat over to Wecanicut as +usual.</p> + +<p>We went up the hot little road that goes from the landing, and +then ran through a prickly, stony short-cut that leads among wild +rose-bushes and sweet fern to our part of the shore. There were tiny +little wavelets splashing over the rocks, and you couldn’t +think which was bluer—the sea or the sky. The first thing we +did was to bury our bottle of root-beer in a pool up to its neck and +mark the place with two white stones. This is something we have +learned by experience, for nothing is nastier than warm root-beer. +Then we put on the costumes and capered about a little. I had a +tight, striped football jersey, and my gym bloomers, and a black, +villainous-looking felt hat; and Jerry had a ruffle pinned on the +front of his shirt, and a wide belt with the big tinfoil-covered +buckle that Mother made for us once, and a felt hat fastened up on +the sides so that it looked like a real three-cornered one. Greg had +arrayed himself in his things, and he did look too absurd, +with more than a foot of the brocade waistcoat dangling below the +sash, the end of which trailed on the ground behind.</p> + +<p>It gave us a queer, wild feeling, being there without the +grown-ups, and we decided to tell them that as we’d proved we +could do it, we might go again. We never did tell them that, as it +happens.</p> + +<p>We all grew hungry so soon that we had lunch much earlier than +the grown-ups would have had it. The food Katy had fixed was +wonderful, though rather squashed on account of all the costumes +being on top of it in the kit-bag. While we ate we organized the +Submerged-City-Seeking-Expedition. Jerry was “Terry +Loganshaw,” in charge of the party, and I was +“Christopher Hole, shipmaster,” and Greg was +“Baroo, the Madagascar cabin-boy,” because we +couldn’t think of what else he could be, with such +clothes.</p> + +<p>We tidied up all the picnic things so that there was nothing +left, and put the root-beer bottle into the kit-bag, because it was +a good one with a patent top. The kit-bag we took with us for +duffle, and we set off for the point. We went by the longest way we +could think of, to make it seem like a real +expedition,—’cross country and back again. Jerry led us +through the scratchy, overgrown part of Wecanicut, and we pretended +that it was a long, weary <i>trek</i> through the most poisonous +jungles to the coast of Peru; and when Greg walked right into a +spider’s web with a huge yellow spider gloating in the middle +of it, he said he’d been bitten by a tarantula. We told him +that we should have to leave him there to die, for we must press on +to the sea, but he cured himself by eating a magic sweet-fern leaf +and came running after us, tripping over his sash. The +<i>trekking</i> took a long time, and when we reached the end of the +point we were quite exhausted and flung our weary frames down on the +tropic sand to rest. All at once Jerry clutched my arm and said:</p> + +<p>“Look yonder, Hole! Does not yon strange form appear to you +like the topper-most minaret of a sunken tower?”</p> + +<p>He was pointing at the Sea Monster, and it really did look much +more like a rough sort of dome than a monster’s head. There +was a lot of haze in the air, which made it look bluish and +mysterious instead of rocky.</p> + +<p>“It do indeed, sir,” I said. “Could it be that +city we be seeking?”</p> + +<p>“Would that we had a boat!” said Greg, which might +have been quite proper if he’d been somebody else, instead of +Baroo.</p> + +<p>We’d been sprawling on the sand again for quite a while, +when Jerry suddenly jumped up and shouted:</p> + +<p>“Glory! Look, Chris!” not at all like Terry +Loganshaw.</p> + +<p>I did look, and saw what he had seen. It was an empty boat, a +sort of dinghy, bobbing and butting along beside the rocks a little +way down the shore. We all ran helter-skelter, and Jerry pulled off +his shoes like a flash and waded out and pulled the boat in.</p> + +<p>“It’s one of those old tubs from around the +ferry-landing,” he said. “It must have got adrift and +come down with the tide. Oars in it and all.”</p> + +<p>We stood there silently, Jerry in the water holding the boat, and +we were all thinking the same thing. It was Greg who said it first, +quite solemnly.</p> + +<p>“We could go out to the Sea Monster.”</p> + +<p>Of course it was then that I ought to have said that we +couldn’t, but Jerry pulled the boat up the beach and ran back +to the end of the point to see how high the waves were before I +could say it. It was too late to say it afterwards, because when we +saw that there was not even the faintest curl of white foam around +the Sea Monster, it did seem as though we could do it.</p> + +<p>“It’ll only take about five minutes to row out +there,” Jerry said, “and then we’ll have seen it +at last. It couldn’t be a better time. Why, a newly hatched +duckling could swim out there to-day.”</p> + +<p>It did look very near, and the water was calm and shiny, with +just a long, heaving roll now and then, as if something underneath +were humping its shoulders.</p> + +<p>So I said, “All right; let’s,” and we climbed +into the boat. Jerry rows very well, and he pulled both the oars +while I bailed with an old tin can that I found under the stern +thwart. The boat didn’t leak badly enough to worry about, but +I thought it might be just as well to keep it bailed. We talked in a +very nautical way, though Jerry kept forgetting he was Terry +Loganshaw and mixing up “Treasure Island” and Captain +Moss. But I didn’t feel so much like being Chris Hole, anyway, +even to please the boys, and I didn’t say much.</p> + +<p>The Sea Monster was much further away than you might suppose. +When there was ever so much smooth, swelling water between us and +Wecanicut, the Monster’s head still seemed almost as far away +as before. Somehow the water looked very deep, although you +couldn’t see down into it, and it humped itself under the +boat.</p> +</div> +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> +<div class="text"> +<p class="first">Presently Wecanicut began to drop further away, and +then the Sea Monster loomed up suddenly right over us, and Jerry had +to fend the boat off with an oar. We had never guessed how big the +thing really was,—not big at all for an island, but very large +for a bare, off-shore rock. I should say that it was just about the +bigness of an ordinary house, and very black and beetling, with not +a spear of grass or anything on it. When Jerry said, “My +stars, <i>what</i> a weird place!” his voice went booming and +rumbling in among the rocks, and a lot of gulls flew up suddenly, +flapping and shrieking. He held the boat up against the edge of a +rock while Greg and I got out. We took the kit-bag ashore, and Jerry +made the boat fast by putting a big piece of stone on top of the +rope. There was nothing like a beach or even a shelving rock to pull +it up on, so that was the best we could do. The boat backed away as +far as it could, but the rope was firmly wedged between the rock and +the stone so it couldn’t get away.</p> + +<p>Of course we went first to look at the black cave-entrance. Sure +enough, a great flat slab had fallen down from it and lay half in +the water,—we could see scratchy marks and broken places where +it had slid. The cave itself was about six feet deep, and very dank +and dismal-looking. There was no sign of there ever having been +treasure, for nobody could possibly have buried it, unless +they’d hewn places in the living rock, like ancient Egyptians. +We might have thought of that before, but of course we didn’t +honestly believe that there was treasure. Somehow the Sea Monster +didn’t seem nearly so jolly and exciting as it had from +Wecanicut. It was so real and big, and whenever a wave came in, it +boomed and echoed under the hanging-over rocks. We climbed around to +the other side and went up on top of the highest place, which was +about three times as high as I am. From there we could see the +Headland, very far away and blue, and Wecanicut behind us, safe and +green and friendly-looking, but a long way off; and nothing else but +a smeary line of smoke from a steamer at sea.