STUMPY AND OTHERS.
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 of the 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 closed behind 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 the
mackerel 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 the chances 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 in their 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's father, 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 called _Stumpy_ from 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 felt rich, 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 from his 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 of the 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 to her 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 fast
as 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.