Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1909-11-19
CHAPTER l.

You know Alastair? No-how should
youT Very few people know it, and
have done my best to keep the secret to
myself. The place lies, however, not SO
very far from great cities on the Allan
Ito coast. You take a train northward
from Boston, and when you reach the
proper station you alight and climb into
countryman's wagon, and he drives you
through the pines by a twisting, sand
Quilt road to Alastair. You will know 1t
because you can go no farther, unless you
choose to drive into the waves.
Few people come to Alastair. Most
OF the travellers in this part of the world
turn off about a mile inland from the
beach and go on for another mile and a
half to the Penguin Club. The latter is
full OF New Workers who come to the
pines and the sea to hunt and fish and
forget Wall Street and Fifth Avenue.
They forget it by keeping close together,
and dressing for dinner, and dancing
svery other night.
Alastair itself is only a beach between
two great headlands. From the end
where my cottage stands, snugly hid in
the pines on the edge of the dunes, the
beach stretches smooth and white to a
@AhSAO Aoh07AOShSu udIpOT Ut luC
and. Sit on my porch and look down
along the sands to the east and you
will see reef of rocks shaped like the
letter U that closes in little salt water
lake with the aid Of a distant cliff. It
Is not quite lake, rather a small In
land sea, for the tides have room to ebb
and flow. A ship Is settled into the
sands of this sea. settled upright, SO
that one may walk the decks, and I
often go there of an afternoon when the
tide is low and climb on board 1t is a
good place to sketch, and I can leave
my paints and canvas in the cabin.
stumbled across Alastair when / was
looking for a quiet place in which to
write. / found the dilapidated cottage,
camped in 1t for week, and fell SO much
in love with the beach that 1 went to
town, bought the house and part of the
woods, and moved In. Charles, the man
who had served my father before me. de-
INJURED at first, but finally gave in, and
turned himself into cook. housemaid, and
valet for my sake.
From my balcony can see the distant
rocks Of the little inland sea and, stand
ing up above them, the high sides of the
ship, and its single remaining broken
mast pointing straight to the heavens.
Sometimes the stars seem to outline
where the missing spars and sails should
be, and on a bright night can half close
my eyes and fancy that see the rigging
lighted and lanterns burning on the quar-
ter-deck.
There, is history hidden In that bat
tered hulk. She is no ordinary vessel.
and may once, for all know, have been
q pirate craft. She has the long clipper
lines Of swiftness, and her high, bulglng
bow is of type long past. When /
first came to Alastair made INQUIRIES
as to her history, but the oldest farmer
could tell me only that she had always
been there 80 far as he knew, and dis
missed the subject as of no Importance.
The people of the nearby corntrt APP
peared never to have boarded the casta- |
way. / felt the joys of Crusoe when 1 |
first climbed on her deck. The name
was gone, long ago washed out by the
sea- the deck was bare. and the top of
the forecastle choked with sand. l
brought shovel and dug away the ram
part drifted against the matches At
last l could open the door and, clearing
the steps of what little sand had sifted
through, 1 descended into the cabin. 1t