"Did they ask you at the fish market where you got them?"
"They did; but I didn't tell them," laughed the young man. "The mackerel fetched a good price. I counted off three hundred and twenty-four at ten cents apiece, and wouldn't take any less. They are scarce, and I saw them selling the fish at twenty cents apiece; so they will make as much as I do. Here is the money—thirty-two dollars and forty cents."
Harvey Barth, his Diary. Page 65.Harvey Barth, his Diary. Page65.
"Keep it yourself, my boy. You shall have all you make, as long as you don't spend it for candy and nonsense. Now go up and see the sick man. He may want something, and all the folks have been busy this afternoon."
The landlord took the basket of fish and put them on the ice, while Leopold went up to Harvey Barth's chamber. The sick man did not want anything. He was sitting up in the bed, with his diary and a pen in his hands, while the inkstand stood on the little table with the medicine bottles.
"There," said Harvey to Leopold, who had been a frequent attendant during his sickness, "I have just finished writing up this date; and it contains the whole story of the wreck of the Waldo, and all that happened on board of her during the voyage."
"What is it? what are you writing, Mr. Barth?" asked the young man.
Harvey opened the book at the blank leaf in the beginning, and turned it towards his visitor.
"Harvey Barth. His diary," Leopold read. "I see; you keep a diary."
"I do. I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that book, poor as I am," added Harvey, as he closed the volume and laid the pen on the table.
"Shall I put it away for you?" asked Leopold.
"No; thank you; I'll take care of it myself," he replied as he proceeded to fold the book in its oil-cloth cover.
When Leopold had left the room, Harvey Barth enclosed the book in an old newspaper, and, getting out of bed, thrust the package up the flue of the little fireplace in the room, placing it on some projecting shelf or jamb which he had discovered there. He was very careful of the book, and seemed to be afraid some one might open it while he was asleep. Doubtless the diary contained secrets he was not willing others should discover; and certainly no one would think of looking in the flue of the fireplace for it.
Harvey Barth seemed to be exceedingly well satisfied with himself after he had finished the writing of his diary up to date. Possibly the fact that he had not completed his account of the wreck of the Waldo had troubled him, as any work left unfinished troubles a progressive or conscientious man. But whether or not he had been disturbed about his diary, he was happier than usual after he had completed the task. His physical condition had been greatly improved under the careful nursing of Mrs. Bennington. In the course of the afternoon not less than half a dozen persons called to see him, and remained from five minutes to half an hour, one of whom was connected with a newspaper in a city on the bay, who was anxious to obtain a full and correct account ofthe loss of the brig, which Harvey had not yet been able to furnish, even verbally; but he promised to write out a full narrative for the applicant, in preference to giving it by word of mouth.
Others who called upon him were friends of those lost in the Waldo, and desired to obtain further particulars in regard to the catastrophe. But the majority of those who visited the steward came only from mere curiosity, or at best from motives of sympathy.
Harvey Barth, as the only survivor of that terrible disaster, was quite a hero in Rockhaven. He had been mentioned in all the newspapers on the coast, in connection with the wreck, and many people had a curiosity to see him, especially the visitors at Rockhaven, who had nothing to do but to amuse themselves.
The wreck had been talked about for over a week, and for several days after the disaster High Rock and its vicinity had been visited by a great number of boats. Not a single body of those who perished in the wreck was washed ashore, though diligent search had been made on all the islands in the neighborhood.
The visit of the newspaper man had given Harvey Barth a new sensation, for the steward was particularly pleased with the idea of writing an account of the wreck of the Waldo for publication; and he thought over, during the rest of the day, the satisfaction it would give him to carry fifty or a hundred copies of the paper containing it to his native town in "York State," and distribute them among his relatives and friends. Indeed, the idea was so exciting, that, when night came, he could not sleep till a late hour for thinking of it. And when he did go to sleep he dreamed of it; and it seemed to him that a "printer's devil" came to him in his chamber to ask for "more copy" of the important narrative. The imp disturbed him, and he awoke to find a man in his room; but it was only a half-tipsy "drummer" from the city, who had got into the wrong chamber when he went to bed.
It took Harvey some time to convince the interloper that he had made a mistake; and the stranger had some difficulty in finding his way out. The invalid heard him groping about the chamber for a long time before the door closedbehind him. The steward quieted his excited nerves as well as he was able, and in thinking over the great composition upon which he intended to commence the next morning, he went to sleep again.
Leopold Bennington had slept at least five hours before the sick man was finally "wrapt in slumber," as he intended to express himself in the great composition; and in two hours more he had slept all he could afford to sleep when number one mackerel were waiting to be caught. At three o'clock in the morning he awoke and dressed himself, the latter operation occupying not more than twenty seconds, for his toilet consisted only in putting on his trousers, shoes and hat. He went down stairs, and, as boys of his age are always hungry, his first objective point was the pantry, between the dining-room and kitchen, where he found and ate an abundance of cold roast beef, biscuits, and apple pie. Being a provident youth, he transferred a considerable quantity of these eatables to the large basket in which he had brought home his fish the day before, so that he could "have a bite" himself, even if themackerel failed to favor him in this direction.
Though he stopped to fill himself with cold roast beef, biscuit, and apple pie, and even to fill his basket after he had filled himself, Leopold was very much excited in regard to the mackerel catch of that day. He hoped to find the number ones where he had fallen in with them the day before; and he could hardly expect to catch more than one more fare before the fact that the mackerel were in the bay became generally known. The mackerel fleet itself, consisting of between two and three hundred sail, might be in the vicinity before the sun set again. He realized the necessity of making hay while the sun shines. But mackerel are very uncertain, so far as their location and inclination to bite are concerned; so that there was not more than an even chance for him to catch a single fish. The result was doubtful enough to make the game exciting; and Leopold felt very much as an unprofessional gambler does when he goes to the table to risk his money. It seemed to be altogether a question of luck.