</p> + +<p>“We named this place well,” I said; “it +<i>is</i> a Monster.”</p> + +<p>“Brrrr, hear it roar!” Jerry said. “The waves +must be bigger, or something. There weren’t any when we came +out.”</p> + +<p>We looked down and saw that the water was behaving differently. +Instead of being smooth and rolling, there was a skitter of sharp +ripples all over it, and the waves went <i>slap</i> and frothed +white when they hit the rock. The sky had changed, too. It was not +so blue, and there were switchy mares’ tails across it, and +the wind was blowing from Wecanicut, instead of toward it.</p> + +<p>“We’d better start back,” I said. +“I’m afraid we’ll be late for the next ferry, as +it is, and Father and Mother will be home on the six o’clock +train.”</p> + +<p>“Whew!” said Jerry, “I’d forgotten that. +It’s latish already, judging by the sun. Come along, Greg, and +loop up your sash so you won’t fall off this beast.”</p> + +<p>It <i>was</i> latish. The sun was quite low, and we saw that the +Sea Monster threw a long, queer shadow on the water, as if the sea +had been land. We hurried along to the boat, Jerry ahead.</p> + +<p>“She’s all right,” he shouted, turning +around.</p> + +<p>When he turned back he made a sort of wild spring that I +didn’t understand at first. Then I saw the stone we had put +over the rope rolling off the rock,—joggled off by the +boat’s pulling harder when a wave lifted it. The stone rolled +in cornery bounces, with a dull noise, and the rope slipped after it +slowly. I thought Jerry would be in time. I couldn’t believe +that I really saw the rope floating its whole length on the water, +dry at first, then darkening wetly.</p> + +<p>“Hang on, Chris!” Jerry said. “I can get +it.”</p> <a name="fig3"></a> <div class="figure"><img +src="images/image3.png" alt="“Hang on, Chris!” Jerry +said." /></div> + +<p>I caught his hand, and he snatched after the rope. But he plunged +wildly, nearly pulling me in, and scrambled up at once with one leg +wet to the hip.</p> + +<p>“There’s no bottom at all,” he said queerly. +“I believe the thing rises straight out of the sea.”</p> + +<p>By that time the boat was ten feet away from the Monster. It +circled once, very quietly, as if it were trying to decide which way +to go, and then it drifted gently away toward the sea, with the rope +trailing along like a snake swimming beside it.</p> + +<p>We stood there looking at the boat until it faded to a hazy +speck, and by that time the sun was really low. I don’t think +Greg altogether realized what had happened. We’d played at +being marooned so often that I suppose he didn’t quite see +that this was different.</p> + +<p>I hope that I shall never, never forget, as long as I live, what +a brick Jerry was through the whole of that nightmarish thing. I +know I never shall.</p> + +<p>“Chris,” he said, “you stay on this side. +I’ll go around to the Headland side. Greg, you climb up on +top. If any of us sees a boat near enough to do any good, call the +others, and we’ll all yell and wave things.”</p> + +<p>I’d never heard his voice so commanding, even in plays. He +still had on the cocked hat, and it looked very strange indeed. We +scattered as he ordered, and when the others had gone, I remembered +that Greg had on slippery-soled shoes instead of sneakers, which we +usually wear. I thought of calling after him to be careful, but he +never was a falling-down sort of person, even as a baby. I hoped, +too, that he would have sense enough to loop up that sash or take it +off entirely.</p> + + <p>I sat on the Wecanicut side and stared at the shore and the + water till my eyes ached. More and more wind was blowing all the + time, straight from Wecanicut. It blew so hard in my face that my + eyes watered and I couldn’t be sure whether or not I did see + boats. In books, people think of all their past sins when + they’re in perilous positions, but all I could think of was + that a boat <i>must</i> come before dark. I did think of how much + it all was my fault, but that was not far enough in the past to + count. Presently Jerry came back and said that if we moved a little + toward each other we could see just as much of the bay and consult + at the same time. So we did, and sat down not very far apart. + <i>I</i> said that I supposed we ought to change off with Greg, + because it was horrid lonely up there, but Jerry said:</p> + +<p>“Nonsense; he likes to be alone. He’s probably +pretending he’s the King of the Cannibal Isle, or something, +and not worrying a bit.”</p> + +<p>“I was looking us up in the dictionary the other +day,” I said, trying to forget the Sea Monster for a minute, +“and <i>Gregory</i> means ‘watchful, +vigilant’.”</p> + +<p>“Now’s the first time he’s ever lived up to his +name, then,” said Jerry. “Keep looking, Chris, and +don’t moon about.”</p> + +<p>We sat there for quite a long time without saying anything, and +the last little golden sliver of sun disappeared behind the point, +and the lighthouse on the Headland came out suddenly, though it was +still quite light, and began to wink—two long flashes and two +short ones.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it queer,” Jerry said, “to think +that people are there and we can’t possibly tell +them.”</p> + +<p>“It’s worse than queer,” I said.</p> + +<p>Then we were still again, till presently Jerry said:</p> + +<p>“Do you hear that funny noise, Chris?”</p> + +<p>I had been listening to it just then, and said “Yes” +and that I supposed it was the horrid noise the water made around on +the other side. For quite a time we didn’t hear it, and then +Jerry said:</p> + +<p>“There it is again! The water must suck into those echoey +hollows. It sounds almost like a person groaning.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” I said.</p> + +<p>All at once he turned toward me and said in a queer, quick +voice:</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose it could possibly be Greg?”</p> + +<p>I can’t describe the way I felt when he said it, but if +you’ve ever felt the same you know what I mean. It was a +little as though something heavy dropped from my throat down to my +toes, through me, leaving me all empty, with cold, tingly things +rushing up again to my head. They were still rushing as we flew +around the rock, and I kept saying:</p> + +<p>“It can’t be Greg.... It <i>can’t</i> +be....”</p> + +<p>But it was.</p> + +<p>He was lying doubled up, just below the high place where Jerry +had told him to keep watch. We didn’t dare to touch him, +because we didn’t know how badly he was hurt, and he +couldn’t seem to tell us. But when I tried to put my arm under +him, he pushed me a little and said, “No, no,” so I +stopped. Then I saw that his right arm was twisted under him +horridly and that his shoulder looked all wrong. I touched it very +gently and asked him if it was that, and he said, “Yes; +don’t!” We had to get him out somehow from that jaggedy +place in the rocks where he was lying. So Jerry got him under the +arm that wasn’t hurt, and I took his legs, and we hauled him +to a flattish part of the rock.