MORNING IN THE ISLAND.
"And she was gone, and yet they breathed,
But not the breath of human life--
A serpent round each heart was wreathed,
And stung their every thought to strife."--BYRON.
And how dawned that morn on Campbell's Lodge? How on the widow's
cottage?
With that appalling shriek, that most terrible of all cries, that
unearthly scream of murder ringing in her ears, Sibyl sprang from her
sleepless couch, and while her very heart thrilled with horror,
waited for what was to come next.
Through the lonely, silent old house, it echoed and re-echoed like a
knell of doom; but it was not repeated. She could hear the wild wind
rushing through the open door, awakening strange, ghostly noises
through the high, empty rooms, but nothing else.
What had happened? What was to be done? Was it only fancy? Had she
been dreaming, and was that cry of murder only a delusion, after all?
No, it could not be; for, just as she was beginning to think it was
only the effect of fancy, she distinctly heard footsteps flying up
the stairs--a light, fleet step that paused at her own door.
Sibyl's heart stood still. It was but for an instant; then the same
piercing cry of "Murder!" rang through the lonely house once more;
the quick, light footsteps flew down the long, winding staircase
again, passed through the echoing hall below, and then the large,
heavy front door was slammed to, with a violence that made the old
house shake, and all was again profoundly still.
In one instant, all the wild, ghostly legends she had ever heard of
the old mansion, rushed through Sibyl's mind. Heaven of heavens!
could this be the spirit of some murdered victim, returning from its
bloody grave, to seek for retribution on its murderer? Sibyl
Campbell, naturally brave, was yet, as we know, superstitious, and
the terror that mortal man could never have inspired, filled her very
soul at the thought. Shaking as with an ague fit, for an instant she
crouched upon the floor, her face hidden in her hands, while memory
recalled the tale she had once heard, of a woman stabbed by one of
her dark, fierce forefathers, in that very house, whose restless
spirit (the legend ran) came when the storm was wildest, and the
furious tempest at its height, from her troubled tomb amid the
heaving waves, to denounce woe on her murderer and on his descendants.
How long she sat she knew not, but the sound of the old clock below,
striking in deep, sonorous tones, that echoed startlingly through the
silent house, one! two! three! recalled her once more to life.
That earthly sound brought her once more to herself. She raised her
head and looked wildly around. Aunt Moll lay near her, breathing
heavily, and sleeping the deep, dreamless, death-like sleep that
seems peculiar to the children of Africa. The consciousness of
companionship--even though that companion was but a poor, helpless
old negress--brought renewed courage. Rising, and half ashamed of
her superstitious fears, she walked to the window and looked out.
The storm had passed away and the moon was shining brightly, lighting
up with her calm, pale radiance what had so lately been a scene of
deepest darkness and wildest storm. Her eyes wandered over the
island; all there was still and serene. From thence they strayed out
over the boundless sea, and suddenly rested on an object that
banished all fears of supernatural visitors, and brought with it a
new alarm.
It was a boat--a boat that had evidently just put off from the isle,
and was rapidly disappearing in the distance.
It held but two persons--she could see that. But what meant this
midnight visit, in darkness and storm, to that lonely isle? What
terrible deed, under cover of night and tempest, had been perpetrated
this night?
She caught her breath quick and short; but now that she feared only
earthly dangers and earthly foes, there came with this discovery a
deep breath of relief. Some one might still be concealed in the
house--some one who indulged in the popular belief that there was
money concealed in it somewhere.
There was no time to hesitate--the house must be searched. Lem must
be aroused to assist in it. He slept in the opposite wing of the
building, and, supposing any one to be concealed in the empty rooms,
the journey was a hazardous one; but it could not be avoided. Sibyl
grew quite calm in the face of this new danger, and, stooping, she
shook Aunt Moll by the shoulder to arouse her.
A deep grunt, as the sleeper turned over and fell into a deeper sleep
than before, rewarded her exertions.
"Aunt Moll, wake! Wake, I say! There are people in the house," said
Sibyl, in an anxious whisper, as she shook her more violently than
before. "Oh, Heaven! what shall I do? Aunt Moll, wake! wake! Do
you want to be murdered in your bed?" cried Sibyl, giving her a shake
that might have aroused the seven sleepers.
