The Story of a Bad Boy

  Chapter Fourteen--The Cruise of the Dolphin

  It was spring again. The snow had faded away like a dream, and we wereawakened, so to speak, by the sudden chirping of robins in our backgarden. Marvellous transformation of snowdrifts into lilacs, wondrousmiracle of the unfolding leaf! We read in the Holy Book how our Saviour,at the marriage-feast, changed the water into wine; we pause and wonder;but every hour a greater miracle is wrought at our very feet, if we havebut eyes to see it.

  I had now been a year at Rivermouth. If you do not know what sort of boyI was, it is not because I haven't been frank with you. Of my progressat school I say little; for this is a story, pure and simple, and nota treatise on education. Behold me, however, well up in most of theclasses. I have worn my Latin grammar into tatters, and am in the firstbook of Virgil. I interlard my conversation at home with easy quotationsfrom that poet, and impress Captain Nutter with a lofty notion of mylearning. I am likewise translating Les Aventures de Telemaque from theFrench, and shall tackle Blair's Lectures the next term. I am ashamed ofmy crude composition about The Horse, and can do better now. Sometimesmy head almost aches with the variety of my knowledge. I consider Mr.Grimshaw the greatest scholar that ever lived, and I don't know which Iwould rather be--a learned man like him, or a circus rider.

  My thoughts revert to this particular spring more frequently than to anyother period of my boyhood, for it was marked by an event that left anindelible impression on my memory. As I pen these pages, I feel thatI am writing of something which happened yesterday, so vividly it allcomes back to me.

  Every Rivermouth boy looks upon the sea as being in some way mixed upwith his destiny. While he is yet a baby lying in his cradle, he hearsthe dull, far-off boom of the breakers; when he is older, he wanders bythe sandy shore, watching the waves that come plunging up the beachlike white-maned seahorses, as Thoreau calls them; his eye follows thelessening sail as it fades into the blue horizon, and he burns for thetime when he shall stand on the quarter-deck of his own ship, and gosailing proudly across that mysterious waste of waters.

  Then the town itself is full of hints and flavors of the sea. The gablesand roofs of the houses facing eastward are covered with red rust, likethe flukes of old anchors; a salty smell pervades the air, and densegray fogs, the very breath of Ocean, periodically creep up into thequiet streets and envelop everything. The terrific storms that lashthe coast; the kelp and spars, and sometimes the bodies of drowned men,tossed on shore by the scornful waves; the shipyards, the wharves, andthe tawny fleet of fishing-smacks yearly fitted out at Rivermouth--thesethings, and a hundred other, feed the imagination and fill the brain ofevery healthy boy with dreams of adventure. He learns to swim almostas soon as he can walk; he draws in with his mother's milk the art ofhandling an oar: he is born a sailor, whatever he may turn out to beafterwards.

  To own the whole or a portion of a row-boat is his earliest ambition.No wonder that I, born to this life, and coming back to it with freshestsympathies, should have caught the prevailing infection. No wonder Ilonged to buy a part of the trim little sailboat Dolphin, which chancedjust then to be in the market. This was in the latter part of May.

  Three shares, at five or six dollars each, I forget which, had alreadybeen taken by Phil Adams, Fred Langdon, and Binny Wallace. The fourthand remaining share hung fire. Unless a purchaser could be found forthis, the bargain was to fall through.

  I am afraid I required but slight urging to join in the investment.I had four dollars and fifty cents on hand, and the treasurer of theCentipedes advanced me the balance, receiving my silver pencil-case asample security. It was a proud moment when I stood on the wharf with mypartners, inspecting the Dolphin, moored at the foot of a very slipperyflight of steps. She was painted white with a green stripe outside, andon the stern a yellow dolphin, with its scarlet mouth wide open, staredwith a surprised expression at its own reflection in the water. The boatwas a great bargain.

  I whirled my cap in the air, and ran to the stairs leading down from thewharf, when a hand was laid gently on my shoulder. I turned and facedCaptain Nutter. I never saw such an old sharp-eye as he was in thosedays.

  I knew he wouldn't be angry with me for buying a rowboat; but I alsoknew that the little bowsprit suggesting a jib, and the tapering mastready for its few square feet of canvas, were trifles not likely tomeet his approval. As far as rowing on the river, among the wharves, wasconcerned, the Captain had long since withdrawn his decided objections,having convinced himself, by going out with me several times, that Icould manage a pair of sculls as well as anybody.