</p> + +<p>I pulled off the football jersey and put it under him, and Jerry +ran back to get my skirt, which I’d put in the kit-bag when we +fixed our costumes. Just after Jerry had gone something dreadful +happened. Quite suddenly Greg seemed to shrink smaller, and his face +grew rather greenish and not at all like his, and his hand was +perfectly cold when I snatched it. I suppose he’d fainted from +our carrying him so stupidly, but I’d never seen anybody do it +before and I didn’t know that was the way it looked. I’d +never heard of people dying from hurting their arms, but I thought +that perhaps he was hurt somewhere else that we didn’t know +about. But by the time Jerry came back with the skirt Greg had +opened his eyes and looked at me a little like himself. There is a +book in our medicine cupboard at home called, “Hints on First +Aid.” Jerry and I used to like to look at it, and Father +said:</p> + +<p>“Go ahead; you may need it some day.” But neither of +us could remember anything that was at all useful now. I could +plainly see the picture of some queerly-drawn hands doing a +“Spanish Windlass,” but that wouldn’t have done +poor Greg any good at all. Jerry did remember that you ought to cut +people’s clothes and not try to take them off in the ordinary +way, so he took out his knife and ripped up the sleeve of +Greg’s jumper and the shoulder-seam of the white brocaded +waistcoat. I don’t see how people can stand being Red Cross +nurses in France, for I’m sure I never could be one. +Greg’s shoulder was quite awful,—what we could see, for +it was almost dark now. There was nothing at all we dared to do. We +couldn’t even bathe it, for there was only sea-water, so I +just sat and held Greg’s other hand and patted it. He +didn’t cry,—I think the hurting was too bad for +that,—but he moaned a little, and sometimes he said, +“Hurts, Chris.”</p> + +<p>I tried to tell him a story, the way I did when we all had the +measles and he was so much sicker than the rest of us, but he +couldn’t listen. So we just sat there in the dark—it was +perfectly dark now and we couldn’t see one another at +all—and I began to count the flashes of the Headland +light—two long and two short, two long and two +short—till I thought I should scream. Suddenly Jerry said:</p> + +<p>“Are you hungry, Chris?”</p> + +<p>I said that I wasn’t, and asked him if he was. But he +said:</p> + +<p>“No, not very.”</p> + +<p>There were real waves on the Wecanicut side of the Monster now, +and the wind was still blowing from that direction harder than ever. +Now and then a drop of spray would flick my cheek, and I think the +sound of the wind around the rock was really more horrid than the +noise the water made. It seemed like midnight, but it was really +quite early in the evening, when Jerry saw the lights bobbing along +the shore of Wecanicut. They were lanterns, two of them, and they +stopped quite often, as if the people were looking for something. +For a minute I couldn’t even move. Then I scrambled and slid +after Jerry to the place on the Monster that most nearly faced the +Wecanicut point. I don’t think Greg really knew we’d +left him; at least he didn’t make a sound.</p> + +<p>The lanterns swung and bobbed nearer till they almost reached the +point, and we could hear faint shouts. Jerry and I braced our feet +against the slimy rocks and shrieked into the dark, and the wind +rushed down our throats and burned them. We could hear the people +quite clearly now.</p> + +<p>“It’s Father’s voice,” Jerry said. +“Oh, Chris, the wind is dead against us. <i>Now</i> for +it!”</p> + +<p>I’d always thought Jerry could shout louder than any boy I +ever heard, but you can’t imagine how high and thin both our +voices sounded out there on the Sea Monster. We heard Father’s +voice quite distinctly:</p> + +<p>“Chris-ti-ine ... Jer-r-r-y ... ti-in-e!”</p> + +<p>We shouted till our chests felt scraped raw, the way you feel +when you’ve run too hard, and the wind tore our voices +straight out to sea, away from Wecanicut. The lanterns stood quite +still for a minute more, and then they bobbed away. At first I +didn’t believe that they were really growing smaller and +smaller. But they were, and at last they were gone entirely, far +down the shore.</p> + +<p>“Are you crying, Chris?” Jerry said suddenly, in a +queer, wheezy voice. He’d been shouting even harder than I +had.</p> + +<p>“I think not,” I said, and my own voice was very +strange indeed.</p> + +<p>Jerry whacked me hard on the back, and said:</p> + +<p>“Good old Chris! <i>Good</i> old Chris!”</p> + +<p>The shore of Wecanicut was so black that we might have dreamed +the lanterns, but I still could hear the way Father’s own +voice had sounded, calling “Chris-ti-ine!” We almost +stumbled over Greg when we crawled back to him, and he said: +“Can we go home now, Chris?”</p> + +<p>The wind gnashed around in a spiteful kind of way, and Jerry +touched my hand suddenly and said: “Chris, it’s +raining.” </p> +</div> + +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> +<div class="text"> + +<p class="first">It <i>was</i> raining,—big cold splashes that +came faster and faster. I felt my blouse stick coldly to my shoulder +in the places where it was wet.</p> + +<p>“We <i>can’t</i> let Greg lie there and have it rain +on him,” I said.</p> + +<p>Jerry and I thought of the pirate cave at the same moment, but we +didn’t see how we could possibly carry Greg to it in the dark. +We thought that as it wasn’t his legs that were hurt he might +be able to walk there, if we helped him. He was very brave and quite +willing to try, though a little dazed about why we wanted him to, +but when we stood him carefully on his feet, he said, +“Chris—no—” and we had to lay him down +again. By this time it was really raining, and I put the skirt over +Greg, instead of under him, while we tried to think.</p> + +<p>“It might work if we made a chair,” Jerry +suggested.</p> + +<p>So we stooped down and clasped each other’s wrists +criss-cross, the way you do to make a human chair, and got Greg on +to it, with the arm that wasn’t hurt around my neck. The +darkness was perfectly pitchy, and we had to feel for every step to +be sure that it was a solid place and not the slippery edge that +went straight down into the sea. Greg cried a little and said, +“<i>Please—</i>stop.” I could feel his hair +against my face. It was all wet, and his cheek was wet, too, and +cold.</p> + +<p>The rain blew a little way into the cave, but not much, and we +put Greg as far back as we could. The bottom of the cave was very +jaggy and not comfortable to lie on, but we made it as soft as we +could with the skirt and the jersey. I tripped and stumbled against +Jerry, and when I caught him I felt that he was shivering. His shirt +was quite wet. When I asked him if he was cold, he said “Not +very,” and we crawled into the cave place beside Greg, and sat +as close together as possible to keep warm. We couldn’t see +the Headland light, and I was rather glad, because it had made me +almost crazy, flashing and flashing so steadily and not caring a +bit.</p> + +<p>The rain went <i>plop</i> into the pools, and made a flattish, +spattery sound on the rock. I don’t know why I thought of the +“Air Religieux” just then, but I suppose it was because +of the rain. I could see the straight yellow candle-flames all blue +around the wick, and Father’s head tucked down looking at the +’cello, and his hands, nice and strong, playing it; then I got +a little mixed and heard him calling “Christi-ine,” +fainter and fainter. I think I must have been almost asleep, because +I know the real rain surprised me, like something I’d +forgotten, and a very sharp, cornery rock was poking into my +back.</p> + +<p>It was then that Greg said:</p> + +<p>“Want—Simpson.”</p> + +<p>That frightened me more than anything almost, for Simpson was a +sort of stuffed flannel duck-thing that he’d had when he was +very little, and he hadn’t thought of it for years. None of us +ever knew why he called it “Simpson,” but he adored the +thing and made it sleep beside him in the crib every night. But that +was when he was three, and “Simpson” had been for ages +on the top shelf where we keep the toys that we think we’ll +play with again sometime before we’re really grown up. We +never have done it yet, but there are certain ones that we +couldn’t possibly give away, not even to the Deservingest poor +children.