49
“I liked Castle Rest. It seemed a monument riz up to faithful, patient mothers by the hand of filial gratitude and love.” (See page 48)
50
And pretty soon our boat sorter turned round and backed up graceful into Alexandria Bay, and we hitched it there and lay off agin the harbor real neighborly. There wuz two hotels there in plain sight, each one on ’em as long as from our house to Miss Derias Bobbettses, all fixed off with piazzas and porticos and pillows and awnin’s and handsome colors from the basement clear up—up—up to the ruff, and the grounds laid out perfectly beautiful. Grass plats and terraces and long flights of stairs, and glowin’ flower beds and summer houses and long smooth walks and short ones, and everything. And folks all the time santerin’ up and down the terraces and walks, and up and down the piazzas and balconies.
It beat all what a lot of steam yots and sailboats there wuz all round us. It seemed as if every island had a boat of its own and had sent ’em all to Alexandria Bay that mornin’. I thought mebby they’d hearn we wuz comin’, and they wuz there to git a glimpse of us. But Whitfield said the boats come to git the mail, and mebby it wuz so. 51
Every yot wuz tootin’ on its own separate engine; it made the seen lively but not melogious. One of the boats had a whistle that sounded as if you’d begin to holler down real low and then let your voice rise gradual till you yelled out jest as loud as you could, and then died down your yell agin real low.
It sounded curous. I hearn it wuz tryin’ to raise and fall the eight notes, and it riz and fell ’em I should judge.
Some of the yots had a loud shrill whistle, some a little, fine clear one; then one would belch out low and deep some like thunder. And anon our steamer thundered forth its own deep belchin’ whistle, and turned round graceful and backed off, and puffed, puffed back agin down the bay.
As we turned round, a bystander, standin’ by, spoke of Bonnie Castle. It stood up sort o’ by itself on a rock one side of Alexandria Bay. And I wondered if Holland’s earnest soul that had thought so much on’t once, ever looked down on it now. For instance when the full moon wuz high in the cloudless sky, and Bonnie Castle riz up fair as a dream, with blue clear sky above, and silence, and deep blue shinin’ water below—and silence. And mebby some 52 night bird singin’ out of the pretty green garden to its mate in the cool shadows. I wondered if the lovin’ soul who created it ever looked down from the blessed life, with love and longin’ to the old earth-nest—home of his heart. I spozed that he did, but couldn’t tell for certain. For the connection has never been made fast and plain on the Star Route to Heaven. Love rears its stations here and tries to take the bearin’s, but we hain’t quite got the wires to jine. Sometimes we feel a faint jarrin’ and thrill as if there wuz hands workin’ on the other end of the line. We feel the thrill, we see the glow of the signal lights they hold up, but we can’t quite ketch the words. We strain our ears through the darkness—listening! listening!
Right acrost from Alexandria Bay is Heart Island; you’d know it at night if you couldn’t see the island, for a big heart of flashin’ electric lights is lifted up on a high pole, that can be seen fur and near. As well as the big shinin’ cross of light that is lifted up every night on another island nigh by in memory of a sweet soul that used to live there, and is lookin’ down on it now, more’n as likely as not.
Heart Island is owned by a rich New York man. It is almost covered with buildin’s of 53 different sizes and ruined castles (the ruins all new, you know; ruined a-purpose), the buildin’s made of the gray stun the island is composed of. And there are gorgeous flower beds and lawns green as emerald, and windin’ walks lined with statuary, and rare vases runnin’ over with blossoms and foliage, and a long, cool harbor, fenced in with posies where white swans sail, archin’ up their proud necks as if lookin’ down on common ducks and geese. There wuz ancient stun architecture, and modern wood rustic work, and I sez to Josiah, “They believe in not slightin’ any of the centuries; they’ve got some of most every kind of architecture from Queen Mary down to Taft.”
And he sez, “It is a crackin’ good plan too; amongst all on ’em they’re sure to git some of the best.”
“Yes,” sez I, “and it shows a good-hearted sperit too, not wantin’ to slight anybody.”
Jest then I heard a bystander say, “Amongst all the places to the Islands, this place and Browney’s take the cake.”
Brownings is another beautiful place just round the corner where the flower-garlanded rocks looks down into the deep clear waters anxious to see their own beauty. And a handsome 54 residence a little back and a big farm full of everything desirable.
Only a little way acrost from Alexandria Bay is Westminster Park, a handsome little village, with a big hotel set back under its green trees and lots of cottages round it. A nice meetin’ house too, and everything else for its comfort. And all the way to the Methodist place we wuz bound for, fair islands riz up out of the water, crowned with trees and houses and tents and everything. No sooner would you go by one, than another would hove in sight. Anon we come in sight of a little village of houses fringin’ the shore, called Fair View, and our next stoppin’ place wuz the Camp ground. I’d hearn, time and agin, they wuz so strict there you’d have to pay for every step you took from the ship to your boarding place. And if you said anything, you would have to pay so much a word; or if you sithed, you’d have to pay so much a sithe, or breathe deep you would have to pay accordin’ to the deepness of your breath.
But it wuzn’t no such thing; we never paid a cent, and I sithed deep and frequent on the way up from the wharf, for weariness lay holt of me and also little Delight. She preferred hangin’ onto me ruther than her parents. And 55 I’d hearn that you’d be fined for laughin’, and for a snicker or giggle; but I heard several snickers (Whitfield is full of fun, and young folks will be young folks, and talk and laugh) and not one cent did we see asked for ’em. Why, I’d hearn that they wouldn’t let a good smart whiff of wind land there on Sunday. The trustees kep’ ’em off and preached at ’em, and made ’em blow off Clayton way.
And I wuz told that the Sea Serpent (you know he always duz like summer resorts), took it into his head to go to the Islands one summer and happened to git to the Thousand Island Park on Sunday, and wuz swoshin’ round in the water in front of the dock, kinder switchin’ his tail and actin’. And the trustees got wind on’t and went down with rails and tracts and they railed at him, and exhorted him and made him fairly ashamed of bein’ round on Sunday. And wantin’ to do a clean job with him, bein’ dretful mad at his bein’ out on the Sabbath day, they got a copy of their laws and restrictions governin’ the Park, and they said when the serpent hearn that long document read over, he jest switched his tail, kinder disgusted like, and turned right round in the water and headed off for Kingston. 56
But I don’t believe a word on it. I don’t believe much in the sea serpent anyway, and I don’t believe it ever come nigh the Thousand Island Park grounds—only the usual old serpent of Evil, that the good Christians there fight agin all they can.
The great hotel which Samantha here describes was destroyed by fire in August last.
CHAPTER FOUR
We enjoy the hospitalities of Whitfield’s aunt’s boardin’-house at