UP THE PENOBSCOT.

Perhaps because it was not considered just the thing for so many young people to go off alone, Captain Patterdale and Dr. Darling volunteered to accompany them, going as passengers in the steamer. Several of the parents of the girls had objected mildly to the arrangement, fearing that some of the young men or the young ladies might be a little too wild if they were entirely unrestrained by the presence of any older person. Captain Patterdale insisted that they needed a business agent, and he went in this capacity, while Dr. Darling’s services were absolutely required as a physician and surgeon, in case of accident or sudden illness to any member of the party.

The distance to be accomplished was about forty miles, and it was not yet decided whether the boat clubs would row the whole distance or not. The fair rowists were to do as they pleased; but most of them were so ambitious that they desired to pull the whole of the way, especially as the excursion was to be one continuous frolic. The Ocean-Born was at anchor off Don John’s wharf, and at ten o’clock her steam was up, ready for a start. The members of the boat clubs were gathering on the pier, near the boat-house, each with a small bag or bundle containing the few needed articles for the journey, and a water-proof. They were to encumber themselves with no extra dresses; the blue flannel uniform was to answer for service in the boats, and for parties on shore, if they went to any. All the shore arrangements were to be made by Captain Patterdale, and the members did not even know what they were to be. The bags and bundles were stowed away in the boats, though Neil Brandon offered to carry them on board of the steamer.

One after another the beautiful barges shot out from the wharf, with their colors flying, until all of them were in line outside of the Ocean-Born. All the yachts that were to participate--six in number--were ready to trip their anchors and run up their jibs.

Captain Neil Brandon was in the pilot-house of the steamer, ready to start the boat, for she was to follow the fleet of the Dorcas Club. As the Lily darted past the Ocean-Born, Kate Bilder waved her handkerchief to him, and he returned the salute by swinging his cap. He could not help thinking of what his mother had written to him; and he permitted Ben Lunder, who was on the forecastle, to indulge without a comment in more extravagant demonstrations. Why should his mother wish him to shun the Bilders? Both the father and the daughter were held in the highest esteem and regard in the city, even in spite of the loss of fortune which had overtaken the ship-master. What had Captain Bilder done? Certainly the fair Kate could have done nothing wrong. He had never heard his mother mention the Bilders before, and he did not know that she had ever been in Belfast.

In this connection Neil could not help thinking of his first interview with Captain Bilder, in which that gentleman had manifested so much surprise when he mentioned the name of his father, and also at the name of the steamer. He recalled the questions which the ship-master had asked him, and he was convinced that there was some sort of a relation between Captain Bilder and his mother. Madam Brandon had entreated him to leave Belfast at once, and avoid the Bilders. He was not to speak to them, but he was enjoined not to be rude to them. Perhaps Neil was not entirely satisfied with the character of his obedience to his mother, though he was now on the point of leaving Belfast. Certainly it would be rude for him, now that the arrangements were all made, to back out, especially as he could give no reasonable excuse for doing so. He would avoid Kate as much as he could without being rude to her; but it must be acknowledged this was not so difficult a task as it would have been for Ben Lunder. Neil was particularly glad that he had not been called upon to avoid the fascinating Minnie Darling, for he had spent most of the evenings of his stay at Belfast in her father’s house.

“A gun from the foreto’-gallant forecastle of the Skylark!” shouted Ben Lunder. “Stand by the main-royal mud-hook! Stand by your topsail toggle-joints! Tip up your topping-lifts! Bobble to your bolt-ropes!”

“What’s the matter, Ben?” asked the captain.

“A gun from the yacht of the mighty commodore of the squadron.”

“I heard it; I’m not deaf.”

“Only a little blind in your starboard ear. There go the yachts like a moon-raker in a hurricane. Booms and bobstays! They go it as lively as a dolphin-striker paddling his own canoe in a nor-nor-wester.”

“Let fall!” was the signal from the Dorcas, and the oars of the five club boats dropped into the water as one. “Give way together!” And off went the beautiful craft abreast of each other, the girls pulling a gentle stroke, which gave them a speed of about three miles an hour.

“Ah, what is this earth but paradise! especially the watery part of it?” exclaimed Ben, clasping his hands to emphasize his rapture. “Bless them! beaming like silver stars on my dewy toplights!”

