Cast Away in the Cold Part 1

Cast Away in the Cold.

by Isaac I. Hayes.

CHAPTER I.

Relates how an Ancient Mariner met three Little People and promised them a Little Story.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A bright sun shone on the little village of Rockdale; a bright glare was on the little bay close by, as on a silver mirror. Three bright children were descending by a winding path towards the little village; a bright old man was coming up from the little village by the same path, meeting them.

The three children were named William Earnest, Fred Frazer, and Alice.

Alice was William Earnest's sister, while Fred Frazer was his cousin.

William Earnest was the eldest, and he was something more than eleven and something less than twelve years old. His cousin Fred Frazer was nearly a year younger, while his sister Alice was a little more than two years younger still. Fred Frazer was on a holiday visit to his relatives, it being vacation time from school; and the three children were ready for any kind of adventure, and for every sort of fun.

The children saw the old man before the old man saw the children; for the children were looking down the hill, while the old man, coming up the hill, was looking at his footsteps.

As soon as the children saw the old man, the eldest recognized him as a friend; and no sooner had his eyes lighted on him than, much excited, he shouted loudly, "Hurrah, there comes the ancient mariner!"

His cousin, much surprised, asked quickly, "Who's the ancient mariner?"

And his sister, more surprised, asked timidly, "What's the ancient mariner?"

Then the eldest, much elated, asked derisively, "Why, don't you know?"

And then he said, instructively: "He's been about here for ever so long a time; but he went away last year, and I haven't seen him for a great while. He's the most wonderful man you ever saw,--tells such splendid stories,--all about shipwrecks, pirates, savages, Chinamen, bear-hunts, bull-fights, and everything else that you can think of. I call him the 'Ancient Mariner,' but that isn't his right name. He's Captain Hardy; but he looks like an ancient mariner, as he is, and I got the name out of a book. Some of the fellows call him 'Old Father Neptune.'"

"What a funny name!" cried Fred.

"What do they call him Father Neptune for?" inquired Alice.

"Because," answered William, looking very wise,--"because, you know, Neptune, he's G.o.d of the sea, and Captain Hardy looks just like the pictures of him in the story-books. That's why they call him Old Father Neptune."

By this time the old man had come quite near, and William, suddenly leaving his companions, dashed ahead to meet him.

"O Captain Hardy, I'm so glad to see you!" exclaimed the little fellow, as he rushed upon him. "Where did you come from? Where have you been so long? How are you? Quite well, I hope,"--and he grasped the old man's hand with both his own, and shook it heartily.

"Well, my lad," replied the old man, kindly, "I'm right glad to see you, and will be right glad to answer all your questions, if you'll let them off easy like, and not all in a broadside"; and as they walked on up the path together, William's questions were answered to his entire satisfaction.

Then they came presently to Fred and Alice, who were introduced by William, very much to the delight of Fred; but Alice was inclined to be a little frightened, until the strange old man spoke to her in such a gentle way that it banished all timidity; and then, taking the hand which he held out to her, she trudged on beside him, happy and pleased as she could be.

The party were not long in reaching the gate leading up to the house of William's father. A large old-fashioned country-house it was, standing among great tall trees, a good way up from the high-road; and William asked his friend to come up with them and see his father, "he will be so delighted"; but the old man said he "would call and see Mr. Earnest some other time; now he must be hurrying home."

"But this isn't your way home, Captain Hardy,--is it?" exclaimed William, much surprised. "Why, I thought you lived away down below the village."

"So I did once," replied the old man; "that is, when I lived anywhere at all; but you see I've got a new home now, and a snug one too. Look down there where the smoke curls up among the trees,--that's from my kitchen."

"But," said William, "that's Mother Podger's house where the smoke is."

"So it was once, my lad," answered the old man; "but it's mine now; for I've bought it, and paid for it too; and now I mean to quit roaming about the world, and to settle down there for the remainder of my days.

You must all come down and see me; and, if you do, I'll give you a sail in my boat."

"O, won't that be grand!" exclaimed William; and Fred and Alice both said it would be "grand"; and then they all put a bold front on, and asked the old man if he wouldn't take them to see the boat now, they would like _so_ much to see it.

"Certainly I will," answered the old man. "Come along,"--and he led the way over the slope down to the little bay where the boat was lying.