But Leopold was hopeful, and felt that thechances were rather in his favor. He had been saving all the money he could earn for months for a particular purpose; and he was not excited by the simple prospect of obtaining the lucre for the purpose of hoarding it, so that he could feel that he possessed a certain sum. He had been a little afraid that, when his gains amounted to so large a sum as thirty-two dollars and forty cents, his father would take possession of his receipts; but the landlord of the Cliff House adhered to his policy of allowing his son to retain the proceeds of his own labor. With a pea-jacket on his arm and the basket in his hand, he left the hotel while the stars were still shining in the few patches of blue sky that were not hidden by the clouds. But he did not proceed immediately to the boat. He crossed the street, and, concealing his basket in the bushes by the side of the path which led down to the river, he hastened up the next street beyond the hotel till he came to a small cottage, at the gate of which he halted, and gave three prolonged whistles.
"Hallo, Le!" shouted a voice from the open window in the gable end of the cottage.
Of course no sane boy of sixteen would think of pronouncing the three syllables of the name of one of his cronies; and Leopold, in his undignified intercourse with his companions, was known only by the abbreviated name of "Le."
"Come, Stumpy, tumble out," replied Leopold. "Bear a hand, lively, and don't wait for your breakfast. I have grub enough to keep us for a week."
"I'm all ready," replied Stumpy; "I was up when you whistled."
Early as it was in the morning, Stumpy seemed to be very cheerful, perhaps made so by the remark about "grub" which Leopold had used, for the boy of the cottage knew by experience that the provender which came from the hotel was superior to that of the larder of his own dwelling.
The two "early birds" walked rapidly towards the river, not because they were in a hurry, but because they were excited. The excursion upon which they had now embarked had been duly talked over the night before, and Stumpy, though his interest in the venture was small compared with that of his companion, was hardly less hopeful.
They descended the steep path on the bank of the river, and in a few moments more the dingy old boat with the patched and ragged sail was standing out towards the open bay. The wind in the river was very light, and the old craft was a heavy sailor, so that her progress was very slow; but the tongues of the two boys moved fast enough to make up for the deficiencies of the boat. Their conversation was about the prospect of catching a fare of mackerel, though Harvey Barth and his diary came in for some comments.
Stumpy was Leopold's dearest friend and most intimate companion. The friendship had commenced in school, which both of them continued to attend in the winter. It had its origin in no especial event, for neither had conferred any particular favor on the other. Like many another intimacy, it grew out of the fancy of the friends. Both of them were "good fellows," and they liked each other. This is all the explanation which their friendship requires. Stumpy was the oldest son of a widow, who managed with his assistance, to support her family of three children. Socially there was no difference intheir standing. If the landlord of the Cliff House was a person of some consequence, on the one hand, Stumpy's grandfather, on the other, was one of the wealthiest and most distinguished citizens of Rockhaven, and the boy would probably inherit a portion of his property when he died. But it ought to be added that Stumpy did not hold his head any higher because of his family connections. In fact, he hardly ever alluded to his relationship to the wealthy and distinguished man. To use his own words, he, "did not take much stock in his grandfather;" and in his confidential conversations with Leopold he did not scruple to say that the old gentleman was the meanest man in Rockhaven.
This grandfather was Moses Wormbury, Esq.; he was a Justice of the peace, and had been a member of the legislature. It was said that he had a mortgage on every other house in Rockhaven; but this was doubtless an exaggeration, though he loaned out a great deal of money on good security. Squire Wormbury had had two sons and several daughters, all the latter being married and settled in Rockhaven or elsewhere.The elder son, Joel, was the father of Stumpy. The younger son, Ethan, kept the Island Hotel, a small establishment of not half the size even of the Cliff House, which had less than twenty rooms. In some respects the two hotels were rivals, though the Cliff House had all the better business. Ethan Wormbury did his best to fill up his small house, and was not always careful to be fair and honorable in his competition; but Mr. Bennington was good-natured, and only laughed when bad stories about his house came from the Island Hotel.
Connected with Joel Wormbury, the father of Stumpy, there was a sad leaf of family history. At the age of twenty-three he had married a poor girl, who became a most excellent woman. Before this event he had been to sea, and had made several fishing trips to the Banks. After his marriage, he worked at "coopering" when he could obtain this employment, and went a fishing when he could not. When his first boy was born, he named him after the master of a bark with whom he had made a voyage up the Mediterranean, and who had been very kind to him during a severe illness at Palermo. Joel'sfather, uncles, and brother had all received Scripture names; and perhaps it would have been better if Joel himself had been equally scriptural in choosing names for his offspring, for the master of the bark was Captain Stumpfield, and the boy, Stumpfield Wormbury, was doomed to be calledStumpyfrom the day he first went to school till he lost it in the dignity of manhood, though, even then, the unfortunate cognomen was applied to him by his old cronies.
Joel Wormbury was an industrious and prudent man, but his usual earnings were no more than sufficient to enable him to support his family; for, prudent as he was, it was impossible for him to be as mean as his father, who always insisted that Joel was extravagant.
Seven years before we introduce his son to the reader, the father made a trip to George's Bank. The vessel was lucky, and the "high liner's" share—eight hundred and fifty odd dollars—came to Joel. But he had been out of work for some time, and was in debt; yet he honestly paid off every dollar he owed, and had over six hundred dollars left. With this he feltrich, and his wife thought their home ought to be more comfortably furnished. It was a hired house; and when two hundred dollars had been expended in furniture, Squire Moses declared that Joel had "lost his senses." But the tenement was made very comfortable and pleasant; and still Joel had four hundred dollars in cash. While he was thinking what he should do with this money, his father reproached him for his extravagance, and told him he ought to have built a house, instead of fooling away his money on "fancy tables and chairs," as he insisted upon calling the plain articles which his son had purchased.