  I was right in my surmises. He commanded me, in the most emphaticterms, never to go out in the Dolphin without leaving the mast in theboat-house. This curtailed my anticipated sport, but the pleasure ofhaving a pull whenever I wanted it remained. I never disobeyed theCaptain's orders touching the sail, though I sometimes extended my rowbeyond the points he had indicated.

  The river was dangerous for sailboats. Squalls, without the slightestwarning, were of frequent occurrence; scarcely a year passed that six orseven persons were not drowned under the very windows of the town, andthese, oddly enough, were generally sea-captains, who either did notunderstand the river, or lacked the skill to handle a small craft.

  A knowledge of such disasters, one of which I witnessed, consoled mesomewhat when I saw Phil Adams skimming over the water in a spankingbreeze with every stitch of canvas set. There were few better yachtsmenthan Phil Adams. He usually went sailing alone, for both Fred Langdonand Binny Wallace were under the same restrictions I was.

  Not long after the purchase of the boat, we planned an excursion toSandpeep Island, the last of the islands in the harbor. We proposed tostart early in the morning, and return with the tide in the moonlight.Our only difficulty was to obtain a whole day's exemption from school,the customary half-holiday not being long enough for our picnic.Somehow, we couldn't work it; but fortune arranged it for us. I maysay here, that, whatever else I did, I never played truant ("hookey" wecalled it) in my life.

  One afternoon the four owners of the Dolphin exchanged significantglances when Mr. Grimshaw announced from the desk that there would beno school the following day, he having just received intelligence of thedeath of his uncle in Boston I was sincerely attached to Mr. Grimshaw,but I am afraid that the death of his uncle did not affect me as itought to have done.

  We were up before sunrise the next morning, in order to take advantageof the flood tide, which waits for no man. Our preparations for thecruise were made the previous evening. In the way of eatables anddrinkables, we had stored in the stem of the Dolphin a generous bagof hard-tack (for the chowder), a piece of pork to fry the cunners in,three gigantic apple-pies (bought at Pettingil's), half a dozen lemons,and a keg of spring-water--the last-named article we slung over theside, to keep it cool, as soon as we got under way. The crockery andthe bricks for our camp-stove we placed in the bows, with the groceries,which included sugar, pepper, salt, and a bottle of pickles. Phil Adamscontributed to the outfit a small tent of unbleached cotton cloth, underwhich we intended to take our nooning.

  We unshipped the mast, threw in an extra oar, and were ready to embark.I do not believe that Christopher Columbus, when he started on hisrather successful voyage of discovery, felt half the responsibilityand importance that weighed upon me as I sat on the middle seat of theDolphin, with my oar resting in the row-lock. I wonder if ChristopherColumbus quietly slipped out of the house without letting his estimablefamily know what he was up to?

  Charley Marden, whose father had promised to cane him if he ever steppedfoot on sail or rowboat, came down to the wharf in a sour-grape humor,to see us off. Nothing would tempt him to go out on the river in sucha crazy clam-shell of a boat. He pretended that he did not expectto behold us alive again, and tried to throw a wet blanket over theexpedition.

  "Guess you'll have a squally time of it," said Charley, casting offthe painter. "I'll drop in at old Newbury's" (Newbury was the parishundertaker) "and leave word, as I go a
long!"

  "Bosh!" muttered Phil Adams, sticking the boat-hook into thestring-piece of the wharf, and sending the Dolphin half a dozen yardstowards the current.

  How calm and lovely the river was! Not a ripple stirred on the glassysurface, broken only by the sharp cutwater of our tiny craft. The sun,as round and red as an August moon, was by this time peering above thewater-line.

  The town had drifted behind us, and we were entering among the group ofislands. Sometimes we could almost touch with our boat-hook the shelvingbanks on either side. As we neared the mouth of the harbor a littlebreeze now and then wrinkled the blue water, shook the spangles fromthe foliage, and gently lifted the spiral mist-wreaths that still clungalong shore. The measured dip of our oars and the drowsy twitteringsof the birds seemed to mingle with, rather than break, the enchantedsilence that reigned about us.

  The scent of the new clover comes back to me now, as I recall thatdelicious morning when we floated away in a fairy boat down a river likea dream!

  The sun was well up when the nose of the Dolphin nestled against thesnow-white bosom of Sandpeep Island. This island, as I have said before,was the last of the cluster, one side of it being washed by the sea. Welanded on the river-side, the sloping sands and quiet water affording usa good place to moor the boat.

