The Castaways of Pete's Patch
Page 13
CHAPTER X
A Stormy Night
EVERY one had been too busy to think about the weather. But, whensupper was on the table, Mrs. Crane noticed that Jean's dark hair hadbeen blown about her face, that Henrietta's, too, was flying about inloose locks, and that the loose canvas at the doorway of the big tentwas flapping noisily.
"Look at the lake!" cried Marjory. "It's all mussed up and queer, likesomething _boiling_. I hope Captain Berry got home safely."
"The wind is in his favor and he has had sufficient time. But that'sa pretty angry sea--I guess Dave and I had better pull those boats tothe top of the bank, after supper. We're going to have some waves that_are_ waves before morning."
The lake, at that hour, however, was not so rough as it wasthreatening. Its surface was of a dark, dull slate-color, markedwith long lines of deep blue and blackish purple. Some hidden forceseemed to be lifting it from underneath as if, as Marjory said, itwere boiling, or at least getting ready to boil. The sun had droppedbehind the distant hills without leaving the usual rose-pink afterglow.Overhead, dark clouds were scurrying toward the southwest; but as yetthe waves had not gathered sufficient strength to be very noisy. Theair was colder; and that, too, seemed filled with hidden threats andhalf-whispered warnings.
"I'm thankful," said Mr. Black, carving more roasted chicken forBettie, who said that all fowls _should_ have had eight legs apiece,"that we have good, sound tents to sleep in to-night and that CaptainBerry knew how to put them up so they'd stay. After we've pulled theboat up, Dave and I will see if any of the ropes need tightening. Thereis one thing that everybody must remember. If it rains, you must nottouch the canvas--that makes it leak."
It was too windy for a fire on the beach that night, so the castaways,in their warm sweaters, sat round the dining-room table, and, bythe light of the big lamps enjoyed the magazines that Mr. Saundershad thoughtfully included. They were particularly interested in theadvertisements of tents, boats, and other camp-y things.
Just as Bettie was certain that her eyes would not stay open a singlemoment longer, there was a loud crash near at hand.
"Now what?" cried startled Mrs. Crane, who was hemming some of thequeer dish-toweling that inexperienced Mr. Saunders had been obliged toselect, "is that? Not thunder, I hope."
"Our late residence, I suspect," returned Mr. Black. "It's a good thingwe moved out when we did--I guess I'd better rescue that tablecloth."
By this time the waves were running high and dashing savagely againstthe bank. Usually the hurrying clouds obscured the moon; but, wheneverit gleamed forth for a moment, it showed a foaming, furious sea--theircalm, beautiful, softly tinted lake was gone.
"I'm glad," shuddered Bettie, "that I'm not out there in a boat."
"I hope," said Jean, "that nobody is. A little boat would be smashed tobits."
"Wouldn't it be dreadful," suggested Henrietta, "if a ship were wreckedright down there on the beach? Anyway, I guess we'd find it prettyexciting."
"Or the ship would," offered Marjory.
"Let's hope _hard_," said Bettie, "that all the ships and sailors arein snug, safe harbors--When I go to bed to-night I'm going to make alittle prayer about it."
But, in spite of Bettie's little prayer, if, indeed, she remembered tomake it, there were several ships abroad that night; and a passenger onone of the smallest and least significant was probably, at that verymoment, sailing into this story; but many other things happened beforehe was unceremoniously tumbled into the tale; and you must have them intheir turn.
All night long the heavy surf pounded and thundered on the beach. Allnight long the wind howled and shrieked. But the castaways, snug intheir strong new tents and their warm, red blankets, slept through allthe turmoil.
They were obliged, next morning, to forego the pleasure of washingtheir faces in the lake; but the river, with some help from the brightnew dishpan, served as well. Dave's ice-cold spring provided them withexcellent drinking water.
"This storm," said Mr. Black, arranging a temporary shelter for thefire, "will bring us plenty of driftwood. We can have benches under thetrees and an extra table or two--I expect to get thin, building things."
"Well, it won't hurt you," returned Mrs. Crane. "You can begin bybuilding that fire--I'm ready to cook."
