Bessie on Her Travels

“But what had that man on the floor been doing?” asked Belle.

“I do not know, dear. Misbehaving in some way which deserved punishment.”

“The soldier-policeman said he had been shut up four times for – for – in – su – such a long word I can’t remember it, Uncle Horace, and I didn’t know what it meant,” said Bessie.

“Insubordination?” said the Colonel.

“Yes, sir: what does it mean?”

“Disobeying orders, or being impertinent, and so forth,” said the Colonel.

“And we’d better not ask the General to let them come out of that dark house?” said Belle.

“No, I think not,” said the Colonel. “They would not have been shut up if it had not been necessary, and we had better let the matter rest. We can do no good by interfering.”

So thought the Colonel, believing and knowing that discipline must be sternly kept up; knowing nothing the while of the good which had already been done, – of the tiny seed unconsciously dropped upon the hard and stony ground of an obstinate heart, but which had brought “forth fruit meet for repentance.”

This was by no means Bessie’s last visit to Fort Adams; but she never saw the prisoner soldiers again, at least she did not recognize them; but they saw and knew her, the innocent little fairy, so she seemed to these rough men, who had stood outside the prison bars, pleading so pityingly for their release.

XIV

WATER-LILIES

One great object of delight and interest to the children was the immense number of robins around Newport. These pretty, saucy, little birds were constantly to be seen hopping about the soft, velvety lawns for which this place is famous; picking up whatever crumbs fell in their way, or such unwary worms and caterpillars as had ventured forth for air and exercise; swinging on the branches of the trees, or perched with an independent, look-at-me sort of an air, upon the fences and railings; shaking down showers of diamond dew-drops from slender sprays, in the early morning; charming all ears with their sweet notes; welcome guests whenever and wherever they came.

The first thing done by the children after breakfast, was each morning to beg for crumbs and bits of bread to feed the robins, who would come hopping close to the piazza to receive the welcome gift. Even Baby Annie must throw out her share, and would hold up her tiny little finger to keep off any one who, she feared, would disturb the birds, saying, —

“Ss, ss, badie fy,” which meant, “Hush, hush, birdie fly.”

Then there was the bathing in the sea, now as formerly, such a source of pleasure to Bessie. Maggie, too, enjoyed it, for she had lost all fear of the waves while she was at Quam Beach. It afforded endless amusement, too, to Maggie, to see the droll figures presented by the bathers when they were dressed for their dip in the sea. Her merry, ringing laugh provoked smiles not only from lookers-on, but from the very wearers themselves; for there was no rudeness or unkindness in that laugh, and she was quite as much diverted at her own appearance as she was at that of others.

From nine to twelve, the beach was generally crowded with bathers; some coming from the water, others going from the line of bathing-houses towards it; others still, in every color and style of dress, bobbing up and down in the waves. There were carriages driving back and forth over the yielding sand; many walkers, too, – people who came only to look at the bathers, or who were moving about after their own bath. The beach was a merry, lively place, where there was never a lack of “something to do;” for the children always brought their little pails and shovels with them, and when their frolic in the water was over, they would dig in the sand, or pick up small shells. Sometimes they would watch the clam-fishers turning over the sea-weed with their long-pronged instruments, or sail bits of wood and light scallop-shells down the pretty, shallow stream of fresh water; which, running from the pond beyond, and crossing the beach near its upper end, mingles its pure waters with the salt waves of the sea.

There was a story connected with this beach, told by Mr. Bradford to his children, – a story strange and romantic enough to satisfy even Maggie’s love of the marvellous, yet perfectly true.

One fine, bright morning, more than a hundred years ago, a vessel was seen coming down directly towards the beach, where no vessel had ever been known to venture before. Her sails were all set, her colors flying; and the alarmed spectators watched her with the most painful interest, expecting each instant to see her dashed to pieces upon the rocks. But no: on she came safely; past craggy points and over hidden reefs, and struck her keel into the soft sand of the beach. No person was seen on board; and, when the anxious townspeople reached her decks, the only living creature there was a dog. A cat was found in the cabin, where coffee was boiling, and other preparations made for breakfast; but not a sailor was to be seen. What became of her crew was never known: but it was supposed, that, finding themselves too near the rocks, they took to the life-boat, which was missing, and were lost; while the vessel came safely to land, without hand or eye to guide her.

Beyond this beach, a most lovely drive, with the ocean in view all the way, leads to Purgatory and Paradise. The former is a great gulf or chasm in the solid rock of the point or bluff which separates the first from the second beach; a dark, gloomy-looking place, from which Maggie, Bessie, and Belle drew back in alarm, without the least desire to look down. Neither did they like to hear the stones which the boys threw into the cleft, and which went bounding with a dull sound, from side to side, till they plunged sullenly into the dark waters below.

Reckless Fred ventured too near the edge, where a slip upon the short grass, or a stray pebble would have sent him down into the dark abyss. The Colonel drew him back with no gentle hand, and a sharp reprimand, all of which made the little girls still more ready to seek a pleasanter spot.

