Pocket Island
C >>
Charles Clark Munn >> Pocket Island
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 | 10 |
11
Given the right conditions, and our imaginations will surround us with
hobgoblins and spectres by day as well as night, and almost upset the
reasoning power of strong men. To Manson, who had passed one long,
sleepless night full of imaginary terrors, and believing himself
governed and controlled by some supernatural power, the experience he
had passed through, and the impulses that were now alternately pulling
him back and pushing him toward that dark cave in front of him, he felt
must be ill-omened and uncanny. For an hour he sat and looked at his
surroundings, trying to reason away his fears and convince himself they
were groundless, and that all the stories he had heard about this island
being haunted were purely imaginary. Only partially did he succeed,
however, and then, at last yielding to the fascination that constantly
drew him toward the cave, arose and once more cautiously crept toward
it.
At the entrance he paused and listened. Not a sound could be heard
except the faint voice of the ocean outside. He stooped and took one
step inward, and listened again. All he could hear now was the beating
of his own heart. He lit one of his torches and then another. Then he
took two steps more and paused again. The faint light showed the cavern
sloped sharply upward. Carefully, on his knees, supporting himself by
one hand, he crawled up the incline until the floor became level and
then he stood upright. For a moment he halted there, trying to peer into
the inky darkness. He seemed to be looking into a wide, open space; a
peculiar odor tainted the air. He took a few steps and paused again.
Then he turned one of his torches down inward to increase the flame, and
as it burned brighter he held it above his head. Now he could see the
wall of rock all about, and on the further side and close to the wall, a
large boulder. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness,
he could see the floor formation, and as its outlines grew more
distinct, he caught the gleam of white teeth grinning at him from some
creature almost at his feet! Breathless now, and trembling, he lowered
his torch, and beheld prostrate there in front of him two shriveled and
blackened corpses!
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FATE OF A MISER.
As Manson gazed in horror at those two charred bodies reduced to
skeletons in that dark cave, he felt more than ever that his every step
for many days had been in obedience to some mysterious power that had at
last brought him face to face with danger and death.
For one instant the impulse to turn from that ghastly sight and leave
the cave came to him, but the baleful fascination of those hideous
objects held him prisoner. He could not if he would turn away. One of
the skeletons, for such they almost were, was that of a tall man, face
up, the grinning teeth fully exposed; the other of smaller size, with
legs and arms drawn together. No signs of clothing were visible on
either, and the flesh appeared to have shrunk away, showing the shape of
every bone. Midway between them lay a rusted pistol and just beyond,
glistening in the faint light, were bits of glass. When his eyes grew
accustomed to the sickening sight he raised them, looked around, and for
the first time saw, a few feet away, a raised, table-like rock, and on
it piles of round dark bits of metal. Taking two steps he stooped, and
picking up one of these pieces held it close to the light. It was a
twenty-dollar gold piece!
Wonder succeeded horror! What mystery was this? Two charred skeletons
beside a pile of gold in this dark and silent cavern! Was it some
infernal dream or a reality? He stooped and picked up more of the coins.
Gold, every one! Then he examined others and found silver dollars and
halves. He turned and looked about, holding one torch above his head,
and almost expecting to see some spectral form half-hid in the shadows.
Only the faintly outlined walls of rock could be seen. Then, feeling
faint and weak from the intense strain, he hastily retraced his steps
down and out of the cave. He was just in time, for the rising tide had
almost cut off his exit. So weak now that he could hardly walk, he crept
around to the keg and sat down to think. Then for the first time he
looked at the sky and saw the sun faintly visible through the fog. What
a blessed sight it was! He had never known before how good the sun
could look to a poor, hungry, horror-struck mortal! Then he picked up a
shell, and pouring a little of the rum out of the keg, drank it. It had
a magic effect, for it brought back his strength and courage and a
realization of what he had discovered. In the dread experiences he had
just passed through, he had not comprehended what it meant to him. Now
he did.
He, alone on that haunted island, abhorred and shunned by all, had found
a fortune!