"Dar, Lem--dar! Don't shake yer ole mammy, dat's a good chile;
'tain't 'spectful, nor likewise----"
Here the sleeper sank into deep slumber, muttering an
incomprehensible something.
There was no time to lose--it was fruitless labor seeking to wake
Aunt Moll. Seizing a lamp, she hastily struck a light, and hastened
out into the windy hall, pausing for an instant at the head of the
long, black staircase, to listen, ere she ventured further.
The silence of the grave still reigned. Nothing met her ear but the
faint echo of her own light footsteps.
Like a shadow she flitted down the dark, cheerless staircase, through
the lower hall into the kitchen, and here she again paused to reflect.
The moonlight was pouring a light through the two low-curtained
windows and rendering the flickering lamp superfluous. Everything
stood precisely as it had the night before; chairs and table were in
their places, and had not been disturbed; a few red coals still
glowed like fierce eyes amid the darkness of the great, black,
yawning chimney--it was evident that no one had been intruding here.
Pushing open a door leading directly from the kitchen into Lem's
sleeping-room, she entered it, and stood beside him. She could not
spare time to try to arouse him by ordinary means, so seizing a large
pitcher of cold water that stood near, she unceremoniously dashed it
in his face, drenching him completely.
The shock aroused him, as it well might; and, uttering a fearful yell
of mingled rage and terror, Lem sat bolt upright in bed, unable to
distinguish anything for the light of the lamp that flashed directly
in his eyes.
"Oh!" was his first ejaculation; "I's gwine for to be 'sassinated
'thout a minit's warnin'!"
"Hush, hush, Lem! for Heaven's sake! It's only I, your mistress!"
said Sibyl, putting one little white hand over his huge black mouth.
"Get up and dress yourself as quickly as possible, and join me in the
kitchen, where I will wait until you come."
And without waiting for the host of questions she saw hovering on his
lips, Sibyl passed out to the kitchen to wait for him.
With teeth chattering, and shaking with terror, Lem proceeded, with
trembling fingers, to draw on his clothes. Without waiting to make a
very elaborate toilet, he passed out to the kitchen, where Sibyl
stood waiting in a fever of impatience.
"Miss Sibyl!" he exclaimed, in trembling tones, "What's happened? Is
we all gwine to be killed, or anything?"
"Hush! No, I hope not. But--be silent now--I greatly fear there are
men concealed in the house somewhere. Hush, I tell you!" she
repeated, with a flash of her bright eye that arrested the
exclamation of terror on Lem's lips. "This is no time for idle
exclamations. I only say I think there may be men here; if there
are, your noise will only reveal where we are; if there are not,
there is no occasion for your terror. Come, follow me; we must
search the house."
"Oh, Miss Sibyl, I's afeard! 'Deed, de Lord knows I's afeard!" said
poor Lem, in shivering tones.
"Pshaw! Do you think you will be any safer here? Come, give over
your fears, and follow me," said Sibyl, as she turned toward the hall
once more.
"Oh, Miss Sibyl, don't wenture! We'll be all 'sassinated if you do."
And poor Lem wrung his hands in mortal terror, while Sibyl hastened
from room to room, but, as may be anticipated, finding no one.
"What can this mean?" she thought. "There was certainly some one
here to-night, and yet I find everything undisturbed. This is most
strange; they must have gone, too, for the house is perfectly still.
Oh, what could that cry of murder have meant? That voice and that
light, quick step belonged to a woman, most certainly; yet what woman
would venture out in such a storm? The girl Christie would not come,
she is too timid, neither was it her voice. What--what can it all
mean?"
Suddenly the recollection of the midnight visitor, the fair, pale
woman with the dark, wild hair and eyes, who had bent over the couch
of Willard Drummond the first night he had spent in the lodge came
over her. It must have been that same supernatural visitant; and
Sibyl grew for an instant faint and sick at the thought.
Further search in the house was fruitless; but her impatience would
not permit her to wait until morning to investigate further.
Returning to the kitchen, where Lem was on his knees, alternately
groaning, praying, and bemoaning his hard fate, she commanded him to
get his hat and come out with her, to see if any traces of intruders
could be found on the island.
In vain did Lem begin expostulating; Sibyl cut it short by
threatening him with her brother's future vengeance if he did not
instantly obey. There was no help for it; and trembling in every
limb, the frightened darkey followed his imperious mistress from the
house.
