Pocket Island Part 13

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 s.h.i.+ning 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 l.u.s.t 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 G.o.d'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 ash.o.r.e 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 ash.o.r.e. 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 a.s.sure 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 ash.o.r.e 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 pa.s.sed 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.