CHAPTER III

Whitby has a beautiful harbor. It is almost land-locked, the entrance all but closed by Ship Island, leaving only a narrow passage into the harbor. That passage is wide enough and deep enough for steam-ships to enter by; it is wide enough for ships of size to enter, indeed, if they are sailed well enough and if there were any object in sailing-ships of size entering Whitby Harbor. Many a ship has successfully navigated Ship Island Channel under its own sail, but that was before the days of steam.

Before the days of steam Whitby had its shipping; and in the days of shipping Whitby had its fleets of ships and barks and brigs and a schooner or two. Although the industries of Whitby have changed, the remnants of those fleets are active yet, or there would have been nothing doing at the office of John Hazen, Junior, or at his wharf. Patty and some others of the old regime, as she would have liked to put it, were wont to sigh and to smile somewhat pathetically when that change was alluded to, and they would either say nothing or they would say a good deal, according to circumstances. The old industry was more picturesque than the new, there is no doubt about that, and I am inclined to the view of Miss Patty and her party. It is a pity.

But some of those old barks and brigs are in commission still. Only a few years ago, the old bark Hong-Kong, a century old and known the world over, sailed on her last voyage before she was sold to be broken up. They were good vessels, those old barks; not fast sailers, but what did the masters care about that? There was no hurry, and they could be depended upon to come home when they had filled, for the weather that would harm them is not made. In the course of their voyages they pushed their bluff bows into many unknown harbors and added much to the sum of human knowledge. They could have added much more, but ship captains are uncommunicative men, seldom volunteering information, although sometimes giving it freely when it is asked; never blowing their own horns, differing, in that respect, from certain explorers. Perhaps they should be called lecturers rather than explorers. Poor chaps! It may be that if they did not blow them and make a noise, nobody would do it for them, but they never wait to find out. Let them blow their penny trumpets. It is safe and sane--very.

Captain Forsyth had pronounced views on this subject. "Explorers!" he roared to Sally one day. "These explorers! Huh! It's all for Smith, that's what it is, and if Jones says he has been there, Jones is a liar. Where? Why, anywhere. That previously unknown harbor Smith has just discovered and made such a fuss over--I could have told him all about it forty years ago. Previously unknown nothing! It's Wingate's Harbor, and when I was in command of the Hong-Kong we poked about there for months. And there's another, about a hundred miles to the east'ard that he hasn't discovered yet, and it's a better harbor than his. Discover! Huh!"

"But why," Sally asked in genuine surprise,--"why, Captain Forsyth, haven't you told about it? Why don't you, now?"

"Why don't I?" Captain Forsyth roared again. "Nobody's asked me; that's why. They don't want to know. They'd say I was a liar and call for proofs. Why should I? Cap'n Wingate found it, as far as I know, but there might have been a dozen others who were there before him. I don't know. And Cap'n Sampson and Cap'n Wingate and Cap'n Carling and Cap'n Pilcher and--oh, all the masters knew them almost as well as they knew Whitby Harbor. They're mostly dead now. But I'm not. And if anybody comes discovering Whitby Harbor, why, let him look out." And the old captain went off, chuckling to himself.

Many a time the old Hong-Kong had entered Whitby Harbor under her own sail. Later, the tugs met the ships far down the bay and brought them in, thereby saving some time. Whether they saved them money or not I do not know, but the owners must have thought they did. At least, they saved them from the danger of going aground on Ship Island Shoal, for that passage into the harbor was hardly wide enough for two vessels to pass in comfort unless the wind was just right.

Once in, it must have been a pretty sight for the returned sailors and one to warm their hearts--a pretty sight for anybody, indeed; one did not need to be a returned sailor for that. There, on the left, was the town, sloping gently down to the water, with its church spires rising from a sea of green, for every street was lined with elms. And there were the familiar noises coming faintly over the water: the noise of many beetles striking upon wood. There were always vessels being repaired, and the masters of Whitby despised, for daily use, such things as marine railways or dry-docks. They would haul down a vessel in her dock until her keel was exposed and absolutely rebuild her on one side, if necessary; then haul her down on the other tack, so to speak, and treat that side in the same way. Even in these later years the glory of Whitby Harbor, although somewhat dimmed, has not departed. On the right shore there was nothing but farms and pastures and hay-fields with the men working in them; for there is less water toward the right shore of the harbor.

There were no hay-fields visible on this day of which I am speaking, but almost unbroken snow; and there were no noises of beetles to come faintly to a vessel which had just got in. Indeed, no vessel could have just got in, but, having got in, must have stayed where she happened to lie. For Whitby Harbor was more like Wingate's Harbor, of which Captain Forsyth had been speaking, in connection with explorers, than it was like Whitby Harbor. It presented a hard and shining surface, with a bark and three schooners frozen in, caught at their anchorages, and with no open water at all, not even in the channel.

