Edward Burton

Bar Harbor in midsummer is a little social world in itself.

Unlike some other fashionable resorts, dancing is not the chief occupation. With all the manners of the gay world, and the cosmopolitanism which distinguishes the crême de la crême, life at Bar Harbor is unconventional. While perhaps as pretentious and exclusive in its social characteristics as Newport or Lenox, there is an abandon which is lacking elsewhere. A sort of negligé or “go-as-you-please” air is noticeable about the place, which is refreshing. Young ladies noted elsewhere for elaborate dressing appear in boating or lawn-tennis costumes almost everywhere, except perhaps at dinner or for evening.

Young gentlemen are met in striped costumes, with jockey caps to match, which display nearly all the colors of the rainbow. Outdoor exercises and amusements being the chief occupation, costumes are made to correspond.

There is no end to excursions: across the bay, up the mountain, to caves, to “ovens;” by canoe, by rowing, by sailing, by buckboard. The last named is an institution of the place. Varying in capacity from two persons to fifteen, and often most luxuriously fitted up, they are seen in “shoals” about the hotels and docks. A stranger, upon landing at the wharf, might imagine that the town was mainly composed of buckboards. Out-of-door activity has been mentioned as the chief occupation; but flirting is so intermingled with it that it might be difficult to say which is entitled to priority. Girls are in the majority, and form the controlling element in society. The average young man is highly appreciated, because there is “not enough of him to go around.” He unquestionably has an opportunity to make the most of himself. The chaperons of Bar Harbor have the reputation of being very accommodating, and the suggestion has been made that the chaperons be chaperoned.

There is one climatic peculiarity about the “Harbor,” in the shape of its “dry fogs.” It is barely possible that the dryness is mainly in the mind of the Bar-Harborite, as the phenomenon is not elsewhere observed on the Atlantic Coast. These fogs, however, are useful as draperies, to hide, at intervals, the unequalled scenery, which any habitué would assure you might be overwhelming, were it “turned on” all the time.

Although the Tapleys were guests at a leading hotel, the colonel’s wide acquaintance, together with the intimacy of his party with the Bonbrights, at once gave them an abundant entrée to the choicest circle of cottagers. The Bonbrights were devoted in their attention, and among their especial friends a continuous round of dinners, teas, and receptions were given in honor of the Sea-Foam party. Colonel Tapley reciprocated by giving two entertainments on board his yacht, and by several short excursions to near-by ports. Burton and Tapley were considerably lionized, the particulars of the rescue of little Tom having leaked out, notwithstanding they had especially requested that it should not be mentioned.

For the first three or four days, Dr. Frustadt mingled somewhat in the social round of festivities, although a part of the time he excused himself, and seemed rather bored. His fine baritone voice, conversational gifts, and rather distinguished foreign air would have served him well, had he taken any interest in society. But, regardless of the kind exertions of his host for his entertainment, he seemed troubled with ennui, and ill at ease. On the fifth day after their arrival, he announced to Colonel Tapley that he had received a despatch from a German friend, who was quite ill in New-York City, requesting his presence.

“I think it my duty to go at once,” said Frustadt, “though I hope to pay my respects to you again, soon after your return to Boston.” With hasty thanks and adieus, he took leave of his entertainer, and left by the night boat that same evening. As he formally took the Englishman by the hand, his “scars” flamed out, his jaws were firmly set and lips compressed, indicating internal excitement. When he took leave of the young men the “scars” were pale, the lips a bluish white and partly open, and hands flabby and moist.

Was there a lower, malignant self that had possession of Frustadt, and which instinctively felt and recognized something in the young men which cowed and rebuked it?

On the other hand, was there some intuitive perception in them, which penetrated his hollowness, of which they had no outward proof?

There are soul recognitions, attractions, and antipathies, which make themselves felt without external cause, and which can be accounted for only by the existence of an inner perception which has eyes, immaterial though real. Intellectually, Frustadt posed to himself as a “reformer,” but the base quality which controlled him quaked in the presence of intrinsic spiritual force and fibre.

The next morning after Frustadt’s departure, the weather was like an importation from the torrid zone.

“We never have any hot days here,” says the habitué, but that morning proved that “hardly ever” would have been more exact.

“I think,” exclaimed Van Roden, “that such a morning as this is enough to make one, in the language of Sydney Smith, wish that he could ‘take off his flesh, and sit in his bones.’” Turning to Adelbert, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, he said, “Bert, is there a cool spot on this island?”