All without was so calm and peaceful--all the more calm and peaceful,
contrasted with the wild uproar of the storm a few hours before--that
it seemed like sacrilege even to think of deeds of violence in such a
spot. A delicious odor from the distant pine forest filled the air,
and the fitful sighing of the wind among the trees, and the dull
booming of the waves on the shore, alone broke the silence of early
morning. The moonlight, obscured now and then by fitful clouds,
brightly illumined their way, but nothing betrayed the presence of
others save themselves on the isle that night.
Sibyl took the path leading in the direction from which the boat had
started, but there the waves were breaking with the same monotonous
sound, giving no indication of any one having been there. The tide
had now receded sufficiently to allow Sibyl to walk around the beach;
and, tempted by the calm beauty of the night, and feeling a sense of
security in the open air, she strolled on until she reached the spot
where Courtney, in his first moment of alarm, had dropped the body of
Christie.
Something caught her eye at some distance further up, fluttering from
a prickly thorn bush, evidently a fragment of dress. Feeling as if
she had at last found some clew, she approached the spot and found it
to be a white muslin handkerchief, but almost saturated with _blood_!
A sensation of horror came over Sibyl. Had there really been a
murder committed there that night? Shrinking from touching it, she
was about leaving the spot, when near one corner, free from the
horrible stains that covered the rest, her eye fell on something like
a name or initials. Taking the corner with the tips of her fingers,
she beheld, marked in full, the name "Christina."
It was hers, then, Christie's. What could have brought it there?
Had anything happened to her?
"Oh, impossible!" thought Sibyl. "Who is there in the world to whom
she is of the slightest importance, living or dead, except indeed, to
me? Willard has gone; she is, in all probability, safely asleep in
yonder cottage; and I am only torturing myself by useless fears. I
will return to the lodge, and leave to-morrow to unravel this
mystery."
So saying, to the great satisfaction of her attendant, who had all
this time been cautiously walking behind her, looking fearfully at
every tree and rock, and fancying an assassin in their very shadows,
Sibyl turned slowly toward the old hall. On their way they passed
the cottage of Mrs. Tom. All was perfectly quiet there; and,
mystified and uneasy still, Sibyl sought her room once more, to
wonder and speculate upon the events of the night until morning
should dawn.
The bustling little widow, Mrs. Tom--like all those who seem to have
least occasion for it--was in the habit of getting up very early in
the morning, to the serious annoyance of young Mr. Henley, who
preferred letting the sun rise without impertinently staring at him
while doing so. Christie, too, would just as soon not be awakened
from some rosy dream at daylight, by the shrill voice of the old
lady; but Aunt Tom's word was law, and when she called there was no
such word as disobey. The little widow was quite aware of their
disinclination for early rising, therefore great was her amazement,
upon going to the outer room, to find Christie absent, the bed made,
the door unlocked, giving evidence of her being up and out.
"Well!" ejaculated Mrs. Tom, "what won't come to pass! Next thing, I
s'pose, will be Carl offering to wash the dishes without bein' told.
Shouldn't wonder if he was up and off this mornin', too. Fust time I
ever knew Christie to git up 'thout bein' told. Here, you Carl!
Carl!" shrieked Mrs. Tom, going to the foot of the ladder and looking
up through the trap.
A sound she was well accustomed to, something between a snort and a
groan, was Mr. Henley's answer.
"Hurry up there, ef ye don't want me to go up and help ye," called
Mrs. Tom, "ef I do, ye'll wish ye had got up 'thout my help, that's
all. I'll dress you, I reckon."
Now, as this was a formula Mrs. Tom had repeated every morning for
some ten years, without ever being known to vary it in the least,
Carl was too well accustomed to it to venture to disobey.
Accordingly, he sprang up, and began dressing in all haste,
considering he was half asleep during the performance. Mrs. Tom
meanwhile set about kindling a fire, and preparing the breakfast, a
meal which was usually over before the sun was up, and dressed for
the day.
"Where's Christie?" was Carl's first question, upon reaching the
kitchen, as he glanced in the direction of the settle, where, every
morning, about this hour, he was accustomed to see her making her bed.
"Up and gathering sea-moss an hour ago, I'll be bound," replied Mrs.