He drank a little more of the rum. Then he thought of his friends. Maybe
at that very moment they were nearing the island!
He quickly clambered out of the walled-in pocket, and looked over the
ocean. The fog was lifting, the wind rising, but no sail was visible. He
was still a prisoner. Once more he heard that strange bellowing coming
from somewhere beneath the island, but it had lost its terrors. He
thought of those skeletons in the dark cavern, and only felt curious to
know how those two human beings met their death. A thousand bulls, for
aught he cared now, might bellow all they chose, so long as they did not
show their horns above the rocks, and two or two dozen skeletons more or
less in the cave made no difference. He had met and conquered the ghost
of Pocket Island, and was himself once more.
He took one long look all around, where the white, crested waves were
rolling as far as the eye could reach; then at the sun now shining
bright and warm, and then returned to the cave. The entrance was half
under water, but the tide was falling, and he boldly waded in. He was so
eager now he could hardly wait to light a torch, and when once more
inside, he did not even stop to look at the hideous skeletons, but went
directly to the flat rock where the stacks of coin were; removed his
coat, heaped all he could carry upon it, and returned to the sunlight.
Wildly excited now, he carried his bundle to a flat shelf of rock near
where he had first descended into "The Pocket," emptied it and returned
for more. Three trips he made to secure his wondrous find, and when the
last mildewed and tarnished bit of money was secured, he took the pistol
and left the cave for good. Then, feeling a little faint and weak, he
sat down on the shelf beside his pile of gold and silver, and examined
the rusty weapon.
On the stock was engraved the name of "Wolf."
Then, as that miser had many years before stacked and counted those same
pieces of money, so did Manson now stack and count them.
But what a contrast!
Wolf had counted with murder in his heart, and feeling only the miser's
lust of possession as he hid himself in that dark cavern. Manson
counted, thinking only of one good and true girl waiting for him, and
feeling that every one of those bits of money were but so many keys to
open the door of his dream of wife and home and all the blessings he
longed to surround that one loved woman with. And as he counted where
God's sunlight fell upon him, and not in darkness, fearing enemies, so
was that money destined to be a blessing and not a curse. When the count
was made, and that poor, hungry fellow, with naught to aid him in the
battle of life except two hands and a brave heart, found himself the
possessor of sixteen thousand dollars, he felt like offering a prayer of
thankfulness.
He no longer cared that he was faint with hunger, or that he was still a
prisoner on that lone island. All he thought of was to await the coming
of his friends with patience; end his visit as soon as possible; return
to Liddy, and tell her of his wondrous find, and the fortune that was
theirs to enjoy. But he was not to escape that day, for the wind still
blew almost a gale, and the waves still cut him off from rescue. When
the tide fell he dug clams, and when night came he sat by his little
fire, roasted and ate them, and was happy. That night he saw no spectral
shapes or grinning skulls, and when his fire burned low he crept into
his shelter and slept in peace and content. When the morning came only a
summer-day breeze ruffled the ocean, and, most gladsome sight of all,
only a few miles away was the sloop, with all sails set, and heading
directly for the island! When Frank came ashore in the dory there was a
joyful meeting.
"We had to put up sail and run for a harbor to save the sloop when we
saw the fog coming," said Frank, "and leave you behind. It was that or
desert her and come ashore. I am awfully glad to find you safe, though.
Obed waited as long as he dared. Where were you, and what were you doing
so long?"
"Trying to find a ghost," replied Manson, who felt like joking now, "and
I succeeded. I not only found ghosts by the dozen, but two skeletons,
and one or two skulls scattered around to make things more cheerful. Oh,
I've had a real sociable time, I assure you! One of those kind of times
when every way you turn a still more hideous object confronts you; a fit
of the jims minus the fun that goes before it. The first night I was so
scared I didn't sleep a wink, and the spooks were so thick I dared not
turn around for fear of seeing a new one. Your island deserves all that
has been said of it, and a good deal more. I've found what's better than
ghosts, however!"