If you will take the trouble to recall it, you will remember that the winter of 1904-05 was very cold; even colder, about Whitby, than the previous cold winter had been. Toward the end of January, not only was Whitby Harbor frozen, but there was fairly solid ice for miles out into the bay. Whitby, not being, in general, prepared for such winters, was not provided with boats especially designed for breaking the ice. The two tugs had kept a channel open as long as they could; but one night the temperature fell to twenty-three below zero and the morning found them fast bound in their docks. So they decided to give it up--making a virtue of necessity--and to wait; which was a decision reached after several hours of silent conference between the tugboat captains, during which conference they smoked several pipes apiece and looked out, from the snug pilothouse of the Arethusa, over the glittering surface. At a quarter to twelve Captain Hannibal let his chair down upon its four feet and thoughtfully knocked the ashes out of his pipe.

"I guess we can't do it," he said conclusively. "I'm goin' home to dinner."

The condition, now, reminded Captain Forsyth of other days. For nearly two weeks the temperature had not been higher than a degree or two above zero and the ice in the harbor, except for an occasional air-hole, was thick enough to banish even those fears which Doctor Sanderson had mentioned. Any timidity was out of place.

If any fear lingered in the mind of the stout horse as to the intention of his driver; if he had any lingering fear that he might be called upon to race, that fear was dispelled when he saw his load. He knew very well that he would be disqualified at once. There were Patty and Sally, and Mrs. Ladue, Fox and Henrietta, all crowded into the two-seated sleigh. Mr. Hazen had said, smiling, that he would come, later, from his office, on his own feet. Charlie, seeing the crowded condition, absolutely refused to go. This was a blow to Miss Patty, who had intended that he should drive, but was obliged to take the coachman in his place. Sally did not blame him and made up her mind, as she squirmed into the seat with Patty and the coachman, that she would join Uncle John as soon as she saw him.

It seemed as if the entire population of Whitby must be on the ice. The whole surface of the harbor was dotted thickly with people, skating, sliding, or just wandering aimlessly about, and, on occasion, making way quickly for an ice-boat. There was not usually ice enough to make ice-boating a permanent institution in Whitby, and these ice-boats were hastily put together of rough joists, with the mast and sail borrowed from some cat-boat; but they sailed well.

The most of the people, however, were gathered in two long lines. The harbor was black with them. They were massed, half a dozen or more deep, behind ropes that stretched away in a straight line for more than a mile; and between the ropes was a lane, fifty feet wide or more, white and shining, down which the racing horses sped. The racing was in one direction only, the returning racers taking their places in the long line of sleighs which carried spectators and went back at a very sober pace to the starting-point. Here the line of sleighs divided, those not racing making a wide turn and going down on the right, next the ropes, leaving the racers a wide path in the middle.

As the Hazens' sleigh approached to take its place in the line, a great shouting arose at a little distance. The noise swelled and died away and swelled again, but always it went on, along both sides of the line, marking the pace. Fox could see the waving hands and hats.

"They seem to be excited," he said, turning, as well as he could, to Mrs. Ladue, who sat beside him. Henrietta sat on his other side. "Do you happen to know what it is about?"

Mrs. Ladue was smiling happily. "Some favorite horse, I suppose," she replied, "but I don't know anything about the horses. You'd better ask Sally."

So Fox asked Sally; but, before she could answer, Patty answered for her. "I believe that it is Everett Morton and Sawny racing with Mr. Gilfeather. I am not sure of the name, of course," she added hastily. "Some low person."

Sally looked back at Fox with a smile of amusement. It was almost a chuckle. "Mr. Gilfeather keeps a saloon," she remarked. "I believe it is rather a nice saloon, as saloons go. I teach his daughter. Cousin Patty thinks that is awful."

"It _is_ awful," Patty said, with some vehemence, "to think that our children must be in the same classes with daughters of saloon-keepers. Mr. Gilfeather may be a very worthy person, of course, but his children should go elsewhere."

Sally's smile had grown into a chuckle. "Mr. Gilfeather has rather a nice saloon," she repeated, "as saloons go. I've been there."

Fox laughed, but Miss Patty did not. She turned a horrified face to Sally.

"Oh, _Sally_!" she cried. "Whatever--"

"I had to see him about his daughter. He was always in his saloon. The conclusion is obvious, as Mr. MacDalie says."

