Nightbirds on Nantucket

  "Oh, yes, Nate, let's!"

  "Not you, chick. It wants smart scoutwork. One's enough."

  "I can snibble along jist as quiet as you!" Dido said, hurt. They argued about it in whispers; Dido was so insistent on coming that, in the end, Nate was obliged to give way.

  Proceeding with the utmost caution, they crept towards the forest. The ground began to slope steeply downhill, and presently they were in the shelter of the trees, where, as it was much darker, they had to go forward very slowly, one step at a time.

  Nate, who was a couple of paces ahead, suddenly let out a stifled grunt.

  "What's up?" breathed Dido, coming alongside.

  "Nearly busted my nose on the tarnal thing. Must be the pipe," he muttered. "We'd best follow it."

  They turned at right angles and stole along beside the pipe, slowly and carefully, Nate still in the lead. Presently he paused. A faint light showed ahead and voices could be heard. Dido moved up as close behind Nate as she could and peered past him. The lobsters, which she still carried, nipped the hand that Nate had put out to check her, and he let out a hiss of protest.

  "Mind, stoopid!"

  "Sorry!"

  They could dimly see a small log hut. A fire was burning in front of it, and three or four men were gathered round talking in low voices.

  "Where's the old professor gone?" one of them said.

  "Oh, he likes to mooch about the wood on his own in the evening. He's everlastingly on the lookout for the night-crowned black heron or some sich foolishness. He's all right, don't fret about him, he won't go far."

  "I'd rather he stayed in camp, just the same."

  With a start, Dido recognized this voice as Mr. Slighcarp's. She gave Nate's shin a gentle kick. He nodded.

  "When's the Dark Diamond due?" another voice asked.

  "Any day now."

  "Thank the Lord. I can just about do with a decent smoke. I'm cheesed-off with smoking peat in my pipe and eating shellfish. Will the ship wait and take us off at the same time's she leaves the powder and shot?"

  "Depends on how the professor makes out. If he can finish before she gets here, fine; we can blast off and then clear out."

  "What about your sister?"

  "Take her too, o' course."

  "But ain't she wanted over there?"

  "But don't you see, things'll be different in England by the time we get back," Mr. Slighcarp said impatiently.

  "But supposin' old Breadno makes a mistake? We don't want to go sailing over and put our heads into a hank-noose and end up on Tyburn!"

  "We'll sail to Hanover first, dunderhead! The news will have reached them by then."

  "Aye, that would be best," the other voice agreed gloomily. "I does so long to get my chops round a bit o' British bubble-and-squeak."

  "Bubble-and-squeak! It'll be roast goose and champagne when you get it, cully!"

  "I'm going to look for the professor," Mr. Slighcarp said uneasily. He rose to his feet.

  At this moment one of the lobsters Dido carried, which had been squirming more and more vigorously, escaped from her grip and fell into a bush. She grabbed it.

  "Hark! What was that?" Mr. Slighcarp said, turning sharply.

  "It's only the professor, guvnor. Here he comes."

  By a great piece of good fortune, the man to whom Dido had given the boots—apparently the "professor" referred to—stepped into the clearing at this moment.

  "Hey, there, Professor Breadno, see some good nightbirds?"

  "We're all just about nightbirds, if you ask me," yawned one of the men. "I'm going to turn in."

  Dido kicked at Nate's shin again and began to step delicately backward. She was apprehensive of another accident with the lobsters. Nate waited for a few more minutes before following, but presently joined her on the edge of the forest.

  "Did you hear any more?" she breathed.

  "Nope. They were asking the prof where he got his boots, and he said he found 'em in a bog."

  "I wonder if they'll believe him. What a parcel of peevy coves, eh? Regular mill-kens. They're Hanoverians, that's plain enough."

  "I still can't make out what they're at," Nate said, as they hurried silently back to the path. "What the mischief are they doing in Nantucket? We ain't got none o' your fancy kings over here; a plain president's good enough for us."

  "It's plumb mysterious," Dido agreed. "Tell you what, though, I'll take the little professor cove some cakes—if I can slip past old Mortification—and try to get a bit more out o' him. Supposin' I can make out what he means."

  "I'm glad I came back home," Nate said. "I think it's downright rusty the way these lowdown skallywags make themselves at home in our island, and whatever deviltry they're plotting, I think they ought to be rousted out someway."