  It took us an hour or two to transport our stores to the spot selectedfor the encampment. Having pitched our tent, using the five oars tosupport the canvas, we got out our lines, and went down the rocksseaward to fish. It was early for cunners, but we were lucky enough tocatch as nice a mess as ever you saw. A cod for the chowder was not soeasily secured. At last Binny Wallace hauled in a plump little fellowcrusted all over with flaky silver.

  To skin the fish, build our fireplace, and cook the chowder kept usbusy the next two hours. The fresh air and the exercise had given us theappetites of wolves, and we were about famished by the time the savorymixture was ready for our clamshell saucers.

  I shall not insult the rising generation on the seaboard by telling themhow delectable is a chowder compounded and eaten in this Robinson Crusoefashion. As for the boys who live inland, and know naught of such marinefeasts, my heart is full of pity for them. What wasted lives! Not toknow the delights of a clam-bake, not to love chowder, to be ignorant oflob-scouse!

  How happy we were, we four, sitting crosslegged in the crisp salt grass,with the invigorating sea-breeze blowing gratefully through our hair!What a joyous thing was life, and how far off seemed death--death, thatlurks in all pleasant places, and was so near!

  The banquet finished, Phil Adams drew from his pocket a handful ofsweet-fern cigars; but as none of the party could indulge withoutimminent risk of becoming sick, we all, on one pretext or another,declined, and Phil smoked by himself.

  The wind had freshened by this, and we found it comfortable to puton the jackets which had been thrown aside in the heat of the day.We strolled along the beach and gathered large quantities of thefairy-woven Iceland moss, which, at certain seasons, is washed to theseshores; then we played at ducks and drakes, and then, the sun beingsufficiently low, we went in bathing.

  Before our bath was ended a slight change had come over the sky and sea;fleecy-white clouds scudded here and there, and a muffled moan from thebreakers caught our ears from time to time. While we were dressing, afew hurried drops of rain came lisping down, and we adjourned to thetent to await the passing of the squall.

  "We're all right, anyhow," said Phil Adams. "It won't be much of a blow,and we'll be as snug as a bug in a rug, here in the tent, particularlyif we have that lemonade which some of you fellows were going to make."

  By an oversight, the lemons had been left in the boat. Binny Wallacevolunteered to go for them.

  "Put an extra stone on the painter, Binny," said Adams, calling afterhim; "it would be awkward to have the Dolphin give us the slip andreturn to port minus her passengers."

  "That it would," answered Binny, scrambling down the rocks.

  Sandpeep Island is diamond-shaped--one point running out into the sea,and the other looking towards the town. Our tent was on the river-side.Though the Dolphin was also on the same side, it lay out of sight by thebeach at the farther extremity of the island.

  Binny Wallace had been absent five or six minutes, when we heard himcalling our several names in tones that indicated distress or surprise,we could not tell which. Our first thought was, "The boat has brokenadrift!"

  We sprung to our feet and hastened down to the beach. On turning thebluff which hid the mooring-place from our view, we found the conjecturecorrect. Not only was the Dolphin afloat, but poor little Binny Wallacewas standing in the bows with his arms stretched helplessly towardsus--drifting out to sea!

  "Head the boat in shore!" shouted Phil Adams.

  Wallace ran to the tiller; but the slight cockle-shell merely swunground and drifted broadside on. O, if we had but left a single scull inthe Dolphin!

  "Can you swim it?" cried Adams, desperately, using his hand as aspeaking-trumpet, for the distance between the boat and the islandwidened momentarily.

  Binny Wallace looked down at the sea, which was covered with white caps,and made a despairing gesture. He knew, and we knew, that the stoutestswimmer could not live forty seconds in those angry waters.

  A wild, insane light came into Phil Adams's eyes, as he stood knee-deepin the boiling surf, and for an instant I think he meditated plunginginto the ocean after the receding boat.

  The sky darkened, and an ugly look stole rapidly over the broken surfaceof the sea.

  Binny Wallace half rose from his seat in the stem, and waved his handto us in token of farewell. In spite of the distance, increasing everyinstant we could see his face plainly. The anxious expression it woreat first had passed. It was pale and meek now, and I love to think therewas a kind of halo about it, like that which painters place around theforehead of a saint. So he drifted away.

  The sky grew darker and darker. It was only by straining our eyesthrough the unnatural twilight that we could keep the Dolphin in sight.The figure of Binny Wallace was no longer visible, for the boat itselfhad dwindled to a mere white dot on the black water. Now we lost it, andour hearts stopped throbbing; and now the speck appeared again, for aninstant, on the crest of a high wave.