</p> + +<p>So when Greg said that, in a tired, far-off sort of way, it did +frighten me, because I <i>had</i> heard of people dying when they +were ravingly delirious. Greg wasn’t raving exactly, but it +was almost worse, because his voice was so small and different from +his own dear usual one. When I told him I couldn’t get Simpson +I tried to make my voice sound soft and cooey like Mother’s +when she’s sorry, but it went up into a queer squeak instead, +and I couldn’t finish somehow. Greg kept saying, +“Simpson;—please—” and crying to +himself.</p> + +<p>I heard Jerry feeling around in the dark and then the click of +his knife opening. I couldn’t think what he was doing, but +after quite a long time he pushed something into my hand and +said:</p> + +<p>“Does that feel anything like it?”</p> + +<p>“Like what?” I said, but the next minute I knew.</p> + +<p>It <i>did</i> feel like Simpson—soft and flannelly, with a +round, bumpy sort of head at one end.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how did you do it!” I said. “Oh, Jerry, +you brick!”</p> + +<p>“I chopped a big piece out of your skirt,” he said. +“I hope you don’t mind. I happened to have the string +off the sandwich bundle in my pocket, and I squeezed up a head and +tied it.”</p> + +<p>Greg was a little frightened when Jerry leaned over him +suddenly.</p> + +<p>“It’s just me, Greg,” Jerry said; “just +Jerry-o. Here’s Simpson, old lamb.”</p> + +<p>I’d never heard Jerry’s voice at all like that +before. I don’t know whether Greg really thought it was +Simpson, but he took it and sighed—a long, quivery sort of +sigh, the way very little children do when they’re asleep +sometimes.</p> + +<p>Then there was no sound at all but the different horrid noises +that the Monster made.</p> + +<p>Presently I felt Jerry start, and then he shuffled back a little +so that he was quite tight against my knees. I asked him what was +the matter, and he said “Nothing.” After a while, +though, he said:</p> + +<p>“Chris, I’d better tell you.”</p> + +<p>“What? Oh, what <i>is</i> it?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember how the tide was when we came out?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said; “on the ebb. Don’t you +remember the rocks at Wecanicut, with bushels of wet sea-weed +hanging off?”</p> + +<p>“Well?” Jerry said.</p> + +<p>I didn’t understand for a minute, then I whispered:</p> + +<p>“Do—you mean—”</p> + +<p>“A wave just hit my foot,” said Jerry in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>The first thing that we did was a lot of quick figuring. We +thought fearfully hard and remembered that Turkshead Rock was just +coming out of water when we left Wecanicut at four o’clock, so +that the tide must have been within about an hour of ebb. Therefore +full flood would be at eleven o’clock. But we hadn’t any +idea of whether it was ten or eleven or twelve, because there was no +light to see Jerry’s watch by. He had just an ordinary +Ingersoll, not the grand Radiolite kind that you can see in the dark +and it was perfectly maddening to hear it ticking away cheerfully, +and no good to us at all. Just then something cold wrapped itself +around my ankle. It was the edge of another wavelet.</p> + +<p>We knew that if the cave was going to be flooded we must get Greg +out of it before the water came much higher, but it was still +raining pitch-forks outside, and we didn’t know whether to +risk waiting a bit longer or not.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps there’s sea-weed and we can feel high +watermark,” I said. “Try, Jerry.”</p> + +<p>We felt all the way around the sides of the cave toward the +bottom, but as far as we could tell there was no sea-weed at +all.</p> + +<p>“That doesn’t help us much,” Jerry said, +“because we don’t know whether the tide is really full +now and has covered it, or whether it just doesn’t grow +here.”</p> + +<p>We curled our feet under us and waited. We could hear the water +sloshing around very close to us. Once when I put out my hand it +went right into a cold pool. It was then that Jerry had a most +wonderful idea. I heard his knife snap open again and asked him what +it was this time.</p> + +<p>“If I take the crystal off my watch,” he said, +“I can feel where the hands are.”</p> + +<p>I heard the little clicking pop that the front of a watch makes +when you pry it off, and I knew he was feeling the hands very +gently.</p> + + +<p>“The little one’s in line with the winder stem +thing,” he said, “and the big one—Chris, +it’s about twenty minutes of twelve. The water +<i>can’t</i> come any higher. We must have had the worst of +it.”</p> + +<p>It was queer that I cried then, because I hadn’t felt at +all like crying when we thought that the cave would be flooded.</p> + +<p>Greg had been quiet for so long that it frightened me suddenly, +and I groped after him to be sure that he was all right. I found his +hand, and I couldn’t believe that it was really hot when ours +were so cold. His forehead was hot, too, and dry, in spite of his +hair being damp still from the rain. He curled his hand into mine +and said very clearly:</p> + +<p>“Will you please bring me a drink of water?”</p> + +<p>It was perfectly awful, because he said it so politely and very +carefully, as if he were trying not to bother somebody. And there +was no drink to give him. I thought of the people in stories who lie +on deserts and battle-fields burning in agonies of fever, but I +couldn’t remember reading about anybody dying of fever on a +rock in the middle of the sea. I dipped my handkerchief in the pool +just beside me and laid it, all dripping, on Greg’s forehead. +I didn’t know whether it was a proper First Aid thing to do, +but he seemed to like it and was still again, holding my hand. +Presently he said:</p> + +<p>“Mother, why isn’t there a drink?”</p> + +<p>“This is awful, Chris,” Jerry said.</p> + +<p>Then I thought of the rain-pools. There were lots, of course, in +the hollows of the Monster, but we had nothing to scoop up the water +with. Greg’s forehead was just as hot as ever, and he thrashed +about and hurt his shoulder and cried miserably.</p> + +<p>I don’t know how Jerry could have thought of so many +things; for it was he who thought of very carefully breaking the +bottom off the root-beer bottle and using it for a cup. Of course +the bottom might have cracked all to pieces, but it was quite heavy +and Jerry was very careful. It came off wonderfully well, though +rather jaggy. Jerry tried to grind the cutty edges off by rubbing +them against the rock, but it didn’t work. Then we remembered +being very thirsty once on a long picnic-walk ages ago, and Father +wrapping his handkerchief around the top of the tin can the soup had +come in and giving us a drink at a pump. So we knew that we could do +that with the broken bottle. Jerry dodged out into the rain through +the tide-pools and came back after a while with some water.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t get much,” he said, “because +the place I found was very shallow, but I can go again.”</p> + + +<p>I remembered reading in books that you mustn’t give much +water to fever-stricken people in any case. We lifted Greg’s +head up,—that is, Jerry did, while I held the root-beer bottle +glass, and said:</p> + +<p>“Here’s the drink, Gregs, dear.”</p> + +<p>It was very hard to tell what I was doing, and some of the water +trickled over the handkerchief and down the front of Greg’s +jumper. But he drank the rest, and said: “Thank you very +much” in the same careful voice.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish he wouldn’t be so blooming polite!” +Jerry said sharply, as we were laying Greg back again, and I felt +something wet and warm splash down on my wrist. But I didn’t +tell Jerry I’d felt it.