When Frank had followed his friend over into "The Pocket," and saw what
he had found and heard the marvelous story, he gasped for breath.
"So that is what became of the little Jew smuggler, is it?" he said when
he saw the pistol; "and the story was true after all! My stars! but you
are in luck," he continued, as he looked at the stacks of coin; and
then, slapping Manson on the back, hilariously exclaimed: "Ghost hunting
pays once in a while, old fellow, don't it? Now you can get married and
come down here and stay all next summer, can't you?"
Then the two friends, happy as children escaped from school, returned to
the sloop, and after half-starved Manson had eaten as he never did
before, they all three went ashore and visited the cave.
"As near as I can recall the story," said Frank, when they stood looking
at the skeletons, "there was an Indian who acted as helper for the Jew,
and this tall fellow with the horrible grin may have been that poor
fellow. Most likely they got into a quarrel over the money, and fought
it out to the death. Great Scott! but what a grim duel that must have
been here in this dark cavern!"
When they had looked the cave all over, they carried Manson's strangely
found fortune aboard the sloop, and sailed for home. Two days later he
bade adieu to his friend and departed two weeks sooner than he had
planned, but not until he had made a solemn promise to return the next
summer and bring a companion.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CONCLUSION.
The maples in front of Liddy's home were just showing the first tints of
autumn color when Manson returned. It had been a long three weeks of
separation to her, and her first words contained a note of reproach.
"You might have written me once or twice, Charlie," she said; "the days
have seemed so long!"
"I could not," he replied; "I was lost to the world on an island twenty
miles from a post office, and letters were not in style there. The
people are so far removed from the world they do not seem to think
communication of any value. It is a wild and romantic spot, and the only
thing I do not like about it is every house has two or three tombstones
close by."
He seemed in a surprisingly cheerful mood, and described his visit and
the friends he had met in glowing words. One incident of his visit,
however, he withheld, and for a purpose. The little, half-jesting remark
Liddy had made a month previous on Blue Hill--a remark merely expressive
of her pride--still lingered in his mind, and he was resolved to test
that pride in his own peculiar way.
A short distance from her house and near the brook was a rustic seat
beneath the maple. Many hours she had passed there with him, and many
more alone with only sad thoughts for company, when the brook's music
seemed a voice of sympathy. Even when a child she had learned to love
this spot, and the low, sweet murmur of the stream. Early that evening,
when the full moon had just appeared over Blue Hill, they intuitively
sought this familiar place. Perhaps the joy in their hearts added a new
charm, for the ripples in the brook appeared like so many laughing water
sprites dancing there in the silvery light. For a few moments they
silently yielded to the magic witchery of the time and place, and then
she could contain herself no longer. She had noticed his unusual
elation--even more than could be ascribed to his gladness at being once
more beside her, and, grown accustomed to his ways, knew there was a
surprise in store.
"Well, Charlie," she said at last, with a bright smile, "you need not
wait to take me up to Blue Hill this time to tell your story. Tell it
now. You have some good news, for I can see it in your face. What is
it?"
He looked at her a moment in silence, and then answered:
"Yes, I have a story to tell you, and one that will more than surprise
you, but first I have a question to ask. Do you remember the promise you
made me a month ago?"
The thought of that tender pledge and his now evident intention to ask
its fulfillment brought the color to her face, but she bravely answered:
"I have never made a promise and failed to keep it. I shall not begin
now."
Then, as the question he asked and the answer he received were heard
only by the elfin sprites dancing in the brook beside them, so we will
leave it to those fairies to tell if they choose. Suffice it to say it
was such as filled his heart so full of happiness it could no longer
hold a secret, and there, where the moonlight fell in little rifts upon
them, and the music of running water echoed their feelings, he told her
the strange story of Pocket Island, and what he had found in the cave.
When late that evening they returned to the house, never again in their
lives did the man in the moon seem to smile so graciously or the brook
sound so sweet.