Previously to this time, the days had been warm and comparativelyquiet; but to-day it was decidedly cold. The wind, sweeping through theclearing, carried off all the bits of paper and string that the eagergirls had torn from their parcels the night before and thoughtlesslyscattered about. It was necessary to fasten things down to keep themfrom swirling out of sight. The big waves still thundered in and theirwhite spray dashed high above the edge of the battered bank.
But, for all that, it proved a delightful day, because the clear airwas wonderfully bracing, the campers were really camping, and one couldescape the buffeting of the wind and the continuous roar of the wavesby taking long walks in the sheltered trails and roads.
"This," said Mr. Black, when the morning's work was done, "would be agood time to walk to Barclay's Point to see the waves. These are justtiny wavelets beside what we'll see over there--they'll be perfectlyterrific on the north side of that peninsula. I _was_ going to fish inthe river with those nice angleworms that Saunders sent; but I can takeyou there first and do my fishing afterwards."
There were two ways of getting to Barclay's Point. In ordinary weather,one walked up the beach. In stormy weather, there was a very roundaboutway by the road and a more direct route by a woodsy trail that wasn'texactly visible--one _felt_ rather than saw it. Some persons have aninstinct for following trails. Jean had it, Marjory had it to a lesserdegree; but Mabel and Henrietta were without it; while Dave, Indianthat he was, could see trails where none existed for any one else.Since Jean possessed the trail-instinct, she walked ahead, while Mr.Black, in order to keep Mabel and Henrietta from straying from thepath, marched behind. Mrs. Crane remained in camp with Bettie, who wasnot yet permitted to take long walks.
To reach Barclay's, one crossed the river twice. The first crossingwas easy, for there was a rude bridge built of heavy timber. Butthe second was a different matter. Nature had provided a bridge byconveniently dropping a huge tree across the stream, which was wide andabout three feet deep at this point. The log--the branches had longago been chopped away--was very wide at one end but tapered somewhattoward the other. When the water was low, there was room for a canoeto pass under this log. Jean walked steadily across it, Marjory flittedover it like a bird, Henrietta, with fancy steps that would have beenimpossible for the others even on solid ground, danced across; butMabel, wavering and wabbling, had to be assisted by Mr. Black, whostretched forth a helping hand the moment she began to falter.
"I guess," declared Mabel, indignantly, "that old tree was a slipperyelm."
"No," returned Mr. Black, "it was pine, and a big fellow at that. It'sbeen here for many years."
"How can you tell?" queried Henrietta.
"See that birch tree growing from the upper side of its root? Thatbirch has had time to grow from a seed into a good-sized tree sincesome mighty tornado or some unusual freshet uprooted this greatpine--pine does not rot as quickly as some of the harder woods."
"I see one reason why it fell," asserted Jean. "There's water bubblingout down there, under the root."
"So there is," said Mr. Black. "I'm glad I brought my cup--that's aspring. We'll have a drink."
So everybody drank some of the clear, cold water before proceeding toBarclay's.
There was no sign of civilization at Barclay's Point; just a long,rocky promontory that ran out into the lake and, in fair weather,furnished a fine place to fish from. Its north coast was particularlyrough and jagged. Here, as Mr. Blank had prophesied, the waves,roaring and booming like ceaseless artillery, struck with tremendousforce against the rocks and dashed to prodigious heights--a grand andunforgettable sight.
But Mabel's sweater was not unforgettable. She had taken it off becauseshe was too warm
after the steep climb to the spot from which the wavespresented the finest spectacle (nobody wanted to get _too_ close to allthat mountain of water) and anchored the garment firmly to the groundby means of a heavy stone. She returned to camp without missing it--shehad something more exciting to think of, for Henrietta had mentionedthat one of the contributions from her grandmother was a large box ofcandy.
"We'll have some," promised Henrietta, "as soon as we get back to camp."
Naturally Mabel, who was inordinately fond of sweet things and who hadhad no candy for a week, forgot all about her gray sweater, so near thecolor of the rocks that nobody else noticed it. But, notwithstandingthe discomfort she endured without it, she was glad afterwards that she_had_ forgotten it.