  "I'm agreeable," Dido said. "Specially if Aunt Tribulation's one of'em. I allus thought she was a no-good. What d'you think we ought to do, Nate?"

  "I'll think, and let you know. I'll stay home for a piece, anyhow. Guess if Grandpa's sick my ma'll be quite glad to have me minding the sheep and helping with the chores. I won't try to get another ship till the Sarah Casket comes back. I'd sooner ship with Cap'n Casket when he's better. I'm used to him."

  "If he gets better," Dido said doubtfully. "If he don't, I reckon I'm stuck here for life."

  "Well, there's plenty wuss places than Nantucket you could be stuck in."

  As they were by now a good way from the forest, Nate burst into song:

  "I'll tend to my lambkins in pasture and grove,

  A shepherd I'll be and daylong will I rove;

  In the isle of Nantucket I'll finish my days

  A-following my sheep and a-watching them graze."

  "What'll your ma do if you start spouting poetry at home?" Dido teased him.

  "I'll have to wait and spout it to you and Pen," Nate said cheerfully. "There's the lights of Soul's Hill. Can you find your way now? Goodnight. See you soon."

  "I do wonder what those 'scallions is up to," Dido speculated.

  "Well, whatever it is, it's bad business. I'll tell you one thing, chick."

  "What's that?"

  "That there pipe of Pen's ain't no pipe but a gun—and it's the longest gun I ever laid eyes on!"

  "Croopus!" said Dido. "That's why the ship's coming with powder and shot. But who're they going to shoot, d'you reckon?"

  "Search me. But whoever it is, they've gotter be stopped."

  8

  Captain Casket's illness. Dido sees the doctor.

  The professor in the bog. An abominable plot.

  Aunt Tribulation overhears.

  To Dido's surprise and concern, there were still lights burning in the farm as she approached. Surely it was long past the usual hour for bedtime? Did this mean that Aunt Tribulation had seen through Pen's story of the straying yellow cow and was waiting up to conduct an inquiry?

  When Dido walked into the kitchen, however, she saw at once that the unusual wakefulness was not on her account. The stove was roaring, a large black kettle steamed, Pen was anxiously heating a poultice, while Aunt Tribulation, with a grim expression, aired blankets, nightcaps, and chest protectors before the fire.

  "Oh, Dido!" Pen exclaimed. "Papa is dreadfully unwell; he is in a fever! I have tried him with everything—balsam and cordial and rheumatic pills—but none of them did him any good. He tosses and turns so, and throws off the bedclothes; he seems to think he is in a boat."

  "Did you find the cow, miss?" Aunt Tribulation snapped at Dido.

  "She's in the barn," Dido replied. "D'you think we should get a doctor?" she said to Pen.

  "Oh, I do! Would you go for one, Dido?"

  "A doctor will hardly thank you for fetching him out at this hour," Aunt Tribulation remarked sourly. "Here, miss, take these things up to your father; I'm going to bed. I've done all that can be expected in my delicate state of health."

  "Isn't she perfectly hateful," Pen whispered when Aunt Tribulation had departed. "She doesn't seem to car
e a bit about poor Papa. As for her 'delicate state of health,' I don't believe there was ever a thing wrong with her." Pen was distractedly looking through the store cupboard in search of more remedies. "What's in this jar? Can you read the label, Dido? It's dear Mamma's tiniest writing. I can't make it out." Impatiently she rubbed the tears from her eyes. "Oh, Dido, supposing Papa were to die?"

  "We shan't suppose any such nonsense," Dido said firmly. "Huckleberries in gin, this is. Smells like stingo stuff. Try them on him, Penny; see if he likes 'em."

  They hurried upstairs with the warm clothes and the poultice, the pot of huckleberries, and a stone jar full of boiling water for the captain's feet.

  It was very difficult to get him wrapped up and poulticed. As Pen had said, he kept throwing himself about, crying, "Towno! Towno! Alow from aloft! I'm all beset, bring to! Give it to her, she's pitching. Her spiracle's under.... Stem all, we're stove!"

  He sprang up in bed, and the poultice flew across the room.

  "Never mind the dratted poultice," Dido said at last in exasperation. "It's all cold and dusty by now, anyways. Here, you hold his hands a moment while I try to slip some o' these huckleberries down him. Hold tight!"