"Oh, _Sally_!" cried Patty again. "You know you didn't."

"And who," asked Fox, "is Sawny?"

"Sawny," Sally answered, hurrying a little to speak before Patty should speak for her, "Sawny is a what, not a who. He is Everett Morton's horse, and a very good horse, I believe."

"He seems to be in favor with the multitude." The shouting and yelling had broken out afresh, far down the lines. "Or is it his owner?"

Sally shook her head. "It is Sawny," she replied. "I don't know how the multitude regards Everett. Probably Mr. Gilfeather knows more about that than I do."

They had taken their place in the line of sleighs and were ambling along close to the rope. The sleighs in the line were so close that the stout horse had his nose almost in the neck of a nervous man just ahead, who kept looking back, while Fox could feel the breath of the horse behind.

He looked at Mrs. Ladue. "Does it trouble you that this horse is so near?" he asked. "Do you mind?"

"Nothing troubles me," she said, smiling up at him. "I don't mind anything. I am having a lovely time."

And Fox returned to his observation of the multitude, collectively and individually. They interested him more than the horses, which could not truthfully be said of Henrietta. Almost every person there looked happy and bent upon having a good time, although almost everybody was cold, which was not surprising, and there was much stamping of feet and thrashing of arms, and the ice boomed and cracked merrily, once in a while, and the noise echoed over the harbor. Suddenly Fox leaned out of the sleigh and said something to a man, who looked surprised and began rubbing his ears gently. Then he called his thanks.

"That man's ears were getting frost-bitten," Fox remarked in reply to a questioning glance from Mrs. Ladue. "Now here we are at the end of the line and I haven't seen a single race. I say, Sally, can't we get where we can see that Sawny horse race? I should like to see him and Mr. Gilfeather."

"He's a sight. So is Mr. Gilfeather." And Sally laughed suddenly. "If we should hang around here until we hear the noise coming and then get in the line again, we should be somewhere near halfway down when he comes down again. Can we, Cousin Patty?"

Patty inclined her head graciously. "Why, certainly, Sally. Anything Doctor Sanderson likes."

"Doctor Sanderson is greatly obliged," said Fox.

The nervous man appeared much relieved to find that they were to hang around and that he was not condemned to having the nose of their horse in his neck all the afternoon. They drove off to join a group of sleighs that were hanging around for a like purpose.

A light cutter, drawn by a spirited young horse, drew up beside them.

"Good afternoon," said a pleasant voice. "Won't some one of you come with me? You should have mercy on your horse, you know."

"Oh, Dick!" Sally cried. There was mischief in her eyes. "It is good of you. Will you take Edward?"

Even Edward, the stolid coachman, grinned at that.

"With pleasure," said Dick, not at all disconcerted, "if Miss Patty can spare him."

"Oh," cried Miss Patty, "not Edward."

"Well," continued Sally, "Miss Sanderson, then."

"With pleasure," said Dick again. There was no need to ask Henrietta. The introductions were gone hastily through, and Henrietta changed with some alacrity.

"You are not racing, Dick?" Sally asked, as he tucked the robe around Henrietta.

"Oh, no," Dick replied solemnly, looking up. "How can you ask, Sally? You know that I should not dare to, with this horse. He is too young."

"Gammon!" Sally exclaimed. "I shall keep my eye on you, Dick."

"That's a good place for it," Dick remarked. "Good-bye."

Henrietta was laughing. "Will you race, Mr. Torrington?" she asked.

"Oh, no," Dick repeated, as solemnly as before. "I have no such intention. Of course, this horse is young and full of spirits and I may not be able to control him. But my intentions are irreproachable."

Henrietta laughed again. "Oh, I hope so," she said, somewhat ambiguously.

Another cutter, the occupant of which had been waiting impatiently until Dick should go, drew up beside the Hazens'. The aforesaid occupant had eyes for but one person.

"Won't you come with me, Sally?" He did not mean that the wrong one should be foisted upon him.

Sally smiled gently and shook her head. There were so many things she had to deny him! "Thank you, Eugene. I shall join Uncle John as soon as he comes down--as soon as I see him."

"Well, see him from my sleigh, then. The view is as good as from yours. Isn't it a little crowded?"

Sally shook her head again.

"Won't you come?" he persisted.

Sally sighed. "No, I thank you, Eugene. I will stay until I see Uncle John."

Bowing, Eugene Spencer drove off, leaving Sally rather sober and silent. Fox watched her and wondered, and Mrs. Ladue, in her turn, watched Fox. She could do that without being observed, now that Henrietta was gone. But the noise that told of that Sawny horse was coming, and they got into line.