Tom, "same as you would do, ef you wasn't the most shiftless young
vagabones on the face of the airth! I hope now this will be a
warning to you for the future. Think o' all the sea-moss, and
berries, and sich, you could have gathered every mornin' 'fore this
time, ef you was worth your salt. But it al'ays was my luck, ever
since I was born, to be plagued with a set o' the laziest, most
good-for-nothing bein's ever I saw upon the face of the airth! Stand
out o' my way, will you, ef you don't want to break my neck!"
Trot, the unfortunate cat, came in as usual, for the latter part of
this outburst of eloquence, emphasized by a vigorous kick.
"Lor' sakes, Aunt Tom," exclaimed Master Carl, roused to something
like indignation by this unexpected harangue. "You don't want a
feller to get up in the middle of the night, do you? By granny, it's
too bad! No matter how early a feller gets up, you always think he
ought to get up earlier still. 'Spose you'll be waking me 'bout
midnight pretty soon, ugh?"
Most of this reply was delivered _pianissimo_ (that being the most
prudent tone), and accordingly did not reach Mrs. Tom's ears, who was
blustering out and in, sharp and breezy as the goddess of morning,
bringing in wood and water, and beginning to knead biscuit.
"Yes, grumble," said the active little woman. "I never knew you
doing anything else ef you was told to work. Pity if a great, big,
lazy fellow like you can't get up as airly as Christie, a delicky
young gal, too! See her, up and out while you was snorin' away like
a pig up there! you ought to be 'shamed o' yourself."
"I say, Aunt Tom," said Carl, looking up with as much interest as his
usually expressionless face could assume, "was she out a little 'fore
twelve, when it was a-stormin' so?"
"'Fore twelve?" said Mrs. Tom, in a high key, as she imagined her
dutiful nephew was making fun of her. "Look here now, you Carl, ef I
hadn't my hands in this dough, I'd box your ears till you wouldn't
ask me such a question agin."
"Now, Aunt Tom," said Carl, in a whimpering tone, "it's too bad, so
it is; a feller carn't say nothing you don't get mad at. If it wan't
Christie, 'twas Miss Sibyl! I saw some woman or other out, 'bout
midnight, running like mad through the storm--an' what's more, I
heard her, too."
"My conscience!" ejaculated Mrs. Tom, lifting up her floury hands in
holy terror, "my conscience! how that there boy does lie! Carl
Henley, do you mean to tell me that you was out in that storm last
night, and saw Miss Sibyl?"
"No, I wa'n't out myself," said Mr. Henley, tearing the comb fiercely
through his tow-locks, in his deep indignation at having his veracity
and reason both doubted. "But I seen what I saw, for all that.
S'pose you ha'n't forgotten, Aunt Tom, that there's a pane of glass
broken out of one of the windows up stairs, with your old bonnet
stuck through it. Well," said Carl, in a slightly subdued tone,
"your old bonnet got blown out with the wind last night, and the fust
thing woke me was the rain a-beating into my face. So I jumped up to
fix it, and, jest as I got to the window, there came such a flash of
lightning as I never seen afore. Blamed if I didn't think I was a
goner! Everything for nigh onto ten minutes was considerably clearer
nor day; and just then I saw a woman flying through the storm, like
as if all creation was after her, and as she passed the house, I
heard her singing out _mother_, or _murder_--I don't know which. I
was pretty considerable scared, though I did think it was only Miss
Sibyl, for she had long black hair a-flyin' behind her, jist like
hers. When the flash went away I couldn't see nothing, for it was as
dark as all outdoors; and though I was scared of the storm, I wanted
to see if it was Miss Sibyl, and I stood there, waiting for the next;
but when it came, she was gone."
"My sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Tom, whose deepest interest was for the
moment arrested. "What did you do then?"
"Well then," said Carl, in a lower key, as though sorry his story had
not a more thrilling sequel, "I got tired a-settin' up, so I laid
down and went to sleep. Who do you s'pose it was, Aunt Tom?"
"I don't think it was anybody. S'pose folks is fools to run out in
sich a storm as that there? I know Miss Sibyl had queer notions
sometimes, but she has more sense, I reckon, nor to go out
philandering through the rain."
"Well, it must have been somebody," said Carl, with a sort of dogged
resolution. "I know I seen a woman running like a house a-fire
through all the wind and rain."
