The Island of Appledore

by Cornelia Meigs

“We’ll make time by walking,” returned the sailor; “the water won’t be down off that causeway until after two and it would be no good trying to cross it with such a tide running. We’ll be sure to send you help.”

“There’s a better way than that,” exclaimed Billy; “I can go up the lane to the Shutes’ and get them to help me. That will be quicker than waiting for you to send some one. I should have thought of that before.”

The two men walked off down the sun-flecked road, and Billy stood for a minute watching them go. It was a warm and pleasant day, with birds singing, and big white clouds blowing across such patches of sky as he could see above the trees. It was nearly noon; everything was very still and peaceful; there might be a little threat of rain in some of those bigger clouds, but certainly nothing more than a passing shower. Why should he have such a feeling of vague uneasiness, of danger; a queer unrest as though he must get ready for something that was about to happen? Why should he feel such regret that the two men were getting farther and farther away? Why must he try hard to stifle the impulse to run after and call them back? He did not know.

He turned at last and went into the mill, and over to where the sailors had laid the old captain down. He remembered that wide bench under the little window; he and Sally had sat upon it, but certainly he did not recollect that it had been covered with a blanket. There were some papers lying on the dusty table too; he might have not seen them, but a puff of wind came through the broken windowpane and scattered them across the floor. He gathered them up, but found that nearly all were blank; only the three uppermost ones had any lines of writing. They were penned in an odd hand, very small and with innumerable curves and flourishes; the words, even the letters belonged to a foreign language. Billy felt that he ought to recognize it, but in the half-light of the big room could not make it out. The dust was thick upon the pages, so they must have been there some time; most probably he had merely failed to notice them when he had been there before.

Captain Saulsby was less restless now than he had been, and seemed to be growing quieter and more contented, even drowsy. Billy thought that he had better wait a little before he set out for the Shutes’, that it would be better to let the old man fall asleep so that he might not know he was being left alone. He sat down upon the floor to wait until the Captain should drop off.

It did not seem at all unpleasant to be resting a little for, oh, Heavens, how tired he was! He was still sore and aching from his hours in the water; he had not slept so very long during the night; the very excitement and novelty that had kept him up so far, had worn him out and made his present exhaustion more complete. He thought it would do no harm if he just lay down, with his coat rolled up for a pillow, perhaps it might make the captain feel more like going to sleep. He was not going to shut his eyes; oh, no; he was just going to take the time at last to think over all the things that had happened in twenty-four hours. Only think, yesterday at this time he and Captain Saulsby had sat at the door putting the finishing touches to the Josephine. No, it could not have been yesterday; it must have been last week. A wasp was buzzing in the window; it seemed very loud, but finally became fainter as though it were moving away—very—far—away.

A dead boy could not have slept more heavily than did Billy on the hard floor of the old mill. The wind rose and rain struck, pattering, against the windows, a door closed somewhere, perhaps not merely by the force of the wind. Captain Saulsby stirred in his sleep and groaned out loud, but still the weary boy slept on. The far-off rumble of some warship at target practice came faintly on the wind—it had no power to waken him. It was not until hours had gone by, not until one shower had passed and then another, and even the second one had cleared away; not until the boisterous wind had caught one of the heavy shutters and slammed it to with a crash, that Billy sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes.

The sunlight had been showing in a sharp bar across the sill of the eastern window when he fell asleep; it was slanting almost level through the western one when he awoke. The shadows on the floor were long and black, the whole place was beginning to be grey and dim. He could not believe that he had slept so long, but everything about him gave undoubted proof. He ran out and down the path to the edge of the creek, and saw, alas, just what he had feared. While he had been sleeping, the precious moment had passed, the tide had gone out and come in again, the causeway was covered and would offer no chance of safe passage until morning.

“Oh, how could I, how could I?” he kept saying over and over to himself, although it was easy enough to see how he could. After his long sleep upon the hard floor every inch of him seemed to have its separate pain; he felt as though each move must make him cry aloud. He could hardly make his way back up the path to the mill, but make it he must for there was now much to be done, and in haste.

Captain Saulsby was still asleep when he came back, a most alarming sleep, he thought, never having seen such a dead, heavy stupor before. Wrong as it seemed to leave the old man alone, it seemed worse to wait longer without doing anything, so Billy decided to set off for the Shutes’ at once. Sally’s father or mother would certainly come back with him and would arrange for some way of taking the Captain to his own house. He put on his coat and went out hurriedly. He was glad to get out into the last of the sunshine; he somehow did not like the feeling of that place inside.