“I fancy it would be comfortable in the dense shade of the spruces and firs,” replied Adelbert. “Let’s go and have a picnic.”

“I have a scheme worth two of that,” observed Rosamond. “I know of a spot which is positively cool. Let’s have a picnic in Anemone Cave.”

“Would it not be damp and disagreeable?” inquired Miss Jenness.

“Oh, no,” replied Rosamond. “We can take some thick rugs to sit upon, and it will be delicious on a day like this. I will order the large hamper filled with provisions, and we will take along the little alcohol heater, and make some coffee. I will send an invitation to the Tapleys, and at least the young people will join us.”

“Are you quite sure that the tide will be low enough?” said Helen. “It must be well down for that excursion.”

“Oh, yes, I noticed how it was by the bar yesterday,” replied Rosamond. “The tide will be on the ebb all the forenoon, and by half-past eleven it will be all right. We can go into the cave and have as much time as we wish. The very thought makes me cool. Bertie, please order a large buckboard that will take us all, and be sure and have them put in, extra, three or four thick carriage-rugs. Order it for eleven o’clock.”

A messenger was despatched to the hotel inviting the Tapleys to join the proposed excursion, and all the arrangements were made for a comfortable trip and entertainment. An elaborate luncheon was provided, which, with the materials and appliances for coffee-making, was carefully stowed away under the driver’s seat, and soon after eleven they started for the hotel to take in the rest of the party. There were four seats besides that of the driver, with a capacity of three persons each. Miss Jenness was handed into the back seat by Van Roden, who made himself at home beside her. Bert and his sisters distributed themselves, one each on the remaining seats, so that their guests would have an opportunity to most conveniently and agreeably mingle with them. Arriving at the hotel, they found their friends in readiness and gathered upon the piazza.

Nearly an acre of ground is required for the average buckboard to turn upon, but the space was liberal, and the vehicle, drawn by four spirited horses, gracefully curved up to the steps. Adelbert, from the front seat, called out, “All aboard for the Cave!” and all came forward to take their places. Colonel Tapley had a previous engagement, and Mrs. Tapley at first declined to go, but Helen suggested the propriety of a chaperon, and she consented.

Buckboard seats with a capacity of three are awkward, if the old adage is true, that “two are a company and three a crowd.” Here the total seating capacity, or as an economist might say, the supply, was twelve, demand only ten. Mathematical problem: how should the two threes and the two twos be composed? Van Roden visibly broadened himself, so that upon a casual glance the rear seat seemed to be fairly well filled by Miss Jenness and himself. He was still improving opportunities for character study. Burton gave his hand to Mrs. Tapley, who stepped in and occupied a part of the front seat with Adelbert, and motioned to her daughter to follow her. By this time Lord Percival had slipped in by the side of Rosamond, leaving Burton and Tapley still to be provided for. Immediately upon taking his seat, the Englishman grew stout enough to fill two seats, while his gaze momentarily seemed to be fixed upon some distant object. Burton and Tapley visibly hesitated, but Helen motioned them both to her seat, which they occupied, one on either side. Van Roden chuckled to himself as he saw that the trios and duets, as far as he was concerned, were in accord with the law of “natural selection.”

“All ready,” was the word, and with a crack of the whip the four horses dashed away to the music of two horns, provided by Rosamond, and which, as they moved along, were tooted by Adelbert and Van Roden. The heat of the sun was intense, but, with the exception of Lord Percival, they did not mind it, being sheltered by sun-umbrellas of various sizes and colors.

“Do you often have such beastly hot days as this?” inquired his lordship of Rosamond.

“No, my lord; such days are really quite rare.”

“Beg pardon, but I should call them well done,” he observed, wiping the perspiration from his rubicund features.

“We shall all be cool enough when we reach the cave,” said Rosamond. “I can assure you of that.”

“I—I trust that you will not be cool towards me,” remarked his lordship, “for you must not forget that we are cousins, even if slightly removed.”

Rosamond uttered a quick, ringing laugh, and made some insinuation regarding a chestnutty flavor. The noble lord, although very fond of jokes,—for an Englishman,—was not conversant with American slang, and an explanation was necessary.

“Here is the Indian encampment,” exclaimed Rosamond, as the buckboard passed near some huts in the outskirts of the town.

“Do I understand that some of the real aborigines are encamped here?” said he.

“Yes, indeed! We sometimes call them, in a poetic way, you know, ‘the noble red men.’”