"There she is!" exclaimed he, when the boat came in view. "Isn't she a snug craft? She rides the water just like a duck,"--whereupon the children all declared that they had never, in all their lives, seen anything so pretty, and that "a duck could not ride the water half so well."

It was, indeed, a very beautiful little boat, or rather yacht, with a cosey little cabin in the centre, and s.p.a.ce enough behind and outside of it for four persons to sit quite comfortably. The yacht had but one mast, and was painted white, both inside and out, with only the faintest red streak running all the way around its sides, just a little way above the water-line.

Captain Hardy (for that was the old man's proper name and t.i.tle, and therefore we will give it to him) now drew his little yacht close in to a little wharf that he had made, and the children stepped into it, and ran through the cosey cabin, which was but very little higher than their heads, and had crimson cushions all along its sides to sit down upon.

These crimson cushions were the lids of what the Captain called his "lockers,"--boxes where he kept his little "traps." In this little cabin there was the daintiest little stove, on which the Captain said they might cook something when they went out sailing.

When they had finished looking at the yacht, they jumped ash.o.r.e again, and then, after securing the craft of which he was so proud, the Captain took the children to his house. It was a cunning little house, this house of the Captain's. It was only one story high, and it was as white and clean as a new table-cloth, while the window-shutters were as green as the gra.s.s that grew around it. Tall trees surrounded it on every side, making shade for the Captain when the sun shone, and music for the Captain when the wind blew. In front there was a quaint porch, all covered over with honeysuckles, smelling sweet, and near by, in a cl.u.s.ter of trees, there was a rustic arbor, completely covered up with vines and flowers. Starting from the front of the house, a path wound among the trees down to the little bay where lay the yacht; and on the left-hand side of this path, as you went down, a spring of pure water gurgled up into the bright air, underneath a rich canopy of ferns and wild-flowers.

William was much surprised to find that this house, which everybody knew as "Mother Podger's house," should now really belong to Captain Hardy; and he said so.

"You'd hardly know it, would you, since I've fixed it up, and made it ship-shape like?" said the Captain. "I've done it nearly all myself too.

And now what do you think I've called it?"

The children said they could never guess,--to save their lives, they never could.

"I call it 'Mariner's Rest,'" said the Captain.

"O, how beautiful! and so appropriate!" exclaimed William; and Fred and Alice chimed in and said the same.

"And now," went on the Captain, "You must steer your course for the 'Mariner's Rest' again,--right soon, too, and the old man will be glad to see you."

"Thank you, Captain Hardy," answered William, with a bow. "If we get our parents' leave, we'll come to-morrow, if that will not too much trouble you."

"It will not trouble me at all," replied the Captain. "Let it be four o'clock, then,--come at four o'clock. That will suit me perfectly; and it may be that I'll have," continued he, "a bit of a story or two to tell you. Besides, I think I promised something of the kind before to William, when I came home this time twelvemonth ago. Do you remember it, my lad?"

William said he remembered it well, and his eyes opened wide with pleasure and surprise.

"Now what is it?" inquired the Captain, thoughtfully. "Was it a story about the hot regions, or the cold regions? for you see things don't stick in my memory now as they used to."

"It was about the cold regions, that I'm sure of," replied William; "for you said you would tell me the story you told Bob Benton and d.i.c.k Savery,--something, you know, about your being _'cast away in the cold,'_ as d.i.c.k Savery said you called it."

"Ah, yes, that's it, that's it," exclaimed the old man, as if recalling the occasion when he had made the promise with much pleasure. "I remember it very well. I promised to tell you how I first came to go to sea, and what happened to me when I got there. Eh? That was it, I think."

"That was exactly it, only you said you were 'cast away in the cold,'"

said William.

"No matter for that, my lad," replied the Captain, with a knowing look,--"no matter for that. If you know how a story's going to end, it spoils the telling of it, don't you see? Consider that I didn't get cast away, in short, that you know nothing of what happened to me, only that I went to sea, and leave the rest to turn up as we go along. And now, good-day to all of you, my dears. Come down to-morrow, and we'll have the story, and maybe a sail, if the wind's fair and weather fine,--at any rate, the story."

The children were probably the happiest children that were ever seen, as they turned about for home, showering thanks upon the Captain with such tremendous earnestness that he was forced in self-defence to cry, "Enough, enough! run home, and say no more."