CHAPTER VII.
THE "STORMY PETREL."
"A boat, a boat is the toy for me, To rollick about in on river and sea, To be a child of the breeze and the gale, And like a wild bird on the deep to sail-- This is the life for me."
The United Sea Urchins" Recreation Society usually met every morning upon the strip of green common underneath the cliffs which they had appropriated to their own use, and were prepared to hold against all comers. The Rokebys, who were enthusiastic bathers, had a tent upon the sh.o.r.e, and spent nearly half the morning in the sea, where they could float, swim on their backs, tread water, and even turn head over heels, much to the envy of the Wrights, who made valiant efforts to emulate these wonderful feats, and nearly drowned themselves in the attempt. The two little Barringtons were solemnly bathed each day by their mother in a specially-constructed roofless tent, which was fixed upon four poles over a hole previously dug in the sand, and filled by the advancing tide. Here they were obliged to sit for ten minutes in the water, with the sun pouring down upon them till the small tent resembled a vapour bath, after which they were ma.s.saged according to the treatment recommended by a certain Heidelberg doctor in whom Mrs. Barrington had great faith, and whose methods she insisted upon carrying out to the letter, in spite of Ruth"s indignant remonstrances and Edna"s wails.
"Ruth says bathing"s no fun at all," confided Isobel to her mother; "and I shouldn"t think it is, if you can"t splash about in the sea and enjoy yourself. Mrs. Barrington won"t let them try to swim, and they just have to sit in a puddle inside the tent, while she flings cans of sea-water down their backs. Edna says the hot sun makes the skin peel off her, and she can"t bear the rubbing afterwards. Her clothes fridge her, too; they always wear thick woollen under-things even in this blazing weather, their mother"s so afraid of them taking a chill."
"Poor children!" said Mrs. Stewart; "I certainly think they have rather a bad time. It must be very hard to be brought up by rule, and to have so many experiments tried upon you."
"Ruth says she has one comfort, though," continued Isobel: "they"re allowed to speak English all the time during the holidays. At home they have a German governess, and they talk French one day, and German the next, and English only on Sundays. Ruth hates languages. She won"t speak a word to mademoiselle, but she says the Wrights simply talk cat-French--it"s half of it English words--although they"re so conceited about it, and generally say something out very loud if they think anybody is pa.s.sing, even if it"s only _Il fait beau aujourd"hui_, or _Comment vous portez-vous?_ The Rokebys poke terrible fun at them; they"ve made up a gibberish language of their own, and they talk it hard whenever the Wrights let off French. It makes Charlotte and Aggie quite savage, because they know they"re talking about them, only they can"t understand a word."
"What"s the club going to do to-day?" asked Bertie Rokeby one morning, looking somewhat damp and moist after his swim. ("He never _will_ dry himself properly," said Mrs. Rokeby; "he just gets into his clothes as he is, and he"s sitting down on the old boat just where the sun has melted the pitch, and it will be sure to stick to his trousers.")
"Don"t know," said Harold Wright, lolling comfortably in the shade of a rock, with his head on his rolled-up jacket; "too hot to race round with the thermometer over 70. I shall stay where I am, with a book."
"Get up, you fat porpoise! You"ll grow too lazy to walk. Unless you mean to stop and swat at Greek like old Arthur."
"No, thanks," laughed Harold. "I"m not in for a scholarship yet, thank goodness! I"m just going to kick my heels here. The _dolce far niente_, you know."
"Let us go down to the quay," suggested Charlie Chester, "and watch the boats come in. It"s stunning to see them packing all the herrings into barrels, and flinging the mackerel about. Some of the men are ever so decent: they let you help to haul in the ropes, and take you on board sometimes."
"Shall we go too?" said Belle, who, with her arm as usual round Isobel"s waist, stood among the group of children; "it"s rather fun down by the quay, if you don"t get _too_ near the fish.--Are you coming, Aggie?"
"Yes, if Charlotte and mademoiselle will go too.--Mam"zelle, voulez-vous aller avec nous a voir le fish-market?"
Mademoiselle shivered slightly, as if Aggie"s French set her teeth on edge.
"Qu"est-ce que c"est, chere enfant, cette "feesh markeet"?" she replied.
"I don"t know whether I can quite explain it in French," replied Aggie; but seeing the Rokebys come up, she made a desperate effort to sustain her character as a linguist. "C"est l"endroit ou on vend le poisson, vous savez."
Unfortunately she p.r.o.nounced _poisson_ like the English "poison," and mademoiselle held up her dainty little hands with a shriek of horror.
"Vere zey sell ze poison! Non, mon enfant! You sall nevaire take me zere! Madame Wright, see not permit zat you go! C"est impossible!"
"It"s all right, mademoiselle," said Arthur, taking his nose for a moment out of his dictionary. "Aggie only meant _poisson_. The mater"ll let the kids go, if you want to take "em."
"Come along, mademoiselle, do!" said Charlie Chester cordially. "Venez avec moi! That"s about all the French I can talk, because at school we only learn to write exercises about pens and ink and paper, and the gardener"s son, and lending your knife to the uncle of the baker; a jolly silly you"d be if you did, too! You"d never get it back.
Suivez-moi! And come and see the _poisson_. You"ll enjoy it if you do."