  Finally, it went out like a spark, and we saw it no more. Then we gazedat each other, and dared not speak.

  Absorbed in following the course of the boat, we had scarcely noticedthe huddled inky clouds that sagged down all around us. From thesethreatening masses, seamed at intervals with pale lightning, there nowburst a heavy peal of thunder that shook the ground under our feet. Asudden squall struck the sea, ploughing deep white furrows into it, andat the same instant a single piercing shriek rose above the tempest--thefrightened cry of a gull swooping over the island. How it startled us!

  It was impossible any longer to keep our footing on the beach. The windand the breakers would have swept us into the ocean if we had not clungto each other with the desperation of drowning men. Taking advantage ofa momentary lull, we crawled up the sands on our hands and knees, and,pausing in the lee of the granite ledge to gain breath, returned to thecamp, where we found that the gale had snapped all the fastenings ofthe tent but one. Held by this, the puffed-out canvas swayed in the windlike a balloon. It was a task of some difficulty to secure it, which wedid by beating down the canvas with the oars.

  After several trials, we succeeded in setting up the tent on the leewardside of the ledge. Blinded by the vivid flashes of lightning, anddrenched by the rain, which fell in torrents, we crept, half dead withfear and anguish, under our flimsy shelter. Neither the anguish nor thefear was on our own account, for we were comparatively safe, but forpoor little Binny Wallace, driven out to sea in the merciless gale. Weshuddered to think of him in that frail shell, drifting on and on to hisgrave, the sky rent with lightning over his head, and the green abyssesyawning beneath him. We fell to crying, the three of us, and cried Iknow not how long.

  Meanwhile the sto
rm raged with augmented fury. We were obliged to holdon to the ropes of the tent to prevent it blowing away. The sprayfrom the river leaped several yards up the rocks and clutched at usmalignantly. The very island trembled with the concussions of the seabeating upon it, and at times I fancied that it had broken loose fromits foundation, and was floating off with us. The breakers, streakedwith angry phosphorus, were fearful to look at.

  The wind rose higher and higher, cutting long slits in the tent, throughwhich the rain poured incessantly. To complete the sum of our miseries,the night was at hand. It came down suddenly, at last, like a curtain,shutting in Sandpeep island from all the world.

  It was a dirty night, as the sailors say. The darkness was somethingthat could be felt as well as seen--it pressed down upon one with a cold,clammy touch. Gazing into the hollow blackness, all sorts of imaginableshapes seemed to start forth from vacancy--brilliant colors, stars,prisms, and dancing lights. What boy, lying awake at night, has notamused or terrified himself by peopling the spaces around his bed withthese phenomena of his own eyes?

  "I say," whispered Fred Langdon, at length, clutching my hand, "don'tyou see things--out there--in the dark?"

  "Yes, yes--Binny Wallace's face!"

  I added to my own nervousness by making this avowal; though for thelast ten minutes I had seen little besides that star-pale face withits angelic hair and brows. First a slim yellow circle, like the nimbusround the moon, took shape and grew sharp against the darkness; thenthis faded gradually, and there was the Face, wearing the same sad,sweet look it wore when he waved his hand to us across the awful water.This optical illusion kept repeating itself.

  "And I too," said Adams. "I see it every now and then, outside there.What wouldn't I give if it really was poor little Wallace looking in atus! O boys, how shall we dare to go back to the town without him? I'vewished a hundred times, since we've been sitting here, that I was in hisplace, alive or dead!"

  We dreaded the approach of morning as much as we longed for it. Themorning would tell us all. Was it possible for the Dolphin to outridesuch a storm? There was a light-house on Mackerel Reef, which laydirectly in the course the boat had taken, when it disappeared. If theDolphin had caught on this reef, perhaps Binny Wallace was safe. Perhapshis cries had been heard by the keeper of the light. The man owned alifeboat, and had rescued several people. Who could tell?

  Such were the questions we asked ourselves again and again, as we lay ineach other's arms waiting for daybreak. What an endless night it was! Ihave known months that did not seem so long.

  Our position was irksome rather than perilous; for the day was certainto bring us relief from the town, where our prolonged absence, togetherwith the storm, had no doubt excited the liveliest alarm for our safety.But the cold, the darkness, and the suspense were hard to bear.

  Our soaked jackets had chilled us to the bone. To keep warm, we layhuddled together so closely that we could bear our hearts beat above thetumult of sea and sky.