“For,” said Maggie, in a tone of great wisdom, “I don’t think it is at all prudent to come into places where one can be killed with such felicity.”

Maggie meant facility.

Paradise, as might be supposed, proved much more attractive. This is a succession of lovely groves and mossy glades lying below and on the sides of a rocky hill, and as great a contrast as can be imagined to its neighbor, Purgatory.

But the place which the children loved the best, and where they spent the most of their time, was the lovely little beach lying just below the bluff on which stood Colonel Rush’s house. Here, too, they often bathed, instead of driving over to the larger and more frequented beach; and here they might be found at almost every hour of the day. Here Bessie would sit, forgetting her play, as she watched the blue billows with their crests of white foam, rolling up one after the other on the smooth sands, and listening to the chiming sound of the waves, the grand music of old ocean sounding ceaselessly, and speaking to all hearts, that will hear, of the power and goodness of the Almighty hand which holds it in its place.

Even in bad weather, when she could not go out, the sea afforded endless pleasure to Bessie; for she could sit at the window watching it, as the waves, lashed into fury by the wind, rushed foaming and dashing over the rocks and reefs, and sometimes even flung their spray above the edge of the cliff on which the house stood.

And sitting here one day, looking out from her perch over the stormy waters, the leaping waves, and foam-covered rocks, she was the first to observe, and call all the family to see a spectacle which they had long desired to witness.

This was the famous Spouting Rock in full play.

At a little distance from Colonel Rush’s house was a ledge of rocks, the under side of which has been worn into deep caverns by the constant fretting of the waves. One of them has an open shaft, or sort of natural chimney, which ends on the surface of the rock. In stormy weather, when the wind has blown for some time in a particular direction, the sea rushes with great power into these caverns, and forces itself up through the spout or chimney, often to a great height. But this does not happen very often, and one may spend months, perhaps years, at Newport, without ever seeing it.

All of Mr. Bradford’s children, and indeed the grown people of the party as well, had been very anxious to see this singular sight; and when Bessie, sitting by the window, and looking over towards these rocks, saw a jet of water forcing itself above them, she knew at once what it was, and called out eagerly, —

“Oh, the horn is horning! it is really horning; come and see, everybody.”

The horn spouted all that day, and the children never tired of looking at it; and Frankie, when he was asked if he knew what it was, answered, —

“I dess it is Dod’s fountain,” than which no answer could have been truer.

Not very far from Colonel Rush’s house, lay a calm, lovely lake, called Lily Pond, separated from the ocean only by a narrow belt of land, and making a striking contrast to the rolling billows of the ocean so near.

As may be supposed, the lake is named from the number of water-lilies with which it is covered during the season when these exquisite flowers are in bloom. They fill the air with their delicious fragrance; and the delicate, pearly, white blossoms are seen by all the passers-by, resting among their green leaves on the surface of the water.

Bessie’s mother, and Bessie herself, were both extremely fond of these lovely flowers; and when Harry came in one day with two which he had fished up from their watery bed with some trouble to himself, great was the rejoicing over them.

The next afternoon, Maggie and Bessie were out driving with Mrs. Rush and Aunt Bessie, when they came upon a boy and girl, perched upon a fence at the side of the road, and having a basket half-filled with water-lilies.

“Water-lilies! oh, water-lilies!” cried Bessie; “where did they gather so many I wonder. Could we find some for dear mamma, do you think, Aunt May?”

“I think those children have them for sale: we can buy some from them,” said Mrs. Rush; and she ordered the coachman to stop.

“But we have left all our money at home,” said Maggie, in a tone of regret.

“Well, I will buy them, and you may give them to mamma,” said Mrs. Rush.

“But that is not at all the same, Aunt May,” said Bessie: “it would only be pretend our present.”

“Suppose I lend you the money. You may give it back to me if you like, as soon as you go home.”

So Maggie and Bessie each bought a bunch of water-lilies from the boy and girl, who had come down from the fence and now stood beside the carriage, and Aunt May purchased the rest, leaving the basket empty.

The girl tossed her basket above her head, and, after thanking the ladies, bounded across the road and over the fence on the other side, making for Lily Pond as if she were after a fresh supply. The boy followed more slowly.

“I wonder why they sell lilies,” said Maggie: “they do not look so very poor. At least they’re not ragged and dirty, though the girl has a pretty ugly frock.”

“If I was poor and had to make some money, I would choose to be a water-lily girl,” said Bessie; “and I would try to be so polite, and ask so nicely, that people would like to buy of me.”

“I do not think people would be very apt to refuse you, my lily girl,” said Aunt Bessie, with a loving look at the sweet little face before her, which was bent over the lovely white blossoms, not purer than itself.

“I would like to paddle in and pick the lilies,” said Maggie; “but I would not like to sit on top of a fence, waiting for people to come and buy my flowers: it must be so stupid.”

“The boy looks as if he were better able to do that than to pick the lilies,” said Mrs. Rush. “He has an interesting, thoughtful face, but looks delicate.”