  Pen held on manfully. "Papa! Don't you know me?" she pleaded. "It's Penitence!"

  "Thar she blows!" shouted Captain Casket. But as he kept his mouth open to prolong the bellow, Dido neatly popped in a spoonful of the huckleberries. The captain immediately shut his mouth. He swallowed. A surprised expression came over his face.

  "Quick! Another spoonful!" whispered Pen.

  When Dido raised the spoon again he opened his mouth eagerly, and she was able to feed him the rest of the potful without difficulty. He murmured to himself, "Truly it has been a wonderful summer for the fruit, wonderful! We must all—"

  His eyelids fluttered down and he suddenly fell back on the pillow, fast asleep.

  "That's a mussy," Dido said. "Now let's snug him up warm, and then as soon as it's light, Pen, I'll go for the doctor. D'you know his name?"

  "I think it's Doctor Mayhew," Pen said doubtfully. "Anyone in Nantucket town would be able to tell you."

  They wedged the captain about with hot bottles and laid several comforters on him. Pen sat down by him, anxiously holding his hand. Since her father had come home, needing her help, Pen was a changed creature. She seemed to have thrown aside her needless fears and become quite practical and self-reliant.

  Dido busied herself in tidying the room and removing the unwanted poultice. It did not seem worth trying to sleep, as there wanted but an hour to daylight; instead she milked the cows and harnessed Mungo. As she went indoors again a pink streak was showing in the eastern sky. She tiptoed up to the captain's room and found that he was beginning to stir and mutter again. He half opened his eyes and stared dreamily at the window.

  "Why," he whispered, "it's a little whale calf, no more than a sucker, washed up on Quidnet Beach! The pretty little thing, it's as pink as a wild rose! I won't tell my father, it's too pretty to hurt. I'll put it back in the sea.... There you are, little pink 'un, swim away back to your mother..."

  Dido had found another jar of huckleberries. She silently passed it to Pen, who managed to feed a few of them to the captain, and he went back to sleep. Dido then gave Pen a brief account of her meeting with the little man in the wood, to which Pen listened somewhat distractedly; most of her attention was on her father.

  "I'm off, now, Dutiful," Dido whispered. "I'll be as quick as I can."

  Pen nodded.

  Dido ran down, jumped into the waiting cart, shook up the reins, and started Mungo at a rattling pace towards Nantucket. One thing, she thought—it's nice to get into town for a bit, even if it ain't London. I hope Auntie Trib don't give poor Pen the runaround while I'm gone; likely she'll sleep a good while yet, as she was up so late.

  The day was a fine one and her spirits rose. Dawn had flooded the upland commons with ruddy light and crimsoned the distant line of the sea. Old Rosie would look just the thing out there now, Dido said to herself. For the first time she recalled Nate's strange tale of how the pink whale had seemed to welcome Captain Casket. A rummy business altogether, Dido reflected.

  Mungo was suffering from several days' lack of exercise and bolted along so fast that when they descended the gentle incline into Nantucket town it was still quite early. Not many people were about in the cobbled streets. Dido bore right towards the waterfront and left Mungo tethered to a post in Whale Street while she asked her way on foot.

  "Old Doc Mayhew?" said a fisherman on the wharf. "He lives on Orange Street. That ain't but a few minutes from here."

  The doctor lived up on the hill in a handsome white house, Quaker style, with a fanlight and three windows on each floor. Dido banged loudly on the door and told the housekeeper that Doctor Mayhew was wanted urgently.

  "He ain't taken but a mouthful of breakfast. Could you wait ten minutes?"

  "Oh, well, I guess Cap'n Casket won't die in that time," Dido agreed. She was dying for some breakfast herself and strolled back, looking for a baker's shop, but was soon startled by a familiar voice, calling in the next street:

  "In the spring of the year when the blood is too thick

  There is nothing so good as a sassafras stick!

  Who'll buy my stick candy

  So nice and so dandy?

  Pickled limes, jelly doughnuts, come snap 'em up quick!"

  "Nate!" Dido exclaimed, and ran into Main Street, where she found Nate making his way slowly along in a small pony cart laden with trays of delicacies, presumably made by Mrs. Pardon.

  "Hallo, chick!" he said when he saw her, and then filled his lungs again and shouted:

  "I've several different kinds

  Of pickled tamarinds!