The idea made a strong impression upon Joel, and he immediately paid a hundred dollars for half an acre of land in what was then an outskirt of the village. He wanted to build at once, and his father was finally induced to lend him seven hundred dollars, taking a mortgage on the land and buildings for security. The house was built, and the new furniture appeared to advantage in it. Joel was happy now, and did his best to earn money to pay off the mortgage. He made two more trips to the Georges,with only moderate success. All he could do for the next two years was to pay his interest and support his family.
Unfortunately, about this time, Joel "took to drinking;" not in a beastly way, though he was often "excited by liquor." He was not regarded as a drunkard, for he attended to his work and took good care of his family. There were, unhappily, several rum-shops in Rockhaven; and in one of these, one night, after Joel had been imbibing rather more freely than usual, he got into a dispute with Mike Manahan, an Irish quarryman, who was also warmed up with whiskey. Mike was full of Donnybrook pluck, and insisted upon settling the dispute with a fight, and struck his opponent a heavy blow in the face. Joel was a peaceable man, and perhaps, if he had been entirely sober, he would have been killed by his belligerent foe. As it was, he defended himself with a bottle from the counter of the saloon, which he smashed on the head of his furious assailant.
The blow with the bottle, which was a long and heavy one, felled Mike to the floor. He dropped senseless with the blood oozing fromhis head upon the sanded boards. Joel was appalled at what he had done; but he was sobered as well, and when some of the wounded man's friends attacked him in revenge, he fled from the saloon. But he went for the doctor, and sent him to Mike's aid. He was terribly alarmed as he considered the probable consequences of his rash deed. He dared not go home, lest the constable should be there to arrest him. Later in the evening he crept cautiously to the doctor's office, to ascertain the condition of his victim. The physician had caused Mike to be conveyed to his boarding-place, and had done all he could for him. In reply to Joel's anxious inquiries, he shook his head, and feared the patient would die. He could not speak with confidence till the next day, but the worst was to be anticipated. Joel was stunned by this intelligence. A charge for murder or manslaughter would be preferred against him, and the penalty for either was fearful to contemplate. He dared not go home to comfort his wife—if there could be any comfort under such circumstances.
Stealing down to the river in the gloom ofthe night, he embarked in a dory he owned, and before morning pulled twelve miles to a city on the other side of the bay, from which he made his way to Gloucester, where he obtained a lay in a fishing-vessel bound to the Georges. When he was ready to sail, he wrote a long letter to his wife, explaining his situation. She had money enough to supply the needs of the family for a time for the purse had always been in her keeping. He asked her to write him in regard to the fate of Mike Manahan, and to inform him of what people said about the quarrel, so that he could get her letters on his return from the Georges, if there should be no opportunity of forwarding them to him.
Mrs. Wormbury was very much distressed at this unfortunate event; but it appeared in a few days that Mike was not fatally injured; and in a week he returned to his work. Mike was a good-hearted fellow, and as soon as he was able he called upon the wife of his late opponent, declaring that it was a fair fight, and that no harm should come to her husband when he returned.
Squire Moses declared that people who were extravagant often "took to drinking," and that he was not much surprised at what had happened. Joel's wife was happy at the turn the affair had taken; and her husband's absence was no more than she had been called upon to endure before. She wrote several letters to him, with "all the news," and confidently expected her husband's return in a few weeks.
Instead of his return came a letter from the captain of the vessel in which he had sailed—a sad letter which shut out all hope for the future. Joel had gone off in a dory to attend to the trawls; a sudden fog had come up, so that he could not find the vessel, and his companions, after a day's search, had been unable to discover him. A storm had followed, and they had given him up for lost. The loss of a man in this way on the Banks was not a very uncommon occurrence.
Months and years passed away, but nothing more was heard of Joel Wormbury. His wife and children believed that he was buried in the depths of the sea.
Mrs. Wormbury knew better than to apply toher hard father-in-law when her money was exhausted; indeed, she used the very last dollar of it to pay him the interest on the mortgage note. She went to work, taking in washing for the rich people of the place and for the summer visitors. Stumpy was old enough by this time to plant and take care of the garden, and to earn a little in other ways. Though the times were always hard at the cottage, the family had enough to eat and to wear, and the widow contrived to save enough to pay the interest on the place, which she dared to hope might one day belong to her children. Squire Moses never did anything for her, declaring that, if she wanted any money, she could sell her "fancy tables and chairs," for the house was better furnished than his own; which was true.
The squire's wealth continued to increase, for he was so mean that he spent only a small fraction of his interest money. He was hard and unfeeling, and not only refused to help his son's fatherless family, but had been heard to say that Joel by his drunken brawl, had disgraced his name and his relations. Ethan, the keeper of the Island Hotel, seemed to be his favorite;and people who knew him declared that he was as mean as his father. Somebody pretended to know that the old man had made a will, giving nearly all his property to Ethan. However this may have been, it was certain that Squire Moses had several times threatened to take possession of the cottage occupied by Joel's family, for the principal of the mortgage note was now due. He had said this to Joel's widow, causing the poor woman the deepest distress, and rousing in Stumpy the strongest indignation. This was why Stumpy "took no stock" in his grandfather.
But while we have been telling all this long story about Leopold's companion, the old boat had reached the vicinity of the wreck. Stumpy had eaten his fill of cold roast beef, biscuit, and apple pie, and was entirely satisfied with himself, and especially with his friend. Leopold threw overboard the ground bait, and soon, with a shout of exultation, he announced the presence of a school of mackerel. The lines were immediately in the water, and the fish bit very sharply. Leopold and Stumpy had nothing to do but pull them in and "slat" them off as fastas they could. The boat was filling up very rapidly; but suddenly, the school, as though called in after recess, sank down and disappeared. Not another bite could be obtained, and the old boat was headed for the river. On the way up, Stumpy counted the mackerel.
"Four hundred and sixty!" exclaimed he, when the task was finished.
"That isn't bad," added Leopold.
