by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XX
THE ISLES OF SHOALS
It never rains but it pours. A day or two after their visit to thebathing beach, Martine and her mother were seated in their nook underthe trees. It was early afternoon, and, as usual, Angelina was off for astroll.
"Why, there are some visitors," exclaimed Mrs. Stratford, and Martinelooked up to see two ladies approaching the front door. Martine wouldn'thave been a girl, if she hadn't glanced down involuntarily at her dress.
"You look very well," said her mother, understanding her glance.
"Well, I hate to have to play the part of maid," said Martine, "but itcan't be helped now." So, laying down the book from which she had beenreading aloud, she went over toward the newcomers.
"I am Mrs. Ethridge, and this is my daughter, Clare. We are really yournearest neighbors," and she pointed to the large house across the road,about which Martine had often wondered. "A young girl, your assistant, Ithink she calls herself, came over to our house on the evening of theFourth. Her fire balloon had gone astray." And Mrs. Ethridge smiled atthe recollection. "She told us you were lonely, but we could not quiteunderstand. Surely you are Martine Stratford, of whom we have heard somuch from Elinor Naylor; you must have many friends at York; there areso many Philadelphians and Chicagoans here. Elinor mentioned you in theletter we had a day or two ago, and we recognized your name as the oneyour assistant had given us. In any case we ought to have calledearlier, but we have had a house full of visitors, and--"
"No apologies are necessary," responded Martine, with dignity. "Weexpected to be quiet this summer, although my mother will be most happyto see you." And leading them to Mrs. Stratford's corner, introductionswere quickly made. Hardly had they seated themselves when Clare Ethridgeexclaimed, "Why, there's Peggy Pratt," and Martine looking up,recognized the girl who was hurrying across the lawn, and a secondlater, Peggy was shaking hands with Martine most effusively.
"What a queer girl you are, Martine Stratford; why didn't you let meknow you were in York? Elinor Naylor wrote that you were coming, and Icertainly thought you'd tell me where you were. Of course, I've askedeverybody, but no one had seen you or heard a thing about you. Icouldn't imagine your being hidden in a corner like this; so I supposedyou hadn't yet arrived. I'm sure I didn't know what to do," and shelooked around with an air of injured innocence, as if some one had beenunjustly blaming her.
"You might have inquired at the postoffice," said Mrs. Ethridge smiling,"you can generally get information about people there."
"Oh, I dare say; but I just concluded she wasn't here."
"But now that I _am_ here and you know that I am here," respondedMartine gayly, "everything is as it should be." She did not mention thelittle incident at the beach, for she saw that her judgment of Peggythen had been wrong, and that the eyes which had seemed to see her hadreally been looking at something else.
While Mrs. Ethridge and Mrs. Stratford talked by themselves, Peggy'stongue flew on reciting the attractions of York. Trips up the river, teaat the Country Club, yachting, trolley and auto excursions apparentlyfilled her days; "really I never have a minute to myself," she said,"and to-morrow we are going to have a fish dinner at the Shoals, thewhole crowd of us. We've got a special car to take us over toPortsmouth, and then we go by the steamboat; we thought it would be morefun than simply to sail over. There's a seat for you, Martine; I knowyour mother will let you go, and of course we shall see you too, Clare."
"Yes," said Clare, "I had already promised."
"Then it's all settled," cried Peggy; "you can bring Martine to the car,Clare. Now I must hurry on, for I have an engagement up at the Club, andI'm so glad to have seen you, Martine. Good-bye, Mrs. Stratford;good-bye, Mrs. Ethridge." And almost before they could say "good-bye"themselves, Peggy was out of sight.
"I wonder that girl doesn't wear herself out; she is always flying fromone thing to another," said Mrs. Ethridge.
"It's hard for a girl to settle down in the summer," added Clare,"especially in a place where there is so much going on as there ishere."
"Habit is everything," and Mrs. Stratford glanced toward Martine,reflecting that she, at least, had been able to adapt herself the pastfew months to a quiet life.
The prospect of the excursion to the Shoals was very agreeable toMartine, especially as she was to have the companionship of Clare. Thelatter was a quiet, dignified girl, possibly a little older than Martineand reminding her a little of Amy.
Promptly at the appointed hour Martine met Clare at the turn of theroad; they had not long to wait before the special car came in sight. Asit stopped for them, there was a loud clapping of hands and shouts ofwelcome from those within. Martine, cut off for what had seemed so longa time from young people of her own age, was quite bewildered at this.Two of the boys who had stepped down to assist her and Clare on board,proved to be old acquaintances, Herbert Brownville and Atherton Grey;and when once they were fairly off her spirits had risen rapidly. Thecar sped on, up hill and down dale, past the golf club, through thewoods, over bright, green meadows, along tressles surrounded by marshes.