Then one day--a day bright above all others to them, when nature seemed
aglow with joyous color--all those who were near and dear gathered to
listen to their vows, and wish them well in life. Whether those kind
wishes were deserved or not, and whether the Fates that direct the steps
of all human kind led theirs along the pleasant walks of prosperity and
happiness, or among the rocks and thorns of adversity, we will leave to
the imagination of those who have read this story, for here their
history ends.
It is told that when Jove, the mythological ruler of the universe,
conceived the creation of the human race, he sent Pandora to the realms
of Pluto to bring him the box containing all the good and evil impulses
he intended to select from in his creative work. He gave her strict
orders not to open the box, lest its contents escape and work woe to the
coming mortals. But as woman's curiosity never was restrained by any
power, human or divine, since Mother Eve ate apples, and most likely
never will be, no sooner had Pandora set out upon her return than she
lifted the lid of that fatal box, and the result to the human race need
not be enlarged upon. One good result came from her disobedience,
however, for, seeing her error in time, she closed the cover before Hope
escaped, and so that blessed impulse came to be shared alike by mortals.
Life at best is but an enigma, and like children pursuing an Ignis
Fatuus, so do we all pursue the illusive beacon light of a brighter and
happier to-morrow--always hoping, never attaining, though striving ever
until, wearied of the vain pursuit, at last we fall by the wayside and
are forgotten.
THE END.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
_Now Read The Great New England Novel_
UNCLE TERRY
By CHARLES CLARK MUNN
"I wa'n't consulted 'bout comin' into this world, an' I don't expect
ter be 'bout goin' out."
--UNCLE TERRY.
"I take some comfort livin' an' try to pass it along."
--UNCLE TERRY.
Richly Bound Gilt Top
Fully Illustrated
370 Pages
Price $1.50
A Fascinating Love Story
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
202 Devonshire Street, Boston
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
UNCLE TERRY
_The Great New England Novel_
Boston _Herald_:
"The author writes in a frank, indulgent, and hearty manner,
skilfully outlining his characters."
Boston _Transcript_:
"It is a sincere and unpretending study of life, wrought with
care."
Pittsburg _Bulletin_:
"The plot is well contrived, and the tale draws the reader along
with increasing interest until the end."
Boston _Saturday Evening Gazette_:
"The author has a keen knowledge of character, and it is abundantly
displayed in his novel."
Springfield _Republican_:
"'Uncle Terry' is an 'original Yankee,' full of native wit and
humor, genial, kind-hearted, and full of the milk of human
kindness."
Providence _News_:
"Mr. Munn's people and the scenery of his tale will be readily
recognized by thousands."
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
BOSTON
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
UNCLE TERRY
_The Great New England Novel_
_Worcester Magazine_:
"Infinitely superior to the lurid 'sword-play' novels that have had
such a vogue."
St. Paul _Globe_:
"Like the scent of lavender arising from things fresh and old, this
story comes."
Rochester _Herald_:
"Before you have gone through the first chapter of 'Uncle Terry'
you are firmly convinced that you are going to like it, and when
you discover that it conceals a most interesting secret, nothing
short of a fire-alarm would induce you to put it aside."
Springfield _Sunday Republican_:
"A hearty and truthful tale of New England character in its best
qualities of sturdy purpose, honest simplicity, and a certain trait
which one might term 'sweetness at the core.'"
Boston _Globe_:
"The author has succeeded in filling a new niche in the quaint
academy of immortals."
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
BOSTON
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
UNCLE TERRY
_The Great New England Novel_
Boston _Courier_:
"Uncle Terry is an estimable type of hardy fisherman, honest and
plain-spoken, but manifesting in his phrasing a subtle sarcasm that
is amusing."
Pittsburg _Chronicle-Telegraph_:
"People who like the smell of salt air in their novels (and who
does not?) will be pleased with 'Uncle Terry.'"
Philadelphia _Literary Era_:
"Other sections of the country have had their great novels. New
England character and scenery have now felt the touch of a master
hand."
Boston _Beacon_:
"Uncle Terry himself is a genuine creation, and his humor and
shrewd philosophy are a constant delight."