"I threw out all the small ones—about twenty of them."
"We will keep those to eat."
In half an hour more there was a tremendous excitement in and around the fish market, caused by the arrival of the fare of mackerel.
Four hundred and sixty mackerel, besides about twenty "tinkers," was a big fare for that season; but when this fish bite they make a business of it and an expert in the art may catch from forty to sixty in a minute. It was exciting work, and the blood of Leopold and Stumpy had been up to fever heat. But this violent agitation had passed away, though it was succeeded by a sensation hardly less exhilarating. Though the fish were caught and in the boat, the game was not played out—to return to the comparison with the gambler. The excitement still continues and would continue until the fish were sold. The great question now was, What would the mackerel bring in the market? Even a difference of a cent in the price of a single fish made four dollars and sixty cents on the whole fare. Leopold had received a largeprice the day before, and he could only hope he should do as well on the present occasion. He was almost as deeply moved in regard to the price as he had been in regard to catching the fish.
"I have made a big day's work for me, Le, whatever price they bring," said Stumpy, shortly after he had finished counting the fish. "If you sell them at five cents apiece, I shall have five dollars and three quarters; and that is more than I can generally earn in a week."
"I won't sell them for five cents apiece, Stumpy," replied Leopold, very decidedly.
"If they won't bring any more than that, what are you going to do about it?" laughed Stumpy.
"Mackerel are very scarce this season, and I don't believe they have had any over at Rockland. If the folks in the fish market don't give me ten cents apiece for the lot, I shall sail over there. I am almost sure I can get ten cents for mackerel as handsome as these are. Besides, about all I brought in yesterday were sold before sundown."
"Then I shall be eleven dollars and a half in," added Stumpy. "My mother wants aboutso much to make out her interest money. If she don't pay it we shall be turned out doors before the sun goes down on the day it is due."
"Do you think so?" asked Leopold, with a deep expression of sympathy.
"O, I know it. My grandad is an amiable man. He don't put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day, when anybody owes him any money."
"It seems to me I would rather go to jail than owe him a dollar."
"So would I; and I only wish my mother could pay off the mortgage! Things have gone up in Rockhaven, and the place that cost my father eleven hundred dollars seven years ago, is worth eighteen hundred or two thousand now. My affectionate grandpa knows this just as well as my mother; and if he can get the place for the seven hundred we owe him, he will do it. He says it is too expensive a place for poor folks who haven't got anything."
"But if the place is worth two thousand dollars, your mother will get all over the seven hundred, when it is sold," suggested Leopold, who had considerable knowledge of business.
The big Catch of Mackerel. Page 85.The big Catch of Mackerel. Page85.
"The house and land are worth just what I say; or, at least, they were a year ago, though the war has knocked things higher than a kite just now. Nobody except my loving grandpa has got the ready cash to pay down; and mother thinks the place wouldn't fetch much, if anything, over the mortgage. But in time it will be worth two thousand dollars."
The arrival of the old boat at the wharf, and the commencement of the excitement in and around the fish market, terminated the conversation on Stumpy's worldly affairs. As the dingy craft approached the pier, a crowd gathered at the head of the landing-steps, for it had been noised about the town that Leopold had brought in a fare of mackerel the day before; and people were anxious to know whether he had repeated his good luck.
A great many boats had gone out that morning after mackerel, but none of them had yet returned. Foremost in the crowd on the wharf was Bangs, the senior member of the firm that kept the fish market. He was excited and anxious, though he struggled to be calm and indifferent when Leopold fastened the painter of his boat to the steps.
"What luck to-day, Le?" shouted Bangs, who could not see the fish, for the careful Leopold had covered them in order to keep them from injury from the sun, and so that the extent of his good fortune might not at once be seen by the idlers on the wharf.
"Pretty fair," replied Leopold, striving to be as calm and indifferent as the dealer in fish on the pier.
"What have you got?" inquired Bangs.
"Mackerel," answered Leopold, as he seated himself in the stern-sheets of the boat, with affected carelessness.
"Tinkers?"
"No; the same sort that I sold you yesterday."
"What do you ask for them?" inquired Bangs, looking up at the sky as though nothing on the earth below concerned him.
"Ten cents," replied Leopold, looking up at the sky in turn, as though nothing sublunary concerned him, either.
"All right," said the dealer, shaking his head, with a kind of smile, which seemed to indicate that he thought the young fisherman was besidehimself to ask such a price, after apparently glutting the market the day before. "That will do for once, Le; but they won't bring ten cents at retail, after all I sold yesterday. I should have to salt them down."
"Very well," added Leopold; "that's my price; and I don't know of any law that compels you to give it, if you don't want to, Mr. Bangs."
The dealer began to edge his way through the crowd towards the fish market, and the idlers hastened to the conclusion that there would be no trade.
"What do you ask apiece for two or three of them?" asked some one on the wharf.
"Twenty cents," answered Leopold. "But I don't care to sell them at retail."
"I will take three, if you will let me have them," added the inquirer.
This conversation startled the head of the fish firm, and he returned once more to the cap-sill of the wharf. He saw that if the young man attempted to sell out his fare at retail, the business of the market would be ruined for that day.
"I will give you eight cents apiece for all you have," said Bangs.
"You can't buy them at that price. If you don't want them at ten cents apiece, I shall take them over to Rockland," replied Leopold, who did not wish to offend the members of the fish firm, for they had often bought out his fare, and he wished to keep on the right side of them for operations in the future.
Mr. Bangs considered, parleyed, and then offered nine cents; but finally, when Leopold was found to be inflexible, he yielded the point, and agreed to pay the ten cents. The mackerel were unloaded and conveyed to the market, when the sale of them at retail commenced immediately. The fish were so large and handsome that twenty cents did not appear to be a very extravagant price for them, considering the scarcity of the article in the market. In the settlement, Leopold received forty-six dollars; Stumpy's share, according to a standing agreement, was one quarter of the proceeds of the sale; and the eleven dollars and a half which he put into his wallet was quite as satisfactory to him as the thirty-four dollars and a half was to Leopold.Both of them felt that they had been favored by fortune to an extraordinary degree, and they were very happy. The old boat was sailed back to her usual moorings. The tinkers were equally divided between the young fishermen, and they went home.
