Chapter XI: Alice’s Visit to Hutton Isle

“At eve a sail
On the blue water with a freshening gale.”
_—Crabbe._

It was a bright evening near the last of October. The mail had just come in, and brought Alice letters to gladden her heart for many months. There was a letter from Magnus—that strong, confident, joyous Magnus, who always saw so much good and glory in the future. And there was one post-marked London, and ship-marked _Belle Agnes_, from Elsie—the healthful, hopeful, happy Elsie, who always made the best of everything, and was gladsome everywhere. No letter could be more replete with the tenderest filial affection than hers, yet there was not a word of home-sickness, or sorrow, or discontent in it. It was full of genial life, of happy love, and confident hope.

Alice kissed the loving letter again and again, and walked about, happy, restless, overjoyed. General Garnet was away from home again, as he was about half the time. And Alice, after she had read the welcome letter to all the confidential servants who loved Elsie, bethought herself—by way of expending some of the extra life she had received—of going over to see Miss Joe and telling the old lady that her nephew’s vessel was in port, for that she had got letters by it. She had frequently gone on to Hutton’s Isle to cheer the lonely old woman, and she knew the old soul would also be delighted to hear from Elsie.

Alice told Diogenes, the colored servant, to get the one-horse chaise and take her over to Huttontown. The chaise was soon ready. Alice entered it and was driven by Diogenes over to the village. She left the chaise at the ‘Neptune and Pan,’ and, attended by Diogenes, went down to the beach. The afternoon was very clear and calm:

“The air was still and the water still,”

and she felt no uneasiness in trusting herself to the little skiff and the one oar to the old servant.

As they glided over the silent waters the profound stillness of the air and water was vaguely disturbed by a distant, deep-toned, solemn moan, swelling on the horizon like the breeze upon a mammoth harp-string, and dying away in the deep of silence.

“Did you hear that?” asked Alice of her attendant.

“No, ma’am, I heard nothing, Miss Ally,” replied the obtuse negro.

And Alice thought she was mistaken. The bay was perfectly smooth, yet it seemed to Alice that the vast body of water under them just perceptibly rose and fell, as though instinct with life and breath. The little skiff sped like an arrow across the bosom of the waters, and in something less than half an hour cleared the distance between the mainland and the isle. The old negro stuck his oar into the sand and shoved the boat up high and dry upon the beach, so that his mistress could step out dry-shod.

“Does not the wind blow around this bleak island even when it is calm along the coast of the mainland?” asked Alice, as she gathered her flapping veil and shawl more closely around her and stepped out upon the strand.

“La, no, Miss Ally, ma’am; it never doesn’t, of course; dough when der is a win’, it has more ’siderable of a clean sweep here than anywhere else. No, Miss Ally, no, ma’am; but de win’ do seem for to be a-risin’.”

“Come, let us hurry on to the house, for really it is quite fresh,” said she, drawing her veil down over her face and under her shawl, and wrapping the latter more closely around her, and striking into the narrow path leading through the cornfield and up to the house. But when she had got about halfway up the hill the wind took her so fiercely, flapping her skirts about her feet, flapping her bonnet and veil about her face, that she was forced to turn around from the wind to recover her breath and strength.

“I can scarcely face this gale! How very suddenly it has sprung up!”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the old negro, looking uneasily at the sky; “I—I—mos’ wish us hadn’t a-ventured out! I—I—I do hope us aint a-gwine to have a squeeling, knocking storm afore us gits back!”

“Oh, it is entirely too late in the season for an equinoctial storm,” replied Alice, following his glance to the sky. “The wind has blown a few straggling clouds up from the horizon, but it does not look at all threatening.”

“Ah, Miss Ally, you don’t know, honey! Der aint never no good in dem ar switchy mare’s tails!” replied Diogenes, pointing to the long, black, ragged clouds flying before the wind. Holding her head down, and hugging her shawl tightly about her, Alice pushed on toward the house.

Looking up as she reached the top of the hill she saw Miss Joe with her head far out of the gable end loft window, with an old spyglass in her hand, leveling it out to sea. Miss Joe lowered her glass for a moment and perceived Alice, and shouted to her above the blast:

“How do you do, Mrs. Garnet? Hasn’t this here bluff of wind come up sudden? ’Taint a-going to be anything but a wind, though, I believe. Come up to the house, honey. I’ll be down from here about the time you get up. I have just been looking out after that there vessel down the bay, as I think must be Hugh’s, seeing I’m expecting him. I spied that there craft about two hours ago. She was making slow headway, because the tide was strong agin her. Now she seems farther off than before. I shouldn’t wonder if this gust of wind, with the current, didn’t blow her out to sea agin. I hope it aint nothing but a gust, though, that’ll soon be over. The wind bluffs around as if it were a-going to change too; then it’ll be fair for her, and she’ll scud along fast enough before it. Come up to the house, honey! I’m coming down.”

Alice reached the garden gate just as Miss Joe opened the house door and came out to meet her, her clothes all blown aslant and flapping about as if they would go over her head, but looking so hardy, sturdy, storm-proof, with her shining face rubicund with joy and welcome, Alice laughed out to see her.

“Dear Miss Joe! you look chirping as a frosty morning! It enlivens one to see you! I have heard of people who, going out for wool, returned shorn. I have come to cheer you, and shall go home gladdened! You look so chirp!”

“Oh, honey! I have enough to chirrup me. I’m heern from Hugh and his wife. You saw that sloop in at Hutton’s Harbor? Well, that there sloop, she came from the port of Baltimore, where she spoke the _Belle Agnes_, jest in from Liverpool, and brought a letter from Captain Hutton, saying as he should run down here soon as ever he unloaded his cargo and took in some freight for this here port. His letter says how Agnes is going for to stay long o’ me now. ’Deed, I reckon she’s had enough o’ sea-faring, a’ready!” said Miss Joe, as she straddled on toward the gate and opened it.

Very soon the neat tea-table was set out and a repast, delicate and luxurious as any epicure could have desired, spread upon it. And Miss Joe arranged Alice in a comfortable seat at the side of the table near the fire, and as she poured out the fragrant tea she told all the story of the letter she had got from Hugh. How they had made such a prosperous voyage; how Hugh was going to stay home for three months; how Agnes was not going away again at all; and how she supposed Agnes was cured of her curiosity to see the ocean. And through all her talk Alice saw how much family affection was in that old frost-bitten heart of hers.