</p> +</div> + +<br /> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> +<div class="text"> + +<p class="first">If I wrote volumes and volumes I couldn’t +begin to tell how long that night seemed. It was longer than years +and years in prison; it was as long as a century. I think Jerry +slept a little, and perhaps I did, too, for when I peered out at the +cave entrance again there were two or three bluish, wet stars in the +piece of sky I could see, and the rain-sound had stopped. Jerry was +huddled up at my feet with his dear old head propped uncomfortably +against me. He was snoring a little, and somehow it was the nicest +sound I’d ever heard. Greg’s hand was still in mine, and +it was not very hot.</p> + +<p>Dawn always disappoints me a little. You think it’s going +to be perfectly gorgeous, and then it’s usually nothing but +one cold, pinkish streak, and the shadows all going the wrong way. +But when I saw a faint wet grayness beginning to creep along the +horizon beyond the Headland, I thought it was the most wonderful +thing I’d ever seen in my life. The gray spread till the whole +sky was the color of zinc, with the sea a little darker, and then +one spikey yellow strip began to show on the sky-line. I could see +Greg at last, with the jersey under his head, and the white brocade +waistcoat all dark and stained at the shoulder, and his poor dear +face ghastly white. And Jerry asleep, with the ruffle still pinned +to his wet shirt and a big hole torn in the knee of his +knickerbockers. And I saw the slimy pools that the tide had left +beside us—it was on the ebb again—and the pieces of the +root-beer bottle that Jerry had broken off, and the horrible, high, +black head of the Sea Monster above us.</p> + +<p>There was no boat of any sort to be seen, near or far away, but I +woke Jerry so that we could both keep watch in case one came. Just +as Jerry crawled out of the cave and stretched himself stiffly, Greg +took his hand away from mine and blinked out at the sky, and said in +almost his own voice:</p> + +<p>“Have we been here all the time?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, all the time, ducky,” I said, and then I cried, +“Don’t try to move, Gregs!” for I saw him trying +to squirm over.</p> + +<p>He lay back and said “Why?” but then in an instant he +knew why. I couldn’t do anything but cuddle my cheek down +against his, and he sobbed:</p> + +<p>“Make me stop crying, Chris.”</p> + +<p>The light grew stronger and stronger till there were shadows +among the rocks and Wecanicut came out green and brown. Jerry came +back presently, and I wondered if he’d seen anything, but he +said:</p> + +<p>“Chris, I just wanted to ask you. How long does it take for +a person to starve?”</p> + +<p>I said days, I thought, and Jerry sighed a little and went back +to his watching-place. Somehow I didn’t feel very hungry, +myself,—that is, not the kind of hungry you are when +you’ve played tennis all morning and then gone in swimming. +There was a sharp, sickish feeling inside me and my head felt a +little queer, but it was not exactly like being hungry.</p> + +<p>I think Greg’s arm must have stopped hurting quite so +badly, or else he was being tremendously spunky, because we talked a +lot and I told him that Father would come for us pretty soon. I +didn’t feel at all sure of this, because I knew that Father +would never have given up the Sea Monster the night before if +he’d had any idea we were there. But it was so perfectly +blessed to have Greg talking sensibly at all, even with such a +wobbly sort of voice, that I didn’t much care what I said.</p> + +<p>All at once Jerry came tumbling around the corner, shouting:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Chris, come quick! <i>Hurry</i>!”</p> + +<p>I left Greg and ran after Jerry, and I’d been sitting so +long humped up on the rocks that my knees gave way and I barked my +shins against a sharp ledge. I didn’t even know it until ever +so long afterwards, when I found a bruise as big as a saucer and +remembered then. Jerry didn’t need to point so wildly out +across the water; I saw the boat before he could say a word. It was +a catboat, quite far off, tacking down from the Headland. The sail +was orange, and we’d never seen an orange sail in our harbor +or anywhere, in fact, so we knew it must be a strange boat.</p> + +<p>Jerry pulled off his shirt like winking and stood there in his +bare arms waving it madly. We both began to shout before the catboat +people could possibly have heard us, but we thought that they might +see the white shirt flying up and down. The boat was tacking a long +leg and a short one. The long one carried it so far out that we +thought it was going to cross the mouth of the bay and not come near +enough to see us. Jerry stopped shouting just long enough to +gasp:</p> + +<p>“When she’s all ready to go about on the short tack +is the time to yell loudest.”</p> + +<p>But the next short tack seemed to bring the boat no nearer than +before, and the long leg carried it so far away that it was no more +use shouting to the orange sail than to a stupid old +herring-gull.</p> + +<p>“Could you wave for a bit, Chris?” Jerry said. +“My arms are off.”</p> + +<p>So I took the shirt and waved it by its sleeves, and the catboat +began another short tack. It was just then that we saw something +black flap-flapping against the sail.</p> + + +<p>“They’ve tied a coat or something to the flag +halyard, and they’re running it up and down,” Jerry +said. “They’re trying to get here, but they <i>have</i> +to tack. Don’t you <i>see</i>, Chris?”</p> + +<p>Of course I saw, but I didn’t blame Jerry for being snappy +at the last minute.</p> + +<p>The next tack showed very plainly that the boat was really coming +to the Sea Monster, and somebody stood up in the stern and shouted. +We shouted back—one last howl—and then stood there +panting, because there was no use in wasting any more breath and our +throats were quite split as it was. When the catboat came a little +nearer we saw that there was only one man in it, and, sure enough, +an old blue jersey was tied to the flag halyard. The man turned the +boat around very neatly—I don’t know the right sailing +word for it—and anchored. Then he climbed into the dinghy that +was trailing along behind and began rowing to the Sea Monster.</p> + +<p>I sat down on the rock and I had to keep swallowing, because I +felt as if my heart were bumping up against my throat. To save time, +before the man landed, Jerry started to shout what had happened. +There wasn’t much left of his voice, but he managed to do it +somehow.</p> + +<p>“We’ve been here all night,” he called huskily. +“We came out to explore this thing, and our boat got away, and +our little brother fell off the top and is hurt awfully, and” +(this was just as the man climbed ashore on the sea-weedy rocks) +“and we’d always called this place the ‘Sea +Monster’ because it looked like one, but now we know it +<i>is</i> one.”</p> + +<p>The man was looking at us very hard, particularly at me, and he +said:</p> + +<p>“The ‘Sea Monster’!” Then he looked again +and said “Oh!”</p> + +<p>He was a nice tall man, with a brown, squarish face, quite thin, +and twinkly blue eyes and a lot of dark hair that blew around like +Jerry’s. He looked from one to the other of us and nodded his +head to himself. I suppose we did look very queer,—quite +dirty, and Jerry with the tin-foil-buckled belt still around him and +no shirt; and my bloomers dangling down like a Turkish +person’s because of the elastics having burst when I fell +down.</p> + +<p>“It seems,” said our man, “that I have arrived +in the nick of time to perform a daring rescue.”