  After a while we grew very hungry, not having broken our fast sinceearly in the day. The rain had turned the hard-tack into a sort ofdough; but it was better than nothing.

  We used to laugh at Fred Langdon for always carrying in his pocket asmall vial of essence of peppermint or sassafras, a few drops of which,sprinkled on a lump of loaf-sugar, he seemed to consider a great luxury.I don't know what would have become of us at this crisis, if it hadn'tbeen for that omnipresent bottle of hot stuff. We poured the stingingliquid over our sugar, which had kept dry in a sardine-box, and warmedourselves with frequent doses.

  After four or five hours the rain ceased, the wind died away to a moan,and the sea--no longer raging like a maniac--sobbed and sobbed with apiteous human voice all along the coast. And well it might, after thatnight's work. Twelve sail of the Gloucester fishing fleet had gone downwith every soul on board, just outside of Whale's-back Light. Think ofthe wide grief that follows in the wake of one wreck; then think of thedespairing women who wrung their hands and wept, the next morning, inthe streets of Gloucester, Marblehead, and Newcastle!

  Though our strength was nearly spent, we were too cold to sleep. OnceI sunk into a troubled doze, when I seemed to bear Charley Marden'sparting words, only it was the Sea that said them. After that I threwoff the drowsiness whenever it threatened to overcome me.

  Fred Langdon was the earliest to discover a filmy, luminous streak inthe sky, the first glimmering of sunrise.

  "Look, it is nearly daybreak!"

  While we were following the direction of his finger, a sound of distantoars fell on our ears.

  We listened breathlessly, and as the dip of the blades became moreaudible, we discerned two foggy lights, like will-o'the-wisps, floatingon the river.

  Running down to the water's edge, we hailed the boats with allour might. The call was heard, for the oars rested a moment in therow-locks, and then pulled in towards the island.

  It was two boats from the town, in the foremost of which we could nowmake out the figures of Captain Nutter and Binny Wallace's father. Weshrunk back on seeing him.

  "Thank God!" cried Mr. Wallace, fervently, as he leaped from the wherrywithout waiting for the bow to touch the beach.

  But when he saw only three boys standing on the sands, his eye wanderedrestlessly about in quest of the fourth; then a deadly pallor overspreadhis features.

  Our story was soon told. A solemn silence fell upon the crowd of roughboatmen gathered round, interrupted only by a stifled sob from one poorold man, who stood apart from the rest.

  The sea was still running too high for any small boat to venture out; soit was arranged that the wherry should take us back to town, leaving theyawl, with a picked crew, to hug the island until daybreak, and then setforth in search of the Dolphin.

  Though it was barely sunrise when we reached town, there were a greatmany people assembled at the landing eager for intelligence from missingboats. Two picnic parties had started down river the day before, justprevious to the gale, and nothing had been beard of them. It turned outthat the pleasure-seekers saw their danger in time, and ran ashore onone of the least exposed islands, where they passed the night. Shortlyafter our own arrival they appeared off Rivermouth, much to the joy oftheir friends, in two shattered, dismasted boats.

  The excitement over, I was in a forlorn state, physically and mentally.Captain Nutter put me to bed between hot blankets, and sent KittyCollins for the doctor. I was wandering in my mind, and fancied myselfstill on Sandpeep Island: now we were building our brick-stove to cookthe chowder, and, in my delirium, I laughed aloud and shouted to mycomrades; now the sky darkened, and the squall struck the island: now Igave orders to Wallace how to manage the boat, and now I cried becausethe rain was pouring in on me through the holes in the tent. Towardsevening a high fever set in, and it was many days before my grandfatherdeemed it prudent to tell me that the Dolphin had been found, floatingkeel upwards, four miles southeast of Mackerel Reef.

  Poor little Binny Wallace! How strange it seemed, when I went toschool again, to see that empty seat in the fifth row! How gloomy theplayground was, lacking the sunshine of his gentle, sensitive face! Oneday a folded sheet slipped from my algebra; it was the last note he everwrote me. I couldn't read it for the tears.

  What a pang shot across my heart the afternoon it was whispered throughthe town that a body had been washed ashore at Grave Point--the placewhere we bathed. We bathed there no more! How well I remember thefuneral, and what a piteous sight it was afterwards to see his familiarname on a small headstone in the Old South Burying Ground!

  Poor little Binny Wallace! Always the same to me. The rest of us havegrown up into hard, worldly men, fighting the fight of life; but youare forever young, and gentle, and pure; a part of my own childhoodthat time cannot wither; always a little boy, always poor little BinnyWallace!