By eleven o'clock Stumpy had poured into the lap of his astonished mother the proceeds of his morning's work, and Leopold had informed his father of the second big haul he had made that season. As before, Mr. Bennington—but with some additional cautions—told his son to keep the money he had made.
"The sick man is in a peck of trouble this morning," added the landlord of the Cliff House, when the exciting business of the occasion had been disposed of.
"What's the matter of him?" asked Leopold.
"He has lost his book, his record, or whatever it is," added Mr. Bennington. "He has sent for everybody belonging in the house, including many of the boarders. He wants to see you."
"I'm sure I don't know anything about it,"replied Leopold, who, judging by what the invalid had said about the book, realized that the loss of it must distress him very much.
"No one seems to know anything about it; and the sick man will have it that some one has stolen the book. I laughed at him, and told him no one would steal such a thing, for it was worth nothing to anybody but himself. But go up and see him, Leopold."
The young man hastened to the room of the sick man. Harvey Barth was certainly very miserable on account of the loss of his diary. He spoke of it as he would have done if it had been some dear friend who had been taken away from him by death; but then he was sick and rather childish, and the people about the hotel pitied and sympathized with him.
"Where did you put it?" asked Leopold, when he had heard all the particulars the steward could give in relation to his loss.
"There isn't any cupboard in this room, and I hadn't any good place to keep it; so I just tucked it into the flue of that fireplace," drawled Harvey, with the frequent hacking which impeded his utterance.
"That was a queer place to put it," added Leopold.
"I know it was; but I hadn't any better one. I thought it would be safer there than in any other place."
"Are you sure that you put it there?"
"Am I sure that I am a living man at this moment?" demanded Harvey. "That diary is worth more to me than all the rest I have in the world, and I shouldn't forget what I did with it."
But Leopold searched the room in every nook and corner, in spite of the protest of the sick man that it was useless to do so, for he had looked everywhere a dozen times himself. The young man was no more successful than others had been who had looked for the diary.
"Though you value it very highly I suppose the diary is not really worth very much," suggested Leopold.
"There are secrets written out in that book which might be worth a great deal of money to a bad man," replied Harvey, in a confidential tone.
"Well, what do you suppose has become of it?"
"I'll tell you. I think some one stole it," added the sick man impressively.
"Did any one know about the secrets written down in it?"
"Not that I know of. Some one may have taken it in order to get my account of the wreck of the Waldo. It may affect the insurance on the vessel, or something of that sort, for all I know. I think I know just who stole it too;" and Harvey related all the particulars of the tipsy man's visit to the chamber the night before. "He pretended to be drunk, but I think he knew what he was about all the time, just as well as I did. In my opinion he took that book."
"Why should he take it?" asked Leopold, who thought it was necessary to prove the motive before the deed was charged upon him.
"I don't know but I think he sat at the window of the room over there," continued Harvey, pointing to one in the L of the house, which opened at right angles with his own. "I believe he saw me put the diary in the flue, and then came into my room in the night and took it, while he was blundering about over thechairs and tables. I am sure that none of the folks who came in to see me in the afternoon could have taken it without my seeing them—not even the newspaper man. You may depend upon it, the tipsy man—if he was tipsy—took it. What he did it for is more than I can tell; but he may have thought it was money, or something else that was valuable. I saw him at that window after I had hid the diary in the flue."
Harvey Bath was entirely satisfied in regard to the guilt of the tipsy man, and had already ascertained that the fellow was a "drummer"—in Europe more politely called a "commercial traveller." He had also obtained the name of the man, and the address of the firm in New York city for which he travelled. With this information he hoped to obtain his treasure again, by shrewd management, when he went to New York. But, in spite of his grief over his loss, Harvey wrote the account of the wreck of the Waldo for the newspaper, in the course of the next day, and sent it off by mail.
After Leopold had done all he could to comfort the invalid,—though he failed, as othershad, to lessen the burden which weighed him down,—he left the room, and walked down to the principal street of the village, on which the Cliff House was located. A few rods from the hotel he came to the smallest store in the place, in the window of which were displayed a few silver watches and a rather meagre assortment of cheap jewelry. On the shelves inside of the shop was a considerable variety of wooden clocks, and, in a glass case on the counter, a quantity of spoons, forks and dishes, some few of which were silver, while the greater part were plated, or of block tin. Over the door was the sign "Leopold Schlager, Watch-maker." The proprietor of this establishment was Leopold's uncle, his mother's only brother, which explains the circumstance of our hero's having a foreign name.
Of course, if Leopold Schlager was a German, Mrs. Bennington was of the same nationality, though any one meeting her about the hotel would hardly have suspected that she was not a full-blooded American. Over thirty years before, she had emigrated with her younger brother, when the times were hard in Germany. Herfather was dead, and her elder brother, Leopold, was not yet out of his time, learning the trade of a watch-maker. The younger brother went to the west, taking her with him, and established himself on a farm. He was not very successful, and his sister, at the age of twelve, went to live with an American family in Chicago, the lady of which had taken a fancy to her. She was brought up to work, though her education was not neglected. Before she was twenty-one her brother in the west died. But by this time she was abundantly able to take care of herself.
When the family in which she was so kindly cared for was broken up by the death of the father, she went to work in the kitchen of a large hotel, where she enlarged her knowledge and experience in the art of cooking, till she was competent to take a situation as the cook of a small public house. In this place she increased the reputation of the establishment by her skill, till the proprietor was willing to pay her any wages she demanded.