  Try my pickled bananas, walk up, take your pick!

  Try my licorice roots, worth a dollar a lick!"

  A number of housewives came to their doors and bought his wares, which included doughnuts, biscuits, and waffles.

  "Try my

  lemony

  wintergreen

  sassafras

  peppermint

  superfine candy, a penny a stick!"

  Children came running for the dazzlingly colored candy sticks.

  He called:

  "Popcorn and peanuts and pecans and popovers,

  Wintergreen wafers and hermits and jumbles,

  Gingersnaps, crullers, marshmallows and turnovers.

  Sample a cookie and see how it crumbles!"

  Dido bought some popovers and found them delicious.

  "Nate, have you thought what we oughta do yet?" she asked, when there was a momentary lull in the stream of customers.

  "Yes," he said, glancing about. "I've thought. We must tell the mayor. Likely he won't be so keen to have a mess o' Hanoverian English plotting on his island."

  "That sounds like sense. What's the mayor's name, where does he live?"

  "It's old Doc Mayhew: he lives on Orange Street."

  "Why," Dido exclaimed, "I'm just a-going to fetch him to come and see Cap'n Casket, who's got the raving fevers. Couldn't be more handy. I'll tell him the whole tale as we drive home."

  "Oh, that's bully. I'll get this lot sold off and come along to your place later; Ma said as how I was to help you and Pen with the chores when I'd finished selling."

  Dido nodded, and as the doctor might be supposed to have finished his breakfast by now, she unhitched Mungo and drove back to Orange Street, where she found him waiting.

  Doctor Mayhew was a fine-looking old gentleman with white hair and a frill of white whiskers all round his red face, so that he looked rather like an ox-eyed daisy. He wore a green coat with brass buttons as big as half-dollars, and a snowy-white ruffled shirt.

  "Hallo!" he said at sight of Dido. "You're a young 'un I've never laid eyes on before. Didn't bring you into the world! Living out at the Casket place, are ye?"

  "That's it," Dido agreed. "I'm staying there, keeping young Pen Casket com
pany till she's gotten used to her auntie Tribulation."

  "Tribulation Casket? Has she come back to live on the island? Why, I haven't set eyes on her since she was a young thing of fifteen."

  "Oh." Dido was disappointed. "Guess you'll find she's changed a bit, then."

  "Lively young gal she used to be," the doctor said reminiscently. "Always one for a song or a bit of dancing or horseback riding."

  "Croopus," said Dido. "She ain't like that now. Doc Mayhew, can I ask you summat?"

  "Why, certainly, my child! How can I help you?"

  "Well, you see, it's like this, Doc. There's a whole passel of Hanoverian plotters on Nantucket, and we think Miss Casket is one of 'em."

  "Hanoverians?" Doctor Mayhew seemed somewhat bewildered.

  "Yes, sir. English Hanoverians. They're all a-plotting against the English King."

  Doctor Mayhew laughed heartily. "Why, child, what an imagination you have!"

  "It's true," Dido said indignantly. "I ain't bamming you!"

  "Why, child, even if you were right, what harm could they do the English King over here? This sounds like pure fancifulness to me."

  "They've got a gun," Dido said stubbornly. "They're all a-camping in the Hidden Forest—except for Miss Casket, that is—and they've got a mighty great gun about a mile long."

  "Oh, no, my child. I have heard of those men. They are scientists, and that is not a gun but a telescope; quite a natural mistake to make. I believe they are ornithologists, studying our bird life; somebody said they wished to see a black-crowned night heron. English ornithologists, that's all they are."

  "Orny thologists be blowed!" said Dido. "Ornery jailbirds is what they are, and they're here to do some piece of sculduggery; we heard 'em plotting it the other night in the wood; then they'll go back to England in their ship the Dark Diamond."

  "That's all right, then," said Doctor Mayhew comfortably "And good riddance to 'em, whether jailbirds or bird fanciers. We've got no call to worry our heads about a pack of foreign English, even if they do put in a bit o' plotting in the evenings after they've finished bird watching for the day. This is a free country, dearie. And we keep ourselves to ourselves on Nantucket. We've no truck with such highfalutin' nonsense as kings; even the President don't bother us much. 'Live and let live' is our motto. And as for Miss Tribulation getting mixed up in such doings, that sounds like moonshine to me."