“I fancied they were black,” replied Lord Percival. “Noble red men! I feel like a noble red man myself. My face must be crimson from this beastly heat. But I really can’t be an aborigine, for am I not your cousin—slightly—.” Again a ringing laugh, for Rosamond enjoyed jokes, even of an ordinary quality, when perpetrated by an English lord.

“I will take you to the encampment some day,” said she. “It is within easy walking distance.”

Before Anemone Cave was reached, a little thought had stolen into Rosamond’s mind, to the effect that English cousins were very agreeable company, especially when they belonged to the nobility.

On his part, the impression that the professional study of American “specimens” was an agreeable pastime, was deepened by the excursion.

On the back seat, Van Roden made an effort to entertain Miss Jenness with small talk, but she seemed in a rather reserved mood. Whenever on previous occasions he had introduced science, or evolution, or theosophy, she had responded with evident interest. Now he avoided these topics, hoping to evolve the woman instead of the philosopher. He met with little success. His theory regarding women could not be mistaken, so here must be an unexpected exception. He believed that the measure of the female sex did not extend beyond trivial topics. If this were an exceptional case, it only merited a closer inspection. Before, he had greatly enjoyed an intellectual combat with the scholar; now, he would like more of a revelation of the woman. His increased interest and curiosity were unaccountable even to himself, for nothing was expected of feminine character but giddiness and superficiality.

The fact must not be overlooked that trios as well as duets were included in the buckboard party, as it rolled southward along the narrow road through the forest.

Helen Bonbright was happy at all times, and she could not be otherwise under the present felicitous circumstances. Her enjoyment was not of so demonstrative and explosive a quality as that of her sister, although it was broader and deeper. Her love of nature was intense, and this drive was through the most charming scenery. It was delightful for her to be in communion with trees, flowers, rocks, and mountains, and she practically realized their elevating and harmonizing influence upon the human mind. She thought of them not merely as beautiful forms of matter, but, looking through their external loveliness, she saw them as manifestations. She loved them not only for what they were, but for what they represented. To her they were transparent, and in them she saw the infinite pulsations of loving, pervading, universal life. Could such a young girl be regarded as visionary or impractical? It is rather the materialistic and external mind which has become impractical; which has gravitated from the normal towards the abnormal; from the real towards the unreal and temporary.

With so much in common, Helen and her companions, one upon either side, could hardly be otherwise than responsive to each other. They were delighted with the exuberant vitality of the thick green forest through which they were speeding; with the sublimity and grandeur of Newport Mountain, by whose base they wound their way; with air, earth, and sky. With the refreshment and occupation of the higher nature, the oppressiveness of the temperature had been forgotten.

At length the road emerged into an open space, the driver reined up his horses, and the party alighted to take the path to the cave. Adelbert and Van Roden carried the hamper, and Burton and Tapley piled the heavy rugs upon their shoulders, leaving Lord Percival free to render any necessary assistance to the ladies. A walk of a few minutes brought them to the shore in the vicinity of the cave. Here old Neptune, in his assaults upon terra firma, is confronted by great, brown, rocky barriers through whose jagged openings and crevices his waves surge and foam. The endless titanic contest between these contending forces gives a chaotic aspect to this shore, the rocks being cleft, scarred, and overturned, as if they had been hurled one upon another. The party picked their way to the entrance of the cave, and found the tide at a level, which permitted them to go inside without difficulty. There were some high steps among damp and slippery rocks, but, with a little assistance rendered to the ladies, all soon made their way over them, and disappeared within the recesses of Anemone Cave.

“Isn’t it delicious?” said Rosamond.

“Cool as a cucumber!” suggested Van Roden.

“By Jove, this is refreshing!” responded the Englishman.

While the rocks about the entrance were slimy with seaweed, when they had penetrated farther up into the cavern, there was but a slight cool dampness, which was agreeable by contrast with the temperature outside. The day being bright, and the mouth of the cave quite broad, there was abundant light, but its quality was weird and peculiar. The provisions and rugs were deposited in a suitable place, and all proceeded to explore the rocky apartment. The walls were cleft and crannied, far beyond where the height permitted the visitors to walk upright, giving evidence of the tremendous power of the waves when they surge in, during easterly gales and winter storms. In places, the rocks were literally frosted with barnacles and other crustacea, which abound in remarkable profusion along this shore. Upon the irregular floor of the cavern were several shining pools, which were replenished by each returning tide. The opalescent light which was shed upon the brilliant-tinted forms of marine, animal, and vegetable life, which thrive in these miniature ponds, made them like mirrors, whose depths were formed of rainbows in liquid form. To an enthusiastic naturalist, a place with such features would be like a diminutive garden of Eden.