</p> + +<p>He said it in a funny make-believe way, as if he were doing one +of our plays, and then suddenly the twinklyness went out of his eyes +and he said:</p> + +<p>“But take me to Gregory.”</p> + +<p>If we hadn’t been so perfectly bursting with thankfulness +and so tired of shouting and the cold and the whole hideous place, +we should have wondered how on earth he knew Greg’s name, +because neither of us had mentioned it. But we didn’t think of +it then, and just snatched his hands and pulled him over the rocks, +trying to tell him a little how glad we were to see him.</p> + +<p>When he saw Greg, his face grew quite different—very sorry, +and not twinkly at all and he went down on his knees (he +couldn’t have stood up in the back of the cave) and he +said:</p> + +<p>“Poor old man!” And then, “I wonder who had the +worst night of it?”</p> + +<p>We said, “Greg, of course.” But our man said, +“I wonder.” Then he changed again, and instead of being +all sorry and gentle, he got quite commanding and very quick.</p> + +<p>“Chris, you stay here,” he said. “Gerald, come +with me,—and here, put this on.”</p> + + +<p>He pulled off his gray flannel coat and tossed it to Jerry, and +Jerry did put it on and ran after him, tucking up the sleeves. I saw +them get into the dinghy and row back to the boat, and I said:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Gregs, we’re going home, we’re going +home!” and we both cried a little.</p> + +<p>They came back after what seemed a long time, and our man +said:</p> + +<p>“While I’m fixing Gregory, you and Gerald tackle +this.”</p> + +<p>It was half a loaf of bread and some potted beef done up in oiled +paper, and I’m sure Jerry ate the oiled paper, too. I’d +heard of starving people falling on food and rending it savagely, +but I never knew exactly what rending was until we did it to the +bread. We gave some of it to Greg, too, while our man was fixing +him.</p> + +<p>I never saw any one before who could do things so fast and so +gently. He had nice, brown, quick hands, and he looked so grown up +and useful. He’d brought a roll of bandage stuff—the +kind with a blue wrapper that you keep in First Aid kits—and a +book that had “Coast Pilot Guide and Harbor Entrances of New +England” on the cover. I didn’t see what he could want +that for, except on the boat, till he put it under Greg’s +armpit and bandaged his arm across it to keep it steady. The white +waistcoat was in our man’s way, so he ripped it down the side +and got it off entirely.</p> + +<p>“I was an explorer,” Greg explained shakily.</p> + +<p>“He was Baroo, the Madagascar cabin-boy,” Jerry said, +gnawing the loaf, and I thought it seemed years ago that we had +<i>trekked</i> across Wecanicut.</p> + +<p>“I see,” said our man, in his nice, kind, reliable +way, and then he said to Greg, “I didn’t hurt you much, +did I, old fellow?”</p> + +<p>And Greg shook his head, and said:</p> + +<p>“Thank you for coming.”</p> + +<p>That was what we all felt, but none of us had put it so simply +before.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” the man said, as he was +gathering up the rest of the bandages.</p> + +<p>It was the Simpson-thing, and it did look very funny by daylight, +I must say,—just a wob of blue flannel tied with a string. I +was going to explain, but Jerry said, with his mouth full:</p> + +<p>“Oh, just something we had,” and stuffed it away in +the kit-bag. He was quite red. Boys are funny sometimes.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said our man, “comes the embarkation, +and I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt you a little, +Greg.”</p> + +<p>He picked Greg up in one swinging swoop, and I wished that Jerry +and I had been strong enough to do that last night. Greg had only +time for one gasp before he was quite comfortable against our +man’s shoulder. But he <i>was</i> brave, because it must have +hurt like anything, even then, and I could see his jaw set hard. +Jerry and I gathered up the kit-bag and the jersey and what was left +of the skirt and followed along. Just beside the dinghy our man +paused and looked all around at the ugly blackness of the Sea +Monster and up to the jaggedy top of it. Then he looked down at Greg +and smiled a little sorry smile, and said very slowly and +gently:</p> + +<p>“Ye be Three Poore Mariners.”</p> + +<a name="fig4"></a> <div class="figure"><img src="images/image4.png" +alt="“Ye be Three Poore Mariners." /></div> + + +<p>Jerry and I stared at each other, and I said:</p> + +<p>“You must know that song, too. We used to pretend being +marooned, but we never thought it would really happen.”</p> + +<p>Then Jerry said suddenly:</p> + +<p>“By the way, what’s your name, sir?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to row, Jerry,” said our man, +“because I must keep the wounded just the way he is.” +Then he said:</p> + +<p>“Some people call me Andrew, but my intimate friends call +me ‘The Bottle Man’.”</p> +</div> +<br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> +<div class="text"> + +<p class="first">I thought that perhaps it might be a dream after +all, because that’s the way things happen in dreams, and that +I would wake up and find it still night and the rain splashing down +and poor Greg crying. But the dinghy was real and so were the slippy +slidy wet rocks, and I had to watch what I was about and not go +staring in astonishment at our man. We all had to be careful about +the rocks, and that’s why none of us said anything till we +were in the dinghy, except for one gasp of astonishment.</p> + +<p>“But how <i>could</i> you be?” Jerry and I asked +together when we all were safely aboard, with our man in the stern +holding Greg carefully.</p> + +<p>“But how did you get un-oldened?” Greg asked.</p> + +<p>“We thought you were a very old gentleman,” I +explained giddily.</p> + +<p>“<i>I am</i>,” said the Bottle Man. +“Ancient.”</p> + +<p>“But what about your gray hairs?” Jerry demanded, +tugging away at the oars.</p> + +<p>“If you’ve more than one gray hair you’ve gray +hairs,” said our man. “I have eleven.”</p> + +<p>He ducked down his nice, dark, rumpled-up head for us to look, +but I must say I couldn’t see more than one little one all +buried among the black.</p> + +<p>“You’re grown up, but you’re not old at +all,” I said. “We’ve been imagining you as an aged +old man with a long white beard.”</p> + +<p>“I never mentioned a long white beard,” the Bottle +Man said.</p> + +<p>“Yes; but what about your tottering along on two +sticks?” Jerry said suddenly.</p> + +<p>But we had come alongside the catboat, and no one could talk for +a little while until we were all arranged in the boat and our man +had told Jerry and me to pull a mattressy thing out of the tiny +little cabin and had laid Greg on it in the bottom of the boat. He +gave him some stuff out of a little flasky bottle, too, and Greg +sputtered over it and said “Ugh!” but afterward he +said:</p> + +<p>“It’s nice and hot inside when I thought it had +gone.”</p> + +<p>And we couldn’t talk, either, when our man was hoisting the +orange-painted sail and hauling up the anchor and running back and +forth to pull ropes and things. But when he was settled at the +tiller and all of us were cosy with sweaters and coats, Jerry asked +him again.</p> + +<p>“Why, you see,” the Bottle Man said, “something +had hit me very hard and for a long time all that I was able to do +was to totter along on the two sticks.”</p> + +<p>“But what hit you?” I asked.</p> + +<p>He dropped his voice, because Greg was actually asleep.</p> + +<p>“An inconsiderate shell,” he said.</p> + +<p>For a minute, because I was so used to thinking of him on the +lonely island, I imagined a big conch-shell being hurled at him from +somewhere. Then Jerry and I both gasped:</p> + +<p>“You mean you were in the war?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” said our man.