“Call all hands, Ben, to get up the anchor!” shouted Neil from the pilot-house.

“All you starbowlines, ahoy!” yelled Ben. “Break for the forecastle and heave up the anchor!”

Martin Roach was the first to respond to this call, and placed himself at the little donkey engine on the forecastle. Though the anchor was not so very heavy, it would have been a long and hard job for the four young fellows who were available for this duty to heave it up by hand. As only two, or three at most, could be spared for this task when only the four owners were on a cruise, in the Delaware, the donkey engine had been provided for this and other heavy work. Several turns were taken in the cable over the drum of the windlass, the young engine puffed, and in a moment the anchor was at the hawse-hole.

“Anchor’s aweigh!” said Martin.

Neil rang one bell, and the Ocean-Born went ahead slowly. Ben and Berry Owen washed the mud from the anchor with an old broom, and it was hoisted up on an iron fish-davit by the engine, and then lowered to its usual resting-place on the forecastle. The cable was coiled away neatly by the deck-hand, the planks swept off, and everything was made as tidy as a lady’s parlor. There was no more regular work to be done for the next two or three hours.

“Well, Ben, how do you feel to-day?” asked Captain Patterdale, as the deck-hand ascended to the hurricane-deck, where the two passengers were seated.

“In good order and condition, like a ship ready for a long voyage,” replied Ben. “I stowed away a full cargo of mutton chops, broiled ham, fish-balls, fried cunners, omelets, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, and a few other delicate notions, for breakfast this morning, and I feel as though I could keep tolerably cheerful till dinner time, though I shall be ready to take off the hatches for lunch by meridian.”

“Do you call that a full cargo?” laughed Captain Patterdale. “I should think you would wish to eat something for your breakfast.”

“I do, as a rule. This ballasting the ship with live geese feathers is not just the thing; still they fill up the vessel from the fore-garboard streak up to the main-royal benders,” replied Ben, soberly. “Ever since I began to go to sea, skotch my sky-scrapers, if I haven’t been hungry, and at almost any time of day or night I can stow away provender.”

“In other words, you need ballast.”

“Exactly so, sir. Ballast is the great moral, mental, and social regulator. Because G. Washington had ballast in the hold, he was able to keep an even keel. G. W. was an old salt, like me. That exciting nautical scene, of which he is the central figure, the crossing of the Delaware, proves that he was a great navigator, to say nothing of the happy manner in which he crossed over from Long Island when things didn’t work just right. G. W. ballasted his craft, and it is a memorable historical fact that he was always able to tell the truth on a full stomach. In my opinion, when a committee in Congress intend to investigate a case of corruption, it would be a wise plan to give the witnesses a good breakfast or a good dinner, for a man can tell the truth better on a full stomach than on an empty one.”

“I dare say you are right, Ben; but I have not investigated your philosophy,” added the listener.

“I know I am right, sir. A philosopher don’t amount to anything if he has any doubts about his philosophy.”

“The subject is rather heavy for a pleasure excursion,” laughed Captain Patterdale. “How fast are we going, Ben?”

“Not over ten knots.”

“That’s a safe answer.”

“I am opposed to loose statements; my stomach is full, and I cannot tell a lie.”

“Not over two knots and a half, I should say,” added Captain Patterdale.

“Life is a voyage, and we are but the sailors,” said Ben, looking as wise and solemn as an owl. “He is a prudent tar who often heaves the log. ‘How fast are we going?’ That was your conundrum, sir. I shall take it as my first text when I write a sermon. I am fond of nautical figures, you know. My tongue is reeking with salt, and I can’t help indulging in sea slang. How fast are we going?” repeated Ben, with a flourish and a gesture.

“About two knots and a half, Ben.”

“I was looking to the moral significance of the conundrum.”

“O, the sermon?”

“Yes, sir. As I should probably be preaching it to an audience of landlubbers, lollipops, and greenhorns, I should first explain the nautical meaning of the expression. As you are a sailor, I need not do so in your case. I should say to the young man, ‘How fast are you going?’ If you don’t know, heave the log. If you can’t tell how fast you are going, you don’t know how near you are to the sunken ledge of Dissipation. You can’t tell how the shoals of Dishonesty bear. If you haven’t the means of making up your dead reckoning, you may be running for the reef of Destruction. You can’t take the sun when you get out into the fog of Moral Indifference.”