"To think," exclaimed Martine, "these cars almost pass our house andthis is my first trip on them. Angelina went over to Portsmouth one dayand was so enthusiastic she almost persuaded me to make a trip with her;but she is so easily pleased that I didn't quite believe all she said;but now I believe it and more too."
After a time their road led them past quaint old houses and pleasantsummer cottages. There were occasional glimpses of water on one side,and once in the distance, across the water, rose the massive outlines ofa hotel.
"This is Kittery," exclaimed Clare. "We are almost on the boundaries ofMaine and New Hampshire; that water is the mouth of the Piscataqua; youmust go down on the shore some time; artists love it."
"I should like to sketch one of these tree-shaded old houses myself,"replied Martine; "that one over there looks as if it could tell a storyif it would."
"Oh, that's one of the William Pepperell houses; I never could rememberwhich was his special house and which his daughters lived in, but youknow he set out for Louisburg from Kittery, and two or three of thesehouses have hardly been changed since his day."
"Dear me!" sighed Martine, "have I got to follow the French and Indianwar in this corner of the country? I had so much of it last summer inAcadia that I'd like something a little different now."
"Acadia," exclaimed Peggy, overhearing Martine. "How sick I grew of thatword last summer. Some people were with us in Nova Scotia, went aboutwith guide books and histories and acted as if they were crazy; but I'mhappy to say that I sailed away from Yarmouth without knowing a thingmore than before I travelled."
"I believe you," commented Clare. "But if I were you, I wouldn't boast.Some of us _do_ care for history."
"Unfortunately they do; there's my aunt; when she heard we were comingto the Shoals to-day, she gave me a lot of interesting information thatwent in one ear and out the other; for I told her that I was simply offfor a good time and I never meant to learn anything if I could help itoutside of school."
Several of the party applauded Peggy's sentiments, but Martine could nothelp thinking that a speech of this kind from a girl of Peggy's age wasrather shallow; and she admitted to herself that there was a time, notso very long ago, when she too would not only have expressed herself inthe same way, but would have felt just exactly as Peggy professed tofeel.
Soon after passing the Navy Yard, the car reached the shore of thePiscataqua, where they crossed the ferry to Portsmouth. Soon they wereon the little steamboat, bound for the famous Isles of Shoals.
"There's one thing that I do remember," said Peggy. "There are nine ofthese islands and they are nine miles out at sea, and they are partly inMaine and partly in New Hampshire; but please don't ask me another word,Martine Stratford, for I can see by your expression that you'rethirsting for information."
Martine reddened at Peggy's words, because Herbert Brownville, who wasstanding beside her, was known to have a
special dislike for bookishgirls. Martine was ashamed of herself for giving even a thought toHerbert's opinion, and in consequence, she reddened more deeply whenHerbert asked in surprise, "Have you really come out only forinformation, Miss Martine, as Peggy told me on the car?"
This question decided Martine; she did not care for Herbert's opinion;she would show him so plainly, and so she decided to mystify him.
"Yes," she replied politely. "You know I have travelled a great deal,and some time I intend to write a book describing my travels. Sowherever I go, it is necessary for me to get all the facts I can.Somehow I forgot to bring my notebook to-day, but perhaps you can lendme a pencil and paper."
Poor Herbert looked at Martine in surprise. Was this the girl who wasfamous for her wit, who was one of the best dancers and riders in theirset two or three years ago? How sad that she should have changed so; butit was all on account of Boston; no girl could live in Boston a yearwithout becoming affected. But what a pity that a pretty girl likeMartine should turn into a bookworm! Nevertheless, Herbert handedMartine the desired pencil and paper, and he sat beside her while shemade a great show of writing down the few facts that she had gatheredfrom the volatile Peggy.
"I'm so glad," continued Martine, "that you are willing to help me; andwhen we reach the islands I'm going to ask you to find some one who willtell me all about them."
"There can't be much to tell," replied poor Herbert; "you know they aresmall and rugged and very queer. I've been there many a time on a yachtand I'm perfectly sure from what I've seen that they haven't anyhistory."
"In such matters," responded Martine solemnly, as if she were preachinga sermon, "you cannot be too positive. No corner of the world is soobscure as to be without history."
Again Herbert looked at her in amazement. Her head was turned from himand he did not see the mischievous expression lurking in her brown eyes.He liked Martine, and since there seemed to be no help for it, it wouldbe only proper in him to promise what she asked.
