# The Fortune of the Indies/Chapter 9

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CHAPTER IX
JANE AND HER LOG
JANE received the answer to her letter in due time, written all over a number of post-cards depicting the Canal.
"And where will the next be from?" she wondered, spreading the post-cards in a semi-circle around her plate at the breakfast table, to her aunts' gentle annoyance.
But they were being very lenient with Jane just now, and "bothering" about her even less than usual. For they did realize, dimly, how wholly her heart was with the boys on shipboard and how her spirit was far away, flying before them to China. They let her drift and dream, but Mr. Bolliver, who came to Resthaven quite often now, did not seem to approve of too much dreaming. He made Jane take him for long tramps down the Point—he was a brisk and untiring walker—and he also made ​her talk about everything on earth except the Fortune of the Indies. On the warm rough grass of Bluff Point they would sit down, and Mr. Bolliver would often produce a book from the wide pocket of his square-cut coat. Then, with the sea-sound in their ears and the gulls whistling above them, they would take turns reading to one another—old sea-lore and golden verse—till the sky mellowed with sunset, and they would hurry home, late for tea.
It was about this time that Jane developed the idea of keeping a journal, or, more properly, a log. That is, she thought it was her idea, and certainly, if it was Mr. Bolliver's, he had introduced it in a most unobtrusive manner. She wrote it in a nearly empty exercise-book, which she covered with canvas that it might look more like a log and less like French Composition. Some of the entries she showed to Mr. Bolliver when he was in Resthaven, and some she didn't, but as many of them were rather illuminating, perhaps we can do no better than to pause and look through the book. The log was kept more or less in proper nautical fashion, and never once neglected to mention the state of the weather and the direction ​of the wind. From Jane's window the gilded ship that swung to the wind above the old customs-house cupola could just be seen above the trees, and she consulted it faithfully.
​July 21. Comes in foggy, breeze setting in S. E. Mr. Bolliver came unexpectedly before lunch. He had a box of guava jelly for the aunts and a book called "Admirals All" for me, which looks frightfully interesting. The guava jelly is queer but nice, having little clear sections in the midst of the rest of it, which is thick and sticky but very good. Eighty years ago to-day the Fortune was off the Horn and great-grandfather didn't know exactly how she was going to behave, because it was her first voyage. Everything was freezing up. He hadn't even reefed a sail till then, but on July 21 he reefed the topsls. This afternoon the fog went out and Mr. Bolliver got a victoria somewhere or other and took the aunts driving. I sat on the little seat—rather bumpy and backwards. We drove as near Bluff Point as you can get by the road and then out by Leander Road and the Arch Pike, which was nice, and further than I generally get to by walking. The surf was not much, but the sea was rather nice and choppy and the wind freshening. It blew Aunt Ellen's parasol right inside out which was too bad, but there really wasn't enough sun for her to be carrying it anyway. Mr. Bolliver is staying all night. I put a big bunch of minionette in his room because he said he liked it. I don't see why it would have been so impossible for me to go on the Delphian. There are lots of useful things I could have done, such as peeling potatoes or making up people's bunks. Even Mr. Bolliver laughed when I said I thought I might have. ​Perhaps Mark has this watch below, but I rather hope not because it would be nicer on deck, particularly if you can really see those very bright red and yellow fishes under the water. Ends with some stars showing. Breeze fresher, hauling S. by W.