San Francisco _Bulletin_:
"The tone is everywhere as pure and wholesome as green fields and
mirthful brooks, to all lovers of which the book is dedicated."
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
BOSTON
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
_In Preparation_
ROCKHAVEN
_The Story of a Scheme_
By CHARLES CLARK MUNN, Author of "Pocket Island" and "Uncle Terry."
Mr. Munn's next book will be out in the spring of 1902, and cannot fail
to take immediate rank among the leading works of fiction. Successful as
Mr. Munn has been, his next work promises a combined strength and
sweetness that will place his name far higher. "Rockhaven" has the
crisp, salty vigor of the sea, the quaint expressions and sound
philosophy of shrewd country people, the restless drive of city life,
with the mad whirl of a modern financial crisis, all forming a most
strong and effective setting for a sweet and wholesome love story, and
one sure to please the many thousands who have already read Mr. Munn's
writings with keen interest.
The development of the financial "scheme" which forms the basis of the
story, and its stupendous success and corresponding crash, are handled
with intense dramatic force, and many salient points of modern life are
forcefully but sensibly discussed. The stress of the "street," the
poetic restfulness of the sea and shore, the charm of the country, and
the saving grace of true love, all these in the hand of a master form a
book to be eagerly awaited.
_To be ready in the spring of 1902. Price, $1.50_
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
BOSTON
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
BETTY SELDON, PATRIOT
_A Revolutionary Tale for Girls_
By ADELE E. THOMPSON, Author of "Beck's Fortune." Illustrated by
Lilian Crawford True. 12mo. Cloth. 300 pages. $1.25
It is a great deal to say of a book that it is at the same time
fascinating and noble. This is what "Betty Seldon, Patriot" is, and in
fact no one of the many who read and admired "Beck's Fortune" would
expect a book by Miss Thompson to be otherwise. Betty is a bright
Connecticut girl, happily as industrious and filial as she is
attractive. Her devotion to her father, a captain in the Continental
army, and her experience with a Tory uncle, who appears upon the
supposed death of her father and takes her to his home in Pennsylvania,
pretending to be her guardian, form the basis of the book. Historical
events are accurately traced leading up to the surrender of Cornwallis
at Yorktown, with reunion and happiness for all who deserve it. Betty is
worth a thousand of the fickle coquette heroines of some latter-day
popular novels, and the historical setting of the story is strong and
effective.
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
BOSTON
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
WAR AND ADVENTURE STORIES.
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
_Author of the Famous "Old Glory Series," "Bound to Succeed
Series," "Ship and Shore Series," etc._
FIRST VOLUME.
BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON Or Two Boys' Adventures in South Africa.
Illustrated by A. B. SHUTE.
Cloth. 354 pages. Price, $1.25.
"The story bristles with action."--_The Outlook_.
"A stirring story of the South African war."--_The Journal_,
Indianapolis, Ind.
"The kind of story to please boys and give them a fair idea of a great
historical event."--_St. Louis Post-Despatch_.
"Throughout the book there is evidence of that sympathy for the Boer
which prevails on this side of the Atlantic."--_Chronicle_, Chicago.
SECOND VOLUME.
ON TO PEKIN Or Old Glory in China.
Illustrated by A. B. SHUTE.
Cloth. 330 pages. Price, $1.25.
"Parents can feel, in putting this book into the hands of boys
and girls, that they are going to get and hold the interest by
the strenuous adventure, and at the same time enforce those
splendid old-fashioned traits of honesty, courage, and true
all-round manliness."--_Universalist Leader_.
"A thoroughly up-to-date book, full of incidents familiar to us, which
will suit the boys as well as be of interest to their parents."--_San
Francisco Call_.
For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent, prepaid,
on receipt of price by
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers,
BOSTON.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FAMOUS "OLD GLORY SERIES."
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER,
Author of "The Bound to Succeed Series," "The Ship and Shore
Series," etc.
Six volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.25.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 | 10 |
11