"Certainly," he replied, "I dare say we can find out something for yourbook; they have a very intelligent clerk at the hotel, and I know a manin a cottage on Smutty Nose who's lived there a long time, and what hecan't tell probably would not be worth knowing."
Thus Herbert constituted himself Martine's guide for the day, and keptbeside her and Clare until the boat touched Appledore. True to hispromise, when they had finished dinner, he got a row-boat and took themover to Smutty Nose, where the old Captain proved very talkative. Heexplained that the name of the islands did not come from theirstructure, but from the quantities of fish found in the waters near the"schooling" or "shoaling" of fish. He told them that the Shoals hadprobably been visited by Captain John Smith, and Christopher Leavitt in1623 had written something about them.
"The old captain proved very talkative."]
"Of course the first settlers," said the old man, "were fishermen, andthey were always a pretty rough lot, though the Reverend John Brock didsomething to improve them. There are all kinds of stories going aboutpirates and wrecks and strange happenings in the old times."
"I suppose Captain Kidd buried some of his treasure here," said Herbertsarcastically.
"That he did, at least they say so," responded Captain Dickerson; "andif you and the young ladies are real enterprising, you might dig awhile, for it's never been found, and you've as good a chance as anyone."
"Thanks," said Herbert, rather taken aback by finding that his chancearrow had hit the mark, "but we've other things to do to-day. Sometime,perhaps, we'll return."
"Well," said the old man, "there's a chance that other treasure might doyou just as well. Nigh a hundred years ago, a Spanish ship went topieces on the islands, and there were other wrecks that perhaps casttreasure on the sands."
"Oh, I remember," exclaimed Clare, "a poem that I learned at school,'The Wreck of the Pocahontas.' Celia Thaxter wrote it. It beginssomething like this:--
"'I lit the lamps in the lighthouse tower, For the sun dropped down and the day was dead; They shone like a glorious clustered flower, Ten golden and five red.'"
"Ah, Mrs. Thaxter," said Capt. Dickerson, "there isn't much on theislands that she hasn't put into poetry. But you'll hear all about herover at Appledore, and I won't spoil your fun by trying to tell whatother people can tell better."
"Haven't you some stories of your own?"
"There won't be time for a long story," interposed Herbert, looking athis watch. "We must be prompt for dinner."
"Just one," pleaded Martine, smiling at Capt. Dickerson.
"Most of the stories of these parts belong to Kittery and Portsmouth,"rejoined Capt. Dickerson. "You'll have to fish them up there. The onlyone I can think of you mightn't like--except it will interest you if youlove dogs--as most young ladies do."
"Well, tell us, please."
"It's about a murder that took place on Smutty Nose once when I was offon a cruise. Two helpless women in a little cottage were killed by awretch who thought there was money saved in the house. A third womanwith a small dog in her arms escaped and hid here among the rocks. Shewas terribly scared that the little creature would bark and betray her."
"Did it?"
"Well, she crouched in the darkness, while she heard the murderer passclose by, calling and threatening. But the dog seemed to understand, andkept perfectly quiet until daylight. The woman had heard the murdererrowing away at dawn, and when people on Appledore were stirring they sawher making frantic signs, and they came over and got her and the dog."
"Was the murderer ever caught?" asked Herbert.
"Yes--and he paid the penalty. But I don't know how long the dog lived,young ladies, for I see that's what you'd like to hear," added Capt.Dickerson, turning to the girls.
"I wish I could tell you more," he continued, after a pause. "I dare sayyou know the Shoals were once called 'Smith's Eyelands,' and there's amonument to Capt. Smith on Star. You've heard about Gorges, I suppose;well, they were in Gorges and Mason's grant, and when Massachusettspeople stepped into Maine, the most northerly went to Maine, and theothers to New Hampshire."
"Any other great men here, besides Smith?" asked Herbert.
"Not many--besides myself," said Capt. Dickerson, smiling, "except,perhaps, Sir Wm. Pepperell. At least his father was one of the earlysettlers of the Shoals, and he was born here. But you'll hear about himat Kittery. Then, as I said before, Appledore's full of Celia Thaxter,and her father was queer enough to be called a great man. He had been apolitician, and when he got out of sorts with his party he quit themainland, and brought his boys to White Island, where he was lighthousekeeper. They say the boys were fourteen or fifteen before they ever wentashore, and then they were frightened by the first horse they saw."
"Thank you, Capt. Dickerson. I knew you'd have something interesting totell," and Herbert moved away impatiently. "I'm coming over some daynext week to go fishing with you."
"Yes, I shall be expecting you. I could show you a good many things,young ladies, if you'd spend the day, but it is hard to understand evenSmutty Nose alone in an hour."