“Please show me some specimens of the Anemone,” said Lord Percival, with notebook in hand, addressing Rosamond.

“My sister is more familiar with them than I am,” replied Rosamond. “Helen, will you be so kind as to ‘show up’ an Anemone to Lord Percival?”

“In this pool are some very good specimens,” said Helen, upon which all gathered around.

“Please tell us whether they are ‘fish, flesh, or fowl,’” exclaimed Bert. “Let’s take one out.”

“I would like a good, well-developed specimen to dissect,” said Van Roden; “but perhaps it is best to wait till after luncheon is served, and then one can be secured in a dish.”

“There is a notice outside the cave, to the effect that the anemones must not be disturbed,” suggested Miss Jenness.

“Oh, pshaw!” said Bert, “I am going to stir up the animals.” He, however, desisted, upon a protest being made by the young ladies.

“But, Miss Bonbright, I thought that you were going to define the animal, and I am waiting to take notes,” said his lordship.

“Oh, I have never given them much attention,” replied Helen. “I am aware that they belong to a very low order of animal life, being almost a vegetable. Perhaps they may be regarded as a blossoming animal. Miss Jenness, probably, can give you more information, and—by the way—I have heard that Miss Tapley is a devoted naturalist.”

Miss Tapley disclaimed any special knowledge of anemones, but recalled the fact that they were a Polyp of the Zoöphyte order. “There are several species of this graceful animal-flower,” continued she, “and they vary widely in color and form. They anchor themselves securely to the rocks by a flexible tube, which ends in a kind of sucker and adheres to the rocks quite firmly. The anemone is a sort of natural barometer, for it blossoms out or expands itself upon the advent of fair weather.”

“I remember another fact about them,” said Miss Jenness. “If they are cut in two, perpendicularly, or across, each cutting will give origin to a new animal.”

“Very convenient arrangement, don’t you know,” said Lord Percival, taking notes.

“That being so, I do not think they would mind being stirred up,” said Adelbert, but, finding no stick, he did not stir them.

“What an infinite variety and profusion of life! vastly greater in the sea than on the land,” said Burton. “The Divine Source of All Life continually manifests the creative principle in an endless profusion of forms. The different orders of crustacea alone are so numerous that a lifetime might be given to their study, without exhausting them.”

“By ‘natural selection’ and the ‘survival of the fittest,’” said Van Roden, “these low forms—almost on the boundary line of the vegetable kingdom—in time will evolve themselves into more highly organized and perfect conditions.”

“Please spare us a lecture on evolution,” responded Bert. “I think some luncheon would now aid in the ‘survival of the fittest.’”

Rosamond, also, thought it time to spread the repast.

“Bert, please open the rugs,” said she, “so that we can comfortably sit down, and I will put things in order for making the coffee.”

The rugs were spread upon the rocks in the upper part of the cavern, and, with the assistance of Helen and Miss Jenness, the repast was soon in readiness, and the delicious aroma of coffee filled the cave. The luncheon was discussed in a leisurely way, and by the time it was disposed of an hour and a half had passed since they entered the cool retreat. One by one they arose to take a final survey, while Bert and Rosamond packed up the utensils and dishes. Burton strolled down towards the entrance, and, to his amazement, saw good-sized waves rolling in over the place where they had entered on bare rocks.

“The tide! the tide is coming in!” he exclaimed, in tones that attracted the attention of all. Rosamond had been mistaken in her calculation, and, instead of an ebb-tide, the water had been rising rapidly during their stay inside.

Between the “specimens,” the refreshments, and mutual attraction, their attention had been so occupied that the change had been unnoticed. Rosamond felt confident that she could not have been mistaken; but the surging waters at that moment were giving testimony against her. All relied upon her positive knowledge, and no one else had in any degree investigated the subject.

“Isn’t it romantic?” she exclaimed, as all gathered at the water’s edge, to take in the situation.

“I am unable to view it quite in that light,” replied Miss Jenness.

“’Pon my word we are in a dilemma,” observed Lord Percival.

“Oh, no, we are in Anemone Cave,” retorted Rosamond, not in the least dismayed.

“I should say that we are in a box,” said Bert.

“Or, rather, a pickle,” chimed in Van Roden.