July 22. Comes in clear and fresh, stiff breeze S. W. Walked with Mr. Bolliver before breakfast to the harbor to see a big schooner come in. She is the Rosamund Hull and is just in from Savannah. We would have gone aboard I think, if it hadn't been so nearly breakfast time, which was a great pity. Thunder and lightning happened suddenly about noon, and quite a lot of rain, so we stayed in the house and talked. Mr. Bolliver began wondering who ever stole the model of the Fortune in the beginning, and why, and the aunts began remembering all sorts of things they never thought of when I asked them. Of course they were quite little when it all happened, but they remember a cross old servant of great-grandfather's, called Elias Rollin, and he had a very long, yellowish sort of face that frightened the little aunts. He used to be a sailor on one of great-grandfather's ships. The aunts think he went away before the Fortune went down, because they can't remember him after that. Mr. Bolliver thinks that perhaps he stole the model with an idea that it was very valuable itself, because he'd heard the saying about the fortunes of the Ingrams and the Fortune of the Indies. Probably great-grandfather talked about it quite a lot and the man ​thought it was the model that mattered, nobody knowing about the paper of course. If he did steal it—and I think he did—he probably took it away and sold it and was disgusted at not getting much money for it. Mr. Bolliver says that when he saw the model and bought it he never supposed that any of us could be alive because he didn't think Ingrams would be selling their ship—or if they had, it showed they didn't want it anyway. So the whole thing is certainly very queer and much more exciting than any kind of book. Mr. Bolliver says that the boys will no doubt cable IF they really get the treasure, which is one good thing. But I don't think I can wait that long. Ends clearing, much cooler.
July 23. This day begins bright, fair and hot. No wind. Mr. Bolliver went away this afternoon. I wish he could have stayed longer. He is more relieving to talk to than the aunts. Did nothing much. Read old log-books. Went down again and looked at the schooner. Got scolded by the aunts for talking to the men. But they were nice and told me things. Ends same as morning as to wind and weather.
July 25. Comes in cloudy and dark. Wind NNE. Walked out to Bluff Point and got caught in the rain. Was not much scolded by the aunts. How strange, because I was sopping. Instead they gave me hot lemonade and toast and said I could make cinnamon sugar for it if I wanted. So I did, and it was pretty good. Wrote to Mr. Bolliver, which ​is next best to talking to him, only his answers don't come very quickly. I wish the Pacific was not so far away, and then Alan could send wireless messages to the station on the hill in town, because he must be able to send messages whenever he wants, I should think. Otherwise what's the good of being a wireless operator? If they had gone across by the quick, expensive, passenger way, from San Francisco, they'd be nearly there now, I should think. But the Delphian will take much longer. And just as long to come back. The rain is coming through my window, which I 'd better shut. Ends still stormy.
July 27. Clearing. Wind hauling NW. Light clouds. Woke before sunrise and stayed awake. Got tired of thinking, so got up and finished "Admirals All." Sophy broke a tea-cup—fortunately not one of the aunts' preciousest ones. Lydia Fisk came to see me which was a bother. She says her hat came from New York, but I think it's rediculous looking all the same. I'm awfully afraid I was crossish to her because she didn't stay long, which she usually does, but I felt all sort of blowing up. Aunt Ellen tryed to teach me to hem-stitch, but I'm afraid I'll never be very useful at such things. Walked up over the hill and back by Larch Avenue, but it's rather ugly up there. Began "Admirals All" over again, in evening. Ends clear and many stars. Wind NW by W.
So ran Jane's log, with these and other entries, throughout several weeks. It must be confessed that the log languished presently, as youthful journals often do. Not because Jane had too much else to do, however. On the contrary, she seemed to have less and less to occupy her. Mr. Bolliver, who at first was inclined to treat as a joke her alternate languor and restlessness, scolded her laughingly.
"Upon my soul, you'll turn into a little old woman if you do nothing but sit glowering at the harbor," he said. "Can you find nothing to do?"
"Oh, I have lots to do," Jane assured him. "I just can't get at it, that's all. I feel the way you do when you're expecting somebody to come and they're late."
"Pooh!" said Mr. Bolliver. "You'd better get over that without delay, young lady, if it's the boys you're waiting for. You'll waste a deal of time if you put off doing anything until they get back!"
​And he shook his finger at her merrily, but the look he gave her was shrewd enough.
So the summer days drifted over Resthaven and rolled on to the Pacific, where the Delphian was pounding always nearer to her destination.