"I"m sure she wouldn"t," said Charlotte Wright, who liked to keep her governess to herself. "We haven"t time, either--we must do our translation before dinner; and Joyce and Eric can"t go unless we"re there to look after them."
"All right; don"t, then! We shan"t grieve," retorted Charlie. "We"ll go with the Rokebys."
But the Rokebys, though ready, as a rule, to go anywhere and everywhere, on this particular occasion were due at the railway station to meet a cousin who was arriving that morning; so it ended in only Belle and Isobel, with Charlie and Hilda Chester, setting off for the old town.
The quay was a busy, bustling scene. The herring-fleet had just come in, and it was quite a wonderful sight to watch the fish, with their shining iridescent colours, leaping by hundreds inside the holds. They were flung out upon the jetty, and packed at once into barrels, an operation which seemed to demand much noise and shouting on the part of the fishermen in the boats, and to call for a good deal of forcible language from their partners on sh.o.r.e. The small fry and cuttle-fish were thrown overboard for the sea-gulls, that hovered round with loud cries, waiting to pounce upon the tempting morsels, while the great flat skate and dog-fish were put aside separately.
"They"re second-rate stuff, you see," explained Charlie Chester, who, with his hands in his pockets and his most seaman-like gait, went strolling jauntily up and down the harbour, inspecting the cargoes, trying the strength of the cables, peeping into the barrels with the knowing air of a connoisseur of fish, and generally putting himself where he was decidedly not wanted.
"They only pack the herrings, and they salt and dry the others in the sun. You can see them dangling outside their cottage doors all over the town, and smell them too, I should say. When they"re quite hard they hammer them out flat, and send them to Whitechapel for the Jews to buy--at least that"s what the mate of the _Penelope_ told me the other day."
"They eat them themselves too," said Hilda. "I went inside a cottage one day, and they were frying some for dinner. The woman gave me a taste, but it was perfectly horrid, and I couldn"t swallow it. I had to rush outside round the corner and spit it out."
"You disgusting girl!" said Belle, picking her way daintily between the barrels; "I wonder you could touch it, to begin with! Why, here are the women coming with the c.o.c.kles. What a haul they"ve had! There"s old Biddy at the head of them."
"So she is!" cried Charlie; "her basket looks almost bursting!--Hullo, Biddy!--
"In Dublin"s fair city, Where girls are so pretty, There once lived a maiden named Molly Malon She wheeled a wheelbarrow Through streets wide and narrow, Singing, "c.o.c.kles and mussels alive, alive-O!""
Change it into Biddy, and there you are! I"ve an eye for an "illigant colleen" when I see her!"
"Sure, ye"re at yer jokes agin, Masther Charlie," laughed Biddy; "colleen, indade, and me turned sixty only the other day! If it weren"t for the kreel on me back, I"d be afther yez."
"I"d like to see you catch me," cried Charlie, as he jumped on a heap of barrels, bringing the whole pile with a crash to the ground, greatly to the wrath of the owner, who expressed his views with so much vigour that the children judged it discreet to adjourn farther on along the quay.
They strolled past the storehouse, and round the corner to where a flight of green slimy steps led down to the water. There was an iron ring here in the sea wall, and tied to it by a short cable was the jolliest pleasure boat imaginable, newly painted in white and blue, with her name, the Stormy _Petrel_, in gilt letters on the prow, her sail furled, and a pair of sculls lying ready along her seats.
"She"s a smart craft," said Charlie, reaching down to the painter, and pulling the boat up to the steps. "I vote we get inside her, and try what she feels like."
"Will they let us?" asked Isobel.
"We won"t ask them," laughed Charlie. "It"s all right; we shan"t do any harm. They can turn us out if they want her. Come along." And he held out his hand.
It was such a tempting proposal that it simply was not in human nature to resist, and the three little girls hopped briskly into the boat, Belle and Isobel settling themselves in the bows, and Hilda taking a seat in the stern.
"It almost feels as if we were really sailing," said Isobel, as the boat danced upon the green water, pulling at its painter as though it were anxious to break away and follow the ebbing tide.
"She"d cut through anything, she"s so sharp in the bows," said Charlie, handling the sculls lovingly, and looking out towards the mouth of the harbour, where long white-capped waves flecked the horizon.
"Can"t you take us for a row, Charlie?" cried Belle; "it"s so jolly on the water."
"Yes, do, Charlie," echoed Hilda; "it would be such fun."
"Do you mean, go for a real sail?" asked Isobel, rather aghast at such a daring proposal.
"Oh, we"d only take her for a turn round the harbour, and be back before any one missed her. It would be an awful lark," said Charlie.
"But not without a boatman!" remonstrated Isobel.
"Why not? I know all about sailing," replied Charlie confidently, for, having been occasionally taken yachting by his father, and having picked up a number of nautical terms, which he generally used wrongly, he imagined himself to be a thorough Jack Tar. "Wouldn"t you like it? I thought you were fond of the sea."
"So I am," said Isobel; "but I don"t think we ought to go without asking. It"s not our boat, and the man she belongs to mightn"t like us to take her out by ourselves."
"I suppose you"re afraid," sneered Charlie; "most girls are dreadful land-lubbers. Hilda"s keen enough; and as for Belle, she"s half wild to go, I can see."