"Oh, but we've enjoyed coming here," replied Martine, and she and Clareshook hands cordially with Captain Dickerson as they said good-bye.
After dinner at Appledore, all sat for a half-hour on the hotel piazza,which was so near the water that it seemed in many ways like the deck ofa ship. Miss Byng and Mrs. Trotter, who had taken charge of the partyfrom York Harbor (the girls declined to call them chaperones) metseveral acquaintances among the hotel guests. Miss Byng, in fact, hadspent a summer at Appledore, and she exchanged reminiscences with one ofher friends about Celia Thaxter, the "Queen of Appledore."
"She was certainly a wonderful woman," said Miss Byng, as Clare andMartine drew their chairs within her circle. "Sometimes in the earlymorning when I looked out of my window, I would see her working in hergarden. She was often up at four o'clock, and she made the mostwonderful flowers grow from this rocky soil."
"Oh, flowers were to her as in
dividual as human beings," added Mrs.Trotter. "She watched over them lovingly while they were in the garden,and when she brought them into the house they were treated sumptuously.Each flower was placed in a vase by itself, and every spot that couldhold them had its vases, silver, glass, or china, each with its singleblossom."
"What a strange idea!" cried Clare.
"The effect was beautiful, the brilliant flowers, the picture-coveredwalls--and the queenly mistress of the house with snow-white hair, inher clinging grey gown--the favorite costume of her latter years."
"Appledore is not the same now," and Mrs. Trotter sighed, "do you recallMrs. Thaxter's lines--
"The barren island dreams in flowers, while blow The south winds, drawing haze on sea and land, Yet the great heart of ocean, throbbing slow Makes the pale flowers vibrate where they stand."
"Oh dear!" whispered Martine to Clare, "I feel as if I were at afuneral. Let's find what Peggy has been doing."
"But I'd like to have known Mrs. Thaxter, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, though a person who had lived most of her life on an island offour hundred acres must have been different from the rest of the world."
"She _did_ write poetry," replied Clare.
"Yes, that made her different from most of us. But here come Peggy andthe rest. I wonder where they've been."
Peggy and her party explained that they had been watching the surf onthe farther side of the island.
"Yes," exclaimed Peggy, "it was fine, I can tell you, and the view, why,we could see miles and miles; if we had had a glass, I believe we couldhave heard people talking at York." Whereat, in the fashion of youngpeople, all laughed as heartily as if Peggy had said something reallyfunny. While they stood there, Herbert was looking nervously at hiswatch.
"Excuse me, but I really think--"
Carlotta, after the manner of sisters, laughed derisively.
"Listen! I believe he wishes to make an original remark." Herbert wasfarther off than the others and had not heard just what Carlotta said.
"If we are not careful," he said again, looking at his watch, "we shallmiss the boat."
"There," said Carlotta, "I told you that he was going to make anoriginal remark."
This time Herbert heard her words, and when all laughed except Martine,he reddened deeply.
"It's better to be early than late," remarked Martine consolingly; "I'veoften missed a boat or a train just by thinking I had plenty of time."
Herbert turned gratefully towards Martine and walked back with her tothe hotel. As a matter of fact they had half an hour to spare and wereable to say good-bye to all their acquaintances without undue haste. Thereturn trip was unexciting, and they reached Portsmouth in good spiritsjust in season to get the Ferry for Kittery.
As they came to their special car, "Here's your admirer," said Peggymischievously to Martine.
"What do you mean?" asked Martine.
"Why, the conductor; didn't you notice him coming over? Carlotta did."
"Yes," added Carlotta, "I certainly thought he was going to speak toyou."
"Nonsense!" said Martine.
"Do you know him?" whispered Peggy mischievously, as the car speededalong the Kittery shore.
"I haven't even looked at him," replied Martine indignantly. "Herberthas had charge of the fares, and as the conductor stands on the backplatform, and as I have no eyes in the back of my head, I couldn'trecognize him even if he were an old friend."
Later, however, as the young man moved along and stood for a whilebeside the motorman, Martine had a chance to see him, though it was onlya back view.
"Carlotta," she said, "that conductor does remind me of some one. Iwonder if it's any one we know at home? Do you see a resemblance? Aresemblance to any one you know?"
"No," said Carlotta, "really I do not." And so the matter dropped.
It was nearly dusk when Martine and Clare left the car at the turn ofthe road.
"Step carefully," said the conductor, holding out his hands to help thetwo. Martine started, turned and looked toward the car, but it wasalready on its way down the hill.
"I wonder,"--but she did not complete the sentence, though all thatevening she continued to ponder over the strange resemblance.