"No, you didn't," said Aunt Tom, shortly. "'Twas only a touch of
nightmare; so don't bother me any more about it."
Thus ignominiously silenced, Carl proceeded lazily to assist in the
preparation for breakfast, which he would greatly have preferred
discussing, if left to himself, to getting ready.
The coffee and biscuits were smoking at length, on the table, but
Christie did not make her appearance.
"Very strange," said Mrs. Tom; "don't see what in the world keeps the
gal. Here it is going on to seven o'clock, and my work a-standing,
while we're waiting for her. Carl, jest run out and see ef you can
see her."
Carl started on his mission, but soon returned, announcing that
nothing was to be seen of her.
"Then there's no use a-waiting any longer," said Mrs. Tom. "Set
down; may be she's gone to the lodge to breakfast with Miss Sibyl."
The meal was over, the service cleared away. Carl set out to weed
the garden; Mrs. Tom sat down to her wheel. But still Christie came
not.
"Very strange!" observed Mrs. Tom, at last beginning to grow uneasy.
"Ten o'clock, and Christie not here yet! My stars! I wonder ef
anything can hev happened to her? I've noticed she's been kind o'
silent and pinin' away for the last two or three days. I hope
nothin's happened to her. Oh, here she is now! No 'tain't neither;
it's Miss Sibyl."
The little widow rose, and came smiling and cheery to the door to
welcome her guest.
"Well, Miss Sibyl, I'm glad to see you. Walk in and sit down. I
thought when you and Master Guy came home from furrin parts you'd
stay comfortably on the island; but, 'stead o' that, we never see you
no more nor if you was in Canada or Rooshia, or any other outlandish
place. How's the captain, and that Mr. Drummond?"
"They were both very well when I saw them last," said Sibyl, smiling
slightly, as she took the proffered seat, from which Mrs. Tom had
been whisking some invisible particles of dust with her apron. "I
hope you have been quite well yourself, Mrs. Tom?"
"Oh, tol'bul," said Mrs. Tom, complacently. "Fact is, you know, I
hain't no time to be sick; it's only rich folks, what's well off, can
afford to indulge in sickness. So you've had a great fortune left
you, Miss Sibyl, I've hearn tell!"
"Yes; Guy and I have received a legacy."
"Well, the Lord never does forget his critters; and every now and
then something's allers sure to happen. I've allers remarked that
myself. I s'pose you don't intend to stay here much longer, Miss
Sibyl?"
"I rather think not. We will leave you to keep the island, Mrs. Tom.
But where is your niece this morning? I do not see her!"
"She went out this morning before any of us got up, and hasn't come
back yet. I'm getting rale onasy," said Mrs. Tom, anxiously, getting
up and going to the door. "I thought she had gone to see you."
Sibyl gave a sudden start, and grew deathly pale as she thought of
the handkerchief, the wild cry of murder, and the men leaving the
island during the night. A terrible presentiment flashed across her
mind, and, sick and dizzy, she fell back in her chair and pressed her
hand over her heart.
"My gracious! Miss Sibyl, what's the matter? Are you sick?" said
Mrs. Tom, turning suddenly, and seeing with alarm the unaccountable
paleness of the young lady. "Here's some camphire; smell of it, or
ye'll faint."
"Thank you, I do not require it," said Sibyl, rising with an effort,
and striving to be calm. "Have you any idea what time Christie left
the house?"
"Not the slightest idee; 'cause I was asleep at the time. Carl
says--though there's no puttin' confidence in him--that, somewheres
'bout midnight, he seed a woman runnin' through the storm, and
singin' out 'murder!' But in course he was dreaming; there couldn't
hev bin any sich thing."
"Oh, merciful Heaven! then it was no delusion on my part, since I
heard it, too. Oh, this is dreadful!" said Sibyl, wringing her hands.
"Miss Sibyl, what's happened?" said Mrs. Tom, growing very pale.
"Oh, Mrs. Tom! Heaven help you, Christie!"
"Christie! what of her?" cried Mrs. Tom, grasping a chair to steady
herself.
"Oh, Mrs. Tom! must I tell you? Christie, I fear, went out last
night in the storm, and--oh, Heaven!" said Sibyl, sinking into a
chair, with a convulsive shudder.
"And what, Miss Sibyl? Tell me, quick! Was she swept away in the
storm?" said Mrs. Tom, striving to strangle her trembling tones.