“Never mind, a sea-bath will not be disagreeable on a day like this,” said Rosamond.

A wave higher than any which had preceded, and which broke at their feet, warned them that the situation was not improving.

“There is no difficulty whatever,” said Tapley. “The water is not more than two feet in depth, the day is warm, and I do not in the least mind a little salt water. I will carry you all out one by one, the ladies first, and then the gentlemen.”

Burton signified his willingness to do likewise. Bert followed his example, as also did Van Roden. The Englishman, not to be outdone, made the same proposal.

Time was passing, and Tapley thought it wise to make a beginning; so, deftly taking his mother in his arms, he carried her out, while the rest stood hesitating and watching the result. After landing her on a dry rock outside, he returned and offered his services to Helen, who at once replied,—

“Please take your sister next, Mr. Tapley.”

Tapley stood irresolute for an instant, then turned, and, dexterously lifting his sister, carried her out without difficulty.

While the water was not more than two feet in depth, the waves rolled in with considerable force, and the seaweed upon the rocks made the footing exceedingly slippery. Just as Tapley was landing his sister, a still larger wave surged in and broke with much force.

Burton turned to Helen, and, with a gesture of invitation, said, “Miss Bonbright, shall I take you?”

She replied with a smile,—

“Thanks, Mr. Burton, my brother will take me.” Adelbert at once took her up and followed by the same path which Tapley had taken. Just before reaching the dry rock with his burden, his foot slipped on the treacherous seaweed, and he fell forward with Helen underneath, both for the moment nearly disappearing beneath the waves.

Burton plunged in, and quickly lifted Bert to his feet, and then raised Helen from her prostrate position and lightly deposited her upon the dry rock.

“I hope you are not bruised, Miss Bonbright.”

Upon regaining her breath, she assured him that she was uninjured, and, after thanking him, suggested that he give his attention to the others.

While this was taking place, Tapley had returned, and by a coincidence offered his services to Miss Jenness at the same moment that Van Roden was tendering his aid, each, in the excitement of the occasion, being unaware of the action of the other. Either by chance or intention, Miss Jenness resigned herself to Tapley, who bore her safely through the waves to the rock.

Rosamond cast an imploring glance at the Englishman, but, before he had responded, Van Roden turned from where Miss Jenness had stood, and, feeling that he was warranted in dispensing with formality, took her up and went through the waves, landing her without difficulty. In the mean time, Burton and Tapley had made their way back, where no one remained but Lord Percival, who was about to plunge in.

“It is quite unnecessary for you to get wet,” said Tapley, and, suiting the action to the word, he lifted the unresisting lord and took him to the other side.

Burton hastily gathered up the rugs, and, flinging them upon his shoulder, followed, thus completing the transfer. With the exception of the wetting, none of the party were the worse for the adventure. The weather was still very sultry, and the discomfort but slight. Helen gathered up her long blond tresses, which had fallen down while she was struggling in the water, and signified her readiness to return to the buckboard. Tapley insisted that she should wrap herself in a rug, but she protested that, with the prevailing temperature, the walk would not be uncomfortable.

“This party can be traced by their drip,” said Bert, who before starting poured the water from his boots. The buckboard was soon regained, and, with exuberant hilarity, all took their seats for the return. The episode of the peculiar exit from the cave added spice to the excursion, which all voted a great success.

With peals of laughter echoing through the woods as the various incidents of the transfer were reviewed, the vehicle made its way rapidly homeward. “Sea-bathing,” “gallant rescue,” “graceful posing,” “instantaneous photograph,” and various other expressions, might have been overheard by any one in the vicinity as they passed along. The duets and trios were composed as before. Helen was obliged to submit to a wrapping of two large rugs, and if they were not well tucked in, it was no fault of a kind friend on either side.

Rosamond declared that she believed there was something out of order with the tide, although she had enjoyed the “adventure,” and was glad it had happened.

“We needed a diversion,” said she.

“My dear cousin—slightly removed,” responded his lordship, “I believe that all this entertainment was on your programme from the beginning.”

“I will neither say yes nor no,” declared Rosamond, with melodious hilarity.

Van Roden regretted only the loss of the proposed subject for dissection. Helen consoled herself with the theory that “wet packs” were wholesome.

“See! we are again passing the camp of the noble red man,” observed Rosamond.

“And don’t you forget the promised walk, cousin,” replied his lordship, in an undertone.

The party were quickly distributed, and the “Anemone-Cave” picnic belonged to the annals of the past.