Peter Bennington, a native of Maine, was employed in the hotel; and he was so well pleased with the looks of the German cook that he proposedto her, and was accepted. Katharina Schlager spoke English then as well as a native; and she was not only neat and skillful, but she was a pretty and wholesome-looking woman. Peter married her, and, after a while, bought out the hotel. But he was not successful in the venture; and, with only a few hundred dollars in his pocket, he returned to Rockhaven, his native place, where he soon opened the Cliff House.
Leopold was born in Chicago, and his mother had insisted upon naming him after her brother in Germany.
Mr. Bennington had done very well in the hotel; but he was ambitious to do business on a larger scale, and was revolving in his mind a plan to make the Cliff House into a large establishment, which would attract summer visitors in great numbers. He had bought the present hotel, and paid for it from his profits; and he hoped soon to be able to rebuild it on a larger scale.
His wife was faithful and devoted to him and the children. She had always done the cooking for the Cliff House, which had given it an excellentreputation. She was not only a good and true woman, but she was an exceedingly useful one to a hotel-keeper. For years she had tenderly thought of her absent brother in Germany. She often wrote to him, and learned that he was doing a good business in a small city. After years of persuasion, she induced him to join her in America. He was met on the wharf in New York, when he landed, by Mr. Bennington and his wife, and conducted to Rockhaven without delay. He could not speak a word of English then; but for six months he devoted himself to the study of it under the tuition of his sister and her children, till he was competent to carry on his business in the town. He was a very skillful workman, and all the watches in Rockhaven and on the island came to him to be cleaned and repaired. Even the rich men of the place found that he could be safely trusted with their valuable gold time-keepers, and he became quite celebrated in his line. He sold a watch occasionally, and had a small trade in clocks and other wares, so that he really made more money than in his native land. He had brought with him a considerablecapital, and was enabled to stock his store without any aid from his sister.
If Herr Schlager missed his "sauer kraut" and "bier," he enjoyed the company of his sister and her children. Leopold was his favorite, perhaps because he bore the watch-maker's name. They were fast friends; and in the undertaking which Leopold was laboring to accomplish, he had made his uncle his confidant.
When the young man entered the store, he bestowed his first glance upon a small iron safe behind the counter, in which the watch-maker kept his watches, silver ware, and other valuables at night. Leopold was interested in that strong box, for the reason that it contained his own savings. For six months he had been hoarding up every penny he earned for a purpose, and he had placed his money in the hands of his uncle for safe keeping. Perhaps Herr Schlager's iron safe was as much the occasion of his confidence in his uncle as the fact of their relationship. Leopold's present visit was made in order to dispose of the proceeds of his morning's work, before he lost it or was tempted to spend any portion of it.
"Ah, mine poy! you have come mit more money. I see him in your head," said Herr Schlager, as, with a cheerful smile, he left his work-table.
"Yes uncle, I have more money," replied Leopold; and his success had covered his face with smiles. "Ich habe viel geld diesen morgen."
"Sehr gut!" laughed the watch-maker, who was delighted to hear his nephew use the little German he had taught him. "Wie viel geld haben sie?"
"Mehr als vier-und-dreisig thaler," replied Leopold, who had been preparing himself, during his walk from the hotel to the store, to speak what German he had thus far uttered.
"Viel geld!" cried the watch-maker.
"How much have I now?" asked Leopold, in plain English, forgetting for the time all the rest of the German he knew.
"Sprechen Deutsch!" exclaimed the watch-maker.
"I don't remember any more German," laughed the young man. "How much money have I now?"
Herr Schlager opened the iron safe and placedin one of its draws the sum just given him by his nephew, and took therefrom a slip of paper. Leopold added the sums he had deposited, and made the amount eighty-seven dollars and some cents.
"Das is nicht enough, Leopold—eh?" asked the uncle.
"No, not yet."
"How many more you want of dollars?"
"I don't know exactly. They ask two hundred; but, as it is rather late in the season, I think they will take one hundred and fifty," replied Leopold, thoughtfully.
"You shall buy him now."
"Not this year, Uncle Leopold; and next spring they will put the price up again. I haven't even a hundred and fifty dollars."
"I shall let you haf de rest of das geld."
This proposition produced an argument; but the nephew finally consented to borrow the balance of the sum required, if one hundred and fifty dollars would answer the purpose. Leopold left the shop with an anxious heart; but in a couple of hours he returned for his own money and the loan.
For several months the landlord's son had had his eye on a new keel-boat, built during the preceding winter, which the owner did not feel able to keep for his own use. With a sort of desperate determination, Leopold had been saving every cent he earned about the hotel, or in his boat, in order to purchase this new craft, or one like it if she should be sold before his accumulations enabled him to buy her. The owner asked two hundred dollars for her; but as the season advanced, Leopold hoped to buy her for less. The matter had looked very hopeless to him until his first lucky catch of mackerel; and the second fortunate trip inspired him with confidence. His uncle had been his only confidant, and they had often discussed the project together. But now Herr Schlagerhad advanced the sum he needed to make the purchase, and the boat was bought. For two hours the young man had haggled with the owner about the price; but one hundred and fifty dollars, cash down, was a temptation which the builder could not resist in the end, when he thought of his unpaid grocery and provision bills.
No name had yet been given to the new boat, which was now the property of Leopold, for when the owner decided to sell her, he thought it was better to let the purchaser christen her to suit himself. The new craft was a sloop twenty-two feet long, with quite a spacious cuddy forward. She was a fast sailer, and her late owner declared that she was the stiffest sea-boat on the coast. Of course Leopold was as happy as a lord, and he wanted to hug Herr Schlager for his considerate loan of sixty-two dollars; but his uncle was quite as happy, and after the custom of his own country, he did actually hug and kiss his nephew, though the young man was rather confounded by the demonstration, especially as the passers-by in the street halted to observe the spectacle.