</p> + +<p>“And the bearded man was a doctor?” Jerry asked.</p> + +<p>“That he was!” the Bottle Man said.</p> + +<p>We both asked him questions at once, but he was dreadfully vague, +and kept looking at Greg and the sail and the shore, but we managed +to piece together that he’d been wounded twice and left for +dead in No-Man’s-Land (after doing all sorts of heroic things, +we know) and finally sent home to America from a French hospital. We +found out, too, that his aunt was the “good soul” he +talked about in his letters, and that she half-owned the island and +had a beautiful big old house on it where she made him come while he +convalesced. It was very hard to find out all these things, because +he <i>would</i> be so mysterious and kept saying “Ah!” +and “That’s another story!” He also wanted to hear +all of our adventures, but we wouldn’t tell him those until +we’d heard some of his.</p> + +<p>Jerry asked him suddenly about the scar where the sea-thing bit +him, or stabbed him, or whatever it did, and our man twinkled and +pulled up his sleeve. And there, just above his right elbow where +the tan stopped, was a little white three-cornered scar, sure +enough. Jerry looked and said “Oh!” and our man said +“Ah-ha!”</p> + +<p>And at the end of all the stories we realized that we +didn’t know, even now, how he happened to be sailing along +just in time to rescue us.</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> sailed all the way from Bluar Boor,” he +said, “on purpose to see you. To tell the truth, I had designs +on the ‘Sea Monster’ which will not be carried out now. +I laid up last night inside the Headland breakwater and made an +early start this morning for the last leg of the trip. I recognized +the ‘Sea Monster’ a long way off, but I must say I was +surprised when I saw Jerry’s shirt signaling so distressfully. +Of course I knew who you were at once, when you called the place the +‘Sea Monster,’ but Christine did stagger me for a +minute.”</p> + +<p>“Stagger you?” I said. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking you were ‘Christopher’ all +this time, you see,” he said, “but, being a man of +infinite resource and unparalleled sagacity, I immediately perceived +the true state of affairs.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Are</i> you a professor?” Jerry asked.</p> + +<p>“Heavens, no!” our man laughed. “Why do you +ask?”</p> + +<p>“On account of your style,” Jerry said. +“It’s so grand and stately. So are your letters, +sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“I am but a poor bridge-builder,” the Bottle Man +said, “but I can turn words on or off as I want ’em, +like a hose.”</p> + +<p>By this time the boat was almost in, and our man brought it up +neatly to the float beside the ferry-slip, and some men came over +and helped him to moor it. Then he got out and came back in a minute +with the man who always meets the ferry in an automobile to hire. +The man looked as if he were in a dazy dream, which I don’t +blame him for at all, because we did look quite weird. He and the +Bottle Man lifted Gregg, mattress and all, and stowed him in on the +back seat of the automobile. The rest of us perched on the front +seat and the running-board, trying to conceal our strange appearance +from the staring of quite a crowd which was gathering, as it was +just ferry-time.</p> + +<p>Our man said, “17 Luke Street, and go carefully.” It +surprised us for a second to hear him say our address as if +he’d known it always, but then we realized that he <i>had</i> +known it for quite a long time.</p> + +<p>I think none of us will ever forget the way the house looked as +we swung around the corner and came up Luke Street. Just the end of +the gable first, behind the two big beeches in the front +garden,—oh, we hadn’t seen it for years and +centuries,—and then the living-room windows open, with the +curtains blowing, and the little box-bush that grows in a fat jar on +the porch-steps. Mother was coming out at the front door, and she +looked just the way she did when we got a telegram once saying that +Grannie was very ill. Jerry jumped off the running-board before the +automobile stopped, and he let Mother hug him right there in the +middle of the path, which is a thing he generally hates. By that +time our man and the chauffeur were lifting Greg and the mattress +out, and Mother let go of Jerry and stood quite still, with her face +all white and hollow-looking. We all began talking at once, and the +Bottle Man managed to tell Mother more about everything in a few +minutes than you would think possible.</p> + +<p>He and the automobile man, who still looked flabbergasted, put +Greg on the big bed in mother’s room while she was telephoning +to Dr. Topham. We all felt fidgetty and unsettled until Dr. Topham +came, which was really very soon. I think he must have broken all +the speed rules. Jerry and I, who had put on some other clothes, sat +in the living-room with the Bottle Man while the doctor set +Greg’s arm, which was fractured. Mother stayed with Greg. The +Bottle Man told us things about the war and his island, and he +played soft, wonderful music on the piano to make us forget about +Greg and the Sea Monster and all the awful things that had +happened.</p> </div> <br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<br /><br /> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> +<div class="text"> +<p class="first">It was the queerest topsy-turvy morning I ever +spent. After Mother came down and told us that Gregs was fixed and +that Doctor Topham had given him something to make him sleep, we all +went in and had lots of breakfast.—Mother and the Bottle Man, +too, for neither of them had had any. You would never have thought +we’d eaten the bread and potted beef there on the Monster, if +you’d seen the way we devoured the eggs and bacon and honey +and toast that Katy and Lena kept bringing in. They both brought the +things, because they were so glad to see us and so afraid that it +had been their fault that we went to Wecanicut. But we told Mother +that it wasn’t.</p> + +<p>While we ate. Mother told us everything that had happened at +home. She and Father came in on the six o’clock train and +found Katy and Lena quite worried because we hadn’t come back +yet, but no one got really frightened until later. Father thought of +Wecanicut and went to the ferry to ask, but Captain Lewis +wasn’t there, and of course the cross new captain that +we’d seen looking at the book hadn’t even noticed us and +wouldn’t have known us if he had. Our nice Portuguese man +remembered our going over and was perfectly certain that he’d +seen us come back, too, which of course he hadn’t. So, after +setting the policeman and every one else to search town, Father and +Captain Moss went to Wecanicut on the chance. They reached the point +at a quarter after nine, which was when we saw the lights, and they +never for a moment thought of the Sea Monster, because no one had +missed the old dinghy from the ferry-slip and they didn’t +imagine that we could get there. They didn’t find any trace of +us at the usual picnic place on Wecanicut, because we had everything +with us, and though some of the Fort soldiers searched, too, nothing +could be found. Father had been up all night and was still out, +telephoning to all sorts of places.</p> + +<p>If I deserved any punishment for its being my fault, I think I +had it when I thought of how hard Father had been working and how +wretched and anxious they all were. I hadn’t quite realized +that before.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, right after breakfast Jerry and I began to yawn +tremendously, and Mother bundled us off to bed. We hadn’t had +time to think of it, but of course we hadn’t slept +particularly well on the Sea Monster. Just as we were going +upstairs, Aunt Ailsa came running in with her hat on, crying:</p> + +<p>“Is Katy telling the truth?”