"Oh, worse--worse! I fear; still worse!" said Sibyl, wildly.
"Oh, my soul! what has happened? Oh, Christie! dear Christie! where
are you?"
"Christie has, I fear, been waylaid and----"
"Murdered! Oh, Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Tom, falling back in her
chair and covering her face with her hands.
There was a moment's awful silence. Then Mrs. Tom, who (no matter
what the emergency) never allowed her ever-practical mind to be long
overclouded, dropped her hands from before her face, and, though she
was frightfully pale, said, in a voice whose firmness astonished
Sibyl:
"What makes you think so, Sibyl? My poor little Christie had not an
enemy in the world!"
"Oh! she had--she had!" cried Sibyl, thinking, with bitter remorse,
how intensely she herself had hated her.
"Who was it?" said Mrs. Tom, starting up. "No one but a monster
could have hurted one hair of her gentle head! Miss Sibyl, who do
you think has done it?"
"I do not know--as Heaven hears me, I do not know!" said Sibyl,
recovering herself.
"What makes you think she was murdered?" said Mrs. Tom, who by this
time had recovered all her customary composure, and now fixed her
eyes keenly on Sibyl's face.
"Last night I, too, like your nephew, heard the cry of murder," said
Sibyl, shuddering at the recollection; "and early this morning, I
discovered in a bush, down near the shore, a pocket-handkerchief,
stained with blood, and marked with her name!"
"Where is the handkerchief?"
"It is there still; I did not touch it."
"Come, then, and show me the place," said Mrs. Tom, a sudden
passionate outburst of sorrow breaking through all the composure she
was endeavoring to assume.
Without exchanging a word, they hurried to the spot, where the
ghastly handkerchief still fluttered in the breeze.
"Oh, it is hers!" exclaimed Mrs. Tom. "They have murdered her on the
beach, and the tide has swept her away. Oh, Christie! Christie!"
And bowing her face in her hands, for the first time she wept
passionately.
There was a long pause, broken only by Mrs. Tom's convulsive sobs.
Sibyl stood wrestling with her own bitter thoughts, not daring to
break in upon her grief by any useless words of comfort.
At last Mrs. Tom looked up, her tears seemingly changed to sparks of
fire.
"Who has done this? _You_ know!" she said, gloomily, laying her hand
on Sibyl's arm.
"Heaven be merciful! I do not."
"Have you no idea? Is there no clew? Speak; for if there is law or
justice in the land, those who have done this deed shall suffer."
"The only clew is one so slight that even now I do not know whether I
really saw it or dreamed that I did," said Sibyl, hesitatingly.
"Speak, and tell me what it is. I must know," said Mrs. Tom, with a
sort of grim vengeance.
"Then listen. Last night after the moon rose--some two hours, I
should judge, after I heard that cry of murder--on going to the
window to look out, I perceived a boat push off from the shore
containing the forms of two men; but so speedily did they vanish from
sight, that I had barely time to catch the dark outlines of their
figures. As it all passed so quickly, I ani still half disposed to
believe it the effect of fancy."
"No boat could reach the island in the storm last night," said Mrs.
Tom, still keeping her gloomy eyes fixed on Sibyl's face.
"I know that; and that is the principal reason I have for thinking
what I saw may be the effect of fancy. And yet--and yet some one
must have been here, else how are we to account for the committing of
the deed? And what could have induced Christie to go out in such a
storm, and at such an hour?"
"I do not know; it is all wrapped in mystery," said Mrs. Tom, taking
the handkerchief and turning away. "But I'll find it out--I'll
discover the murderers, if I should spend my whole life in seeking
for them myself.'
"What do you mean to do?" said Sibyl, anxiously.
"To have the island searched the first thing. I suppose you will let
Lem come and help?"
"Of course. But would it not be a better plan to go over to N----
immediately, and inform the authorities, and let them investigate the
matter?"
"Carl shall take me right over," said Mrs. Tom.
"I will accompany you," said Sibyl; "we may both be needed to give
testimony."
Half an hour later, the boat, containing Carl, Mrs. Tom, and Sibyl,
was dancing over the water in the direction of N----, to electrify
the community by the announcement of the atrocious deed.
But where, meantime was Christie? Had she really, as they so readily
supposed, found a grave beneath the wild waves?