As soon as the business of the purchase was finished, Leopold hastened to the cottage of Mrs. Wormbury, where he found Stumpy digging the early potatoes in the garden. He informed his friend of the great event of the day, and invited him to take a sail in the sloop. On their way to the boat they stopped at the hotel, where Leopold told his father of the purchase. He did so with some misgivings, and took care to explain the uses to which he intended to put the boat, before his father had time to express an opinion. Mr. Bennington, to the great satisfaction of his son, offered no objection to the purchase; on the contrary, he seemed to be pleased with the transaction.
"There are two gentlemen in the house that want to go over to the Isle of Holt (Isle-au-Haut) this afternoon," added the landlord. "I was just looking for you to go and see whether Ben Chipman could take them over."
"I can take them over myself, father," said Leopold.
"So I was thinking. They want to go right off after dinner."
"I shall be ready. We will bring the boatdown now.—Will you go with me, Stumpy?" continued Leopold, turning to his friend.
"I should like to go, first rate," answered Stumpy.
They hastened to the wharf where the new boat lay, and in a few minutes more they were standing down the river in her.
"She works tip-top," said the skipper, as soon as he began to feel the boat bearing on the tiller. "She minds her helm as soon as I touch the stick."
"She's as handsome as a picture, too. She don't look much like your old boat," replied Stumpy, with a smile as he realized the contrast.
"Not much. She seems to go at railroad speed. We haven't been used to going along at this rate."
"That's so. What's her name Le?"
"She hasn't any yet. We will think of something for her."
The skipper sailed the boat down to the mouth of the river, and came about off the light-house, located on a projecting cliff which extended out nearly half a mile from the southernshore. The trial-trip was entirely satisfactory; and on her return the sloop was moored near the old boat, which was now used as a tender for the new one. The young boatmen went home to get their dinners and made preparations for the trip to the Isle-au-Haut. Leopold saw the two gentlemen who were to be his passengers, and agreed to take them over for five dollars. They did not object to the price, as the island was over ten miles distant, and there would not be any packet for several days.
Leopold filled the water-keg in the sloop, and laid in a stock of provisions for the voyage. At two o'clock the party started; but we do not intend to follow them in the details of the trip. The breeze was fresh and the sloop was fast. At four o'clock Leopold had landed his passengers; but it was eight in the evening when the boat reached Rockhaven on her return, for the skipper was obliged to beat back. The five dollars earned in the voyage was promptly handed over to the watch-maker, reducing by this amount the debt due him. By nine o'clock Leopold was fast asleep, for he and Stumpyhad arranged to try the mackerel again the next morning.
The skipper of the new boat was very tired for the day had been a long, laborious, and exciting one. It was four o'clock when he awoke the next morning. When he went out, he found Stumpy waiting on the piazza for him. He had not stopped to eat his breakfast, but had provision enough in the basket for both of them.
"We are late," said Stumpy, as Leopold joined him.
"I know it; but I was so tired I didn't wake up," replied the skipper.
"I have seen half a dozen boats go down the river since I stood here, added Stumpy, ruefully.
"I don't expect we shall do much to-day. Folks have found out about the mackerel."
They went down to the new boat, and were soon under way. At the point, they saw that all the craft which came out of the river were headed in the same direction—towards the reef off High Rock.
"What are you going to call this boat?"asked Stumpy, as the skipper started the sheets, off the light-house. "I don't feel quite at home in her without being able to call her by name."
"I haven't thought of any name yet," replied Leopold.
"We want something to call her by."
"She has no name."
"Then we will call her the No-Name, till you fix upon something," laughed Stumpy.
"All right."
The "No-Name" passed half a dozen of the boats bound to the reef; but when she reached her destination, there were not less than twenty craft, of all sorts and sizes, on the fishing-ground, huddled into a heap, near the spot where the luckless Waldo had gone down. The secret was out. A fisherman going off to the deep water, on the morning before, had seen Leopold's boat near the reef; and when it was said that the young man had obtained a large catch of mackerel, he knew where they came from. But the vicinity of the reefs was the usual place for catching these fish when they were to be had at all; and as soon as there were mackerel in the market,the fishermen and others knew where to go for them. In a few moments Leopold had joined the crowd, and the fish bit as smartly as before. The No-Name was more fortunate than most of her companions, and got about four hundred mackerel. She might have got twice as many if she had remained longer on the ground; but Leopold reasoned that fish without a market were not very valuable. His was the first boat to reach Rockhaven; and he sold his fare at seven cents apiece. By half past eight the No-Name was washed down, and ready for a party, if any offered. Stumpy went home with seven dollars in his pocket, and Leopold diminished his debt by twenty-one dollars.
There was no "job" for him at the hotel that day; but in the afternoon Leopold took his father and mother and Herr Schlager out to sail in the new boat; and he was quite as happy on this occasion as though he had made five dollars by the trip. The next morning there were no mackerel off the ledges, or if there were, they would not bite; and the No-Name made a profitless trip. When she returned, Leopold found two gentlemen at the hotel who wished to sailover to Rockland, as there was no steamer that day. While the skipper was making his trade with them, Harvey Barth entered the office. The sick man had finished his narrative of the loss of the Waldo the day before, and sent it off by the mail in the steamer. He looked sadder and more gloomy than usual.
"I should like to go over with you," said Harvey, after Leopold had named the price for the trip. "I will pay my share of it."
The gentlemen looked at Harvey and did not seem to like the appearance of him; and he certainly did not promise to be a very agreeable companion for an excursion. They took no notice of him, and the steward was mortified by their coldness.
"Are you going to leave us, Mr. Barth?" asked the landlord, who was behind the counter.
"Yes; I thought I would be on my way to New York as soon as I could, for I want to find that drummer," drawled Harvey, with his usual hacking cough. "I feel better this morning, and I think I can stand it to move towards home. Those men don't seem to want me to go with them, but I suppose I can wait tillto-morrow. If you will give me my bill, I will pay it."
"Never mind that, Mr. Barth."