“That will make a very good sermon; but I trust you will see the necessity of heaving the lead in such a dangerous sea as you describe.”

“Heave the lead shall be the text of another sermon, for I can’t afford to put all my subjects into one. The young man must heave the log, and if he don’t go any faster than the Ocean-Born at this moment, he will be in no danger of becoming a fast young man.”

Neil Brandon had given the helm to Berry Owen, and joined the party on the hurricane deck. He had listened to a part of Ben’s speech, and perhaps he was glad to have his friend show that there was something in his composition besides nonsense.

“Der gook dinks you petter told us how much beoples you haf to dinner in der gabins to-day.” said Karl, addressing the captain.

“I shall invite the twenty-five members of the Dorcas Club to dine on board,” replied Neil.

“No, no, captain!” interposed Captain Patterdale; “you will upset all my arrangements if you do that.”

“What are your plans, sir?”

“For the present I must ask you to excuse me, and not get dinner for anybody,” replied the managing agent.

“But I intended to feed the ladies on board the Ocean-Born.”

“Perhaps you may have the opportunity to-morrow, but not to-day.”

Neil submitted, and Karl was not sorry to be spared the labor of setting the table. The breeze was tolerably fresh, and the fleet of yachts was by this time a mile ahead of the Dorcas Club. The water was rather rough for the boats in this part of the bay, though they were all doing very well. They were now pulling “by twos,” with the Dorcas ahead.

“I should think those young ladies would be tired,” said Neil, after they had been rowing about an hour.

“They are used to it; but they are advised not to pull over an hour without a rest,” replied Captain Patterdale. “Their muscles have been trained; and at the stroke they pull, it is not so hard work as it is to sweep a carpet, run a sewing machine, or even to sew. The air gives them strength, and they don’t hurry. A stout boy could pull one of those boats as fast as they are going, and without any great exertion. I am told that those who are still pupils in the High School get their lessons better than before they engaged in this exercise; and certainly their health is much improved.”

At this moment the boats stopped to take the rest enjoined upon them. The girls boated their oars, and the Ocean-Born steamed around them, going near enough to engage in a chat with them.

“O that I were a member of that club!” said Ben, as the steamer passed the Lily.

“We will take you as a passenger for a time,” replied Kate Bilder.

“Roses and posies! may I have that bliss?”

“You may.”

The steamer was stopped, and the Lily backed up to her gangway. Ben leaped lightly into the stern-sheets. Captain Brandon was invited to accept a place in the Dorcas, and he did so.

“We should be glad to take a passenger,” said Jenny Waite, in the Fairy.

“Whom?” laughed Captain Patterdale.

“Mr. Berry Owen,”

“But he must steer,” added Neil.

“Mr. Gerald Roach, then.”

The engineer was at liberty then, and took his place on the Fairy.

The boats went off by twos again, and the steamer followed; but it was observed that the three which contained passengers did not keep their places in the procession as well as before.

“Now, really, I don’t feel just right to sit here, and see four ladies pulling before me,” said Ben. “I am like a selfish fly in a sugar-bowl, enjoying all the sweets.”

“We are satisfied, and you ought to be,” replied Kate. “Do you know how far we are going to-day, Mr. Lunder.”

“I do not; but the high and mighty managing agent has a plan which he keeps to himself. I have never navigated these waters, and I don’t know which way the cat-harpings point.”

“I hope we shall stop at Fort Point,” said one of the fair rowists.

“That is a delightful place,” added Kate. “There is a new hotel on the Point.”

“How far is it from Belfast?” asked Ben.

“Not more than ten miles.”

“We shall be there all too soon,” sighed the old salt, as he glanced at Kate. “I may not again be permitted to take passage on this celestial barge, pulled by peris from paradise. What steamer is that approaching?”

“That is an excursion steamer from Belfast. She takes out parties,” replied Kate, after glancing at the boat.

“She seems to be headed towards this celestial fleet.”

“Perhaps she is going up to Bangor,” suggested Kate.