</p> + +<p>And then we both leaped on her from the stairs. When she ducked +her head up from our hugs, the Bottle Man was standing in the +doorway, looking queer.</p> + +<p>“Ailsa!” he said; and that really did floor us, +because we knew we’d never even mentioned her existence to +him. She stood staring, and then put her hand up against her throat, +exactly like somebody in a book.</p> + +<p>“Andrew!” she said, in a faint little voice.</p> + +<p>Mother looked at them, and then said:</p> + +<p>“Bedtime, chicks! Come along!” and went up with +us.</p> + +<p>It was quite weird, going to bed at nine o’clock in the +morning. We pulled down all the shades so we could sleep, though I +don’t really think we needed to, because I know that as soon +as I shut my eyes I was sound asleep.</p> + +<p>When I woke up the room was quite dim, and Mother and Father were +standing at the door talking. Father looked awfully tired, but dear +and glad, and he wouldn’t let me tell him how sorry I was +about it all. Mother said that even more surprising things had been +happening, and that if I’d slept enough for a time, I’d +better come down to supper. That was queer, too,—dressing in +the twilight and coming down to supper, instead of to breakfast.</p> + +<p>We all talked a lot at supper, of course, and people kept asking +questions. I had to do most of the answering, because Jerry always +left out the parts about himself, and yet it was he who did all the +wonderful things. We had bottles of ginger-pop, because it was a +sort of feast, and Father got up and proposed toasts, just like a +real banquet. First he said:</p> + +<p>“Jerry! I’m glad to have a son with a level +head.”</p> + +<p>Then he said:</p> + +<p>“Christine!” and looked at me very hard, till I +wanted to turn away. But they all drank it just the same as +Jerry’s, though I didn’t deserve it at all. Then Father +held up his glass and said very gently:</p> + +<p>“Greg!” And when I tried to drink it, the ginger-pop +choked me, and Jerry banged me between the shoulders, which, of +course, only made it worse, because it wasn’t that sort of +choke.</p> + +<p>Then Jerry jumped up and said:</p> + +<p>“We ought to drink to the Bottle Man, <i>I</i> think. And, +by the way, ‘Bottle Man’ looks all right in a letter, +but it’s queer, rather, to say to you. Haven’t you +really a real name?”</p> + +<p>Our man and Aunt Ailsa looked at each other as if they were going +to say something, and then the Bottle Man twinkled, and said:</p> + +<p>“Very soon you’ll be able to call me Uncle +Andrew.”</p> + +<p>This part seems to be nothing but explanations, which are horrid, +but there <i>were</i> lots, and I can’t help it. Of course +Jerry and I sat staring in surprise, and there <i>had</i> to be +explanations. And what do you think! Our own Bottle Man was that +“Somebody Westland” that Aunt Ailsa had wept so about. +The casualty list was perfectly right in saying that he was wounded +and missing (though it came very late, because by that time he was +in America), and she thought, of course, that he was dead, because +she didn’t hear from him. And he’d written to her from +the French hospital and the letter never came. When he came back, +all sick and wounded, to America, somebody who didn’t know +anything about it told him that Aunt Ailsa was going to marry Mr. +Something-or-other, so our poor man went off sadly to his island and +didn’t write to her any more. He’d never heard of us, +because of course her name isn’t Holford. And +<i>she’d</i> never heard of his aunt, nor Blue Harbor, nor the +island, so of course she didn’t know anything about it when we +read his letters to her. Oh, it was very tangly and bewildering and +it took lots of explaining, but at the end of supper there was just +enough ginger-pop left to drink to both of them.</p> + +<p>Afterwards she and Father played the ’cello and piano, +because we asked them to, and the Bottle Man sat with his arm over +Jerry’s shoulders, watching, with the light on his nice, +brown, kind face. And Father sat with his head tucked down over the +’cello, just the way I remembered there on the Sea Monster, +and the candles shone on Aunt Ailsa’s amberish-colored hair, +and I thought she was the beautifullest person in the world, except +Mother. I thought about a lot of things while the music went on, and +wondered whether we’d ever want to picnic on Wecanicut again. +But I knew we would, because Wecanicut is a kind, friendly, safe +place (and we do go there now lots, only we don’t look at the +Sea Monster much). I thought, too, that perhaps if we’d never +thrown the message in the bottle into the harbor, Aunt Ailsa and +Uncle Andrew would never have been married and lived happily ever +after,—that is, they’ve lived happily so far and I think +they’ll keep on. Because if we hadn’t, the Bottle Man +would never have come sailing down to see us, and he might still be +thinking Aunt Ailsa had married the Mr. Thingummy, when she +hadn’t at all.</p> + +<p>He was such a nice Bottle Man! I sat there on the couch and +thought how splendid it would be when he was our own uncle, and I +laughed when I remembered how we’d imagined that he was an +ancient old gentleman. The wind began to rise outside. I could hear +it whisking around and bumping in the chimney, and I thought how +glad I was—<i>oh</i>, how glad, <i>glad</i> I was—that +we were all at home, and I listened hard to the ’cello and +tried not to remember the horrible old Sea Monster. </p> + +<p>Mother slipped in and sat down beside me, and when the music +ended, she said: “Greg wants to see the ‘Bottle +Man’.” We asked if we might come, too, because we +hadn’t seen Greg since they carried him up to the house, all +bloody and rumpled and dirty. So we all went up, and Mother tip-toed +in first with the lamp. He looked almost quite like himself, with +clean pajamas and his hair brushed and all the frightened, hurt look +gone out of his face.</p> + + +<p>The Bottle Man (I almost forget to call him that, because +we’ve been calling him Uncle Andrew for months) leaned over +and said:</p> + +<p>“Lots better now, old man?”</p> + +<p>Greg said “Lots,” and then, “But what I +<i>did</i> want to ask you is, how you sailed all the way from the +Mid-Equator to here in such a little boat?”</p> + +<p>The Bottle Man laughed, and then said very soberly:</p> + +<p>“But <i>are</i> you sure you measured it right? To-morrow +I’ll show you on the map.”</p> + +<p>We only stayed a minute, and then said good-night and went out. I +was the last one, and just as I was going through the door, Greg +said:</p> + +<p>“Chris! Come back!”</p> + +<p>So I went and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, and Greg +put his good arm around my neck when I bent down.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Chris,” he said, “sometimes that +night I think I thought you were Mother. Oh, Chris, I <i>do</i> love +you awfully much!”</p> + +<p>And I was happier then than I’d been since—oh, it +seemed centuries ago.</p> +</div> +<br /> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12681 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/12681-h/images/image1.png b/12681-h/images/image1.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..074e162 --- /dev/null +++ b/12681-h/images/image1.png diff --git a/12681-h/images/image2.png b/12681-h/images/image2.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0809ea4 --- /dev/null +++ b/12681-h/images/image2.png diff --git a/12681-h/images/image3.png b/12681-h/images/image3.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a137c80 --- /dev/null +++ b/12681-h/images/image3.png diff --git a/12681-h/images/image4.png b/12681-h/images/image4.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..66fd71c --- /dev/null +++ b/12681-h/images/image4.png |