"But I can pay what I owe."
"You can't pay anything here," laughed the landlord. "We don't charge shipwrecked people anything."
"But I have been here about ten days."
"You can stay ten or twenty more at the same rate, if you will," added Mr. Bennington.
Harvey Barth remonstrated, but the landlord was firm. The physician who had attended him also refused to take a cent from him, and so did all who had done anything for him. He tried to give a dollar apiece to the employes of the hotel who had been kind to him, but not one of them would accept the gift. When Harvey left the room, the two passengers for Rockland asked the landlord who he was; and when informed that he was the only survivor of the Waldo, they changed their tone, and desired his company. They sent for him, and politely offered him a passage with them.
"I don't want to go where I am not wanted," replied Harvey.
"But we shall be delighted to have you go with us," said one of the gentlemen, and the other heartily indorsed the remark.
"I'll pay my share of the expense, if you are really willing to let me go with you."
"We are glad to have you go with us; and as to the expense, we will arrange that when we get to Rockland."
Shortly after the No-Name departed, manned, by Leopold and Stumpy, with the three passengers in the standing-room. On the passage, Harvey, at the request of his new friends, told the whole story of the wreck of the Waldo, and then dwelt with particular emotion upon the loss of his diary. One of the gentlemen resided in New York city, and volunteered to assist him in recovering the cherished volume. When they arrived at their destination, Harvey was not permitted to pay any portion of the expense of the trip; and the gentlemen insisted upon his accompanying them to the best hotel in the city, where from the abundant sympathy of the proprietor, he was not permitted to diminish his funds by a single dollar. Having, a few days after, obtained the fifty copies of the newspaperwhich contained his account of the loss of the brig, he started in the steamer for Boston, with a free ticket in his pocket.
His first care after he got on board the boat, was to read the narrative he had written. He was sorely grieved to find that the first half of the account had been struck out by the remorseless editor; but it must be added that this portion of the history was wholly irrelevant, being made up of observations on the outward voyage of the Waldo, and remarks upon the geography, climate, people and institutions of Cuba. Then, in the description of the wreck, Harvey was indignant when he found that all his finest passages had been eliminated from the manuscript. Adjectives and fine phrases without number had been struck out, and the poor steward felt that he might as well never have been a schoolmaster. The truth was, that the editor had only three columns of his paper to spare, and all he and his readers wanted were the facts in regard to the wreck. A vivid description of a tempest at sea seemed to be lost upon them. But Harvey felt that he should not realize half the pleasure he had anticipated in distributing thefifty copies of the paper among his friends at home.
It was late at night when the No-Name arrived at her moorings in the river at Rockhaven; for on the return trip the wind was contrary and very light. Leopold, after this "job," had reduced his indebtedness to Herr Schlager to about thirty-two dollars. Our space does not permit us to follow him in the process of extinguishing the debt, but it was all wiped out by the first of October. All the summer visitors had left the place, and it was a "dry time" at the Cliff House. The landlord counted up his profits, and felt rich when he realized that he owned the hotel, did not owe a dollar to any man, and had twenty-five hundred dollars in the bank, or otherwise available for immediate use. He had a plan drawn for the enlargement of the hotel which would give him fifty chambers, besides a large dining-room and parlor. But it would cost eight thousand dollars to complete the building and furnish the house; and being a prudent man, he decided not to carry out the project till his funds were considerably increased.
About the middle of October the steamer brought to Rockhaven a woman, apparently about forty years of age, who registered her name at the Cliff House as Miss Sarah Liverage. Though it was certain, from her own confession, that she had never been there before, she seemed to know all about the hotel, and all the persons connected with it. She was a plain-looking woman, well, but not richly, dressed, and her speech indicated that she was not a cultivated person. There was nothing remarkable about her, except her knowledge of the hotel, and a certain excitement in her manner, which indicated that she had come to Rockhaven for a special purpose, which, however, she was not forward in revealing. She followed the landlord into the office, though he insisted upon showing her into the parlor. She wrote her name in the register, and then astonished Mr. Bennington and Leopold by asking to have the room which had formerly been occupied by Harvey Barth assigned to her.
"That is not one of the rooms we usually give to ladies, and we can do better for you," replied the landlord.
"I'd rather have that room, if it don't make any difference to you," replied Miss Liverage.
"Certainly you can have it, if you want it, for it is not occupied."
"I shall be much obliged to you if you will let me have it."
"You knew Harvey Barth, I suppose," said the landlord, as Leopold, who often conducted guests to their rooms, picked up the small valise, which was her only baggage.
"Well, yes; I ought to know him. I took care of him in the hospital three weeks before he died," replied Miss Liverage, confidently.
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. Bennington, startled by the announcement.
"Yes, sir; he died about a fortnight ago."
"It is only six weeks since he left here," added Leopold, who was even more shocked than his father at the news.
"We didn't hear a word from him after he left Rockland," continued Mr. Bennington. "I'm sure I didn't think he was so near his end, though I saw that he couldn't live very long."
"I thought he would be able to get out again, till the very day he died. He ate a hearty dinner,for a sick man, and then was taken with bleeding at the lungs, and died right off. I went with his body to the place he was brought up, and he was buried a week ago last Thursday, from the house of his uncle. He had good care while he lived, if he was in the hospital; and I believe everybody in the town turned out to go to his funeral. But I guess I'll go to my room now."
Leopold conducted her to the chamber, placed her valise in a chair, and saw that the wash-stand was provided with water and towels.
"Are you sure this is the room that Harvey Barth had?" asked Miss Liverage, as Leopold was about to retire.
"Sure as I am of anything," replied the young man. "I used to stay with him a good deal, when I wasn't busy. Was Harvey Barth a relation of yours?"
"Well, no, not exactly; but I was a good deal interested in him. You are Leopold, I suppose," added Miss Liverage, who appeared to be anxious to change the direction the conversation had taken.
"That's my name."