Half an hour later, the steamer came up abreast of the fleet of boats, and slowed down so as to keep alongside. It was rather a pretty craft, so far as white, blue, and red paint could make her so. Her name, painted under the front windows of her pilot-house, was the “Monogram.” She was a small screw steamer, with a cabin aft, and a cook-room in her forecastle. On the hurricane-deck, which was railed in, and provided with seats, walked with folded arms, in solitary grandeur, Mr. Arthur McGusher. He was not to be cheated out of the pleasures of the excursion up the Penobscot by the swinishness of Ben Lunder, to whom alone he attributed his exclusion from the party.

“As I live, there is Mr. McGusher!” exclaimed Kate, as she recognized her “long-lost brother.”

“And he seems to be the only passenger,” added Ben.

At this moment, Mr. McGusher caught the eye of Kate, and taking off his new white hat, he bowed very low, and flourished with his right hand. Kate nodded to him, but bestowed no further notice upon him.

“Ladies, yaw most obedient! I hope I see you vewy well this mawning,” said the long-lost.

No one in the Lily made any reply. Mr. McGusher descended to the main deck, and took a position near the pilot-house. Seeing Ben in the Lily, he did not continue the conversation. The Monogram then dropped astern, till she was abreast of the Psyche, whose name Mr. McGusher spelled out from his position.

“Chickee, ahoy!” said he, taking off his hat again, and indulging in a tremendous flourish.

Mr. McGusher was not deeply versed in mythology, and had never read the story of Cupid and Psyche. His spelling of the name of the beautiful maiden who became immortal resulted in nothing more classic than “Chickee.” Carrie West, the leader of the boat, made no reply, for she did not know what the gentleman in the white hat meant.

“In the Chickee!” called Mr. McGusher.

“Are you speaking to us?” asked Carrie, when the Monogram came so near as almost to interfere with the movement of the oars.

“I addwessed the ladies in the Chickee.”

“The Chickee!” laughed the leader; and her companions screamed with her.

“I beg your pawdon; but what is the name of your beautiful boat?” demanded the swell.

“The Chickee,” answered Carrie. “And we are all Chickees.”

The fair rowers laughed so that they almost lost their stroke.

“You must be vewy fatigued. Allow me to offaw the sawvices of my steamaw to tow the Chickee.”

“No, I thank you,” replied Carrie, smartly.

“Allow me to invite you on board of the Monogwam; and she is entiawly at your sawvice.”

“No, thank you; but you will oblige me by keeping your steamer a little farther from the ends of our oars,” added Carrie.

Mr. McGusher did not comply with this request, but attempted to continue the parley.

“Oars!” said Carrie, suddenly. “Pull, port; back, starboard.”

The headway of the Psyche was checked, and she swung quarter around.

“Oars! Give way together!” she continued, when the boat’s head was pointed directly from the Monogram, and she darted away, to the astonishment and chagrin of the “charter party” of the steamer.

All the other boats did the same thing. The Ocean-Born, which had before rung her speed-bell, came up abreast of the Monogram, and placed herself between the intruder and the fleet.

“On board the Monogram!” shouted Captain Patterdale from the deck of the Ocean-Born, as she slowed down abreast of that steamer.

“On board of the Ocean-Born,” replied the captain of the Monogram, from the pilot house; and the two steamers were hardly six feet apart.

“Captain Post, I will thank you to keep at a proper distance from the boats of the young ladies,” said Captain Patterdale, politely, but in a tone not to be mistaken.

“I only obey orders,” replied Captain Post, who knew that it was not prudent to offend a man of so much influence in the City as Captain Patterdale.

“Whose orders?”

“The orders of the gentleman who hired the boat.”

“Who is he?”

“I have the honaw to be the gentleman,” interposed Mr. McGusher.

“You are no gentleman! You don’t know what the word means! You have no more right to speak to those young ladies, having no acquaintance with them, than you would if you met them in the street,” said Captain Patterdale, sharply. “Sheer off, Captain Post, and don’t come within hailing distance of those boats. Go ahead, if you please, Mr. Owen.”

The Ocean-Born started her screw and went ahead. The club boat had swung around again, and was laying her course for the mouth of the river. Mr. McGusher was blustering at the captain of “his steamer,” but the Ocean-Born kept between her and the Dorcas Club till they reached Fort Point, where all hands were to remain till the next morning.