THE LITTLE MAN OF WITCHES COVE
That day, after Ruth had delivered her fear-inspiring cargo, which had
doubtless been stolen from Fort Georges, to the proper authorities, she
went uptown to shop. There she selected with care a figured taffeta
dress, a bright new hat and new shoes.
“I won’t show them to anyone until Sunday,” she told herself. When an
uneasy feeling took possession of her she stilled it by whispering, “Life
is a joke.” Had she been asked quite suddenly what that had to do with a
figured taffeta dress, she might not, perhaps, have been able to tell.
That same day, Pearl took her new dory and rowed away to her favorite
fishing ground, Witches Cove.
She had not been fishing long when she caught sight of the mysterious
little man who, with his two great black cats, had come to live in the
abandoned cottage above the cove.
At first he was seated on a tall rock, studying the sea with a great
brass telescope. Presently, however, she saw that he had left the rock
and was making his way down the fern grown rocks near her. As he came,
she studied him out of one corner of her eye. She lost two perfectly good
cunners doing this, but it was worth the price. This man was peculiar, a
“new type,” one of Pearl’s learned friends would have called him. He was
short almost to deformity. He was bow-legged and very broad shouldered.
He wore dark glasses which completely hid his eyes. Pearl thought nothing
of this last. Many persons living by the ocean wear such glasses to
protect their eyes from the dazzling reflection that comes from the
mirror-like surface of the sea.
“Hello, little girl,” he said quietly as he settled himself on a rock
overhanging the sea. “How’s the fishing?”
Pearl resented being called little, though indeed she was small for
sixteen. She was a little frightened too. Witches Cove is a lonely spot,
and as we have said before, quite spooky with all its black and green
reflections and its constant murmuring that seems to come from nowhere.
But she had come to fish. Between the man and her boat were twenty feet
of deep water. Besides, the man intrigued her. So she stayed.
“The fishing is fine,” she said.
“Often think I’ll try it.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Too busy.”
For a moment there was silence. Pearl had caught sight of a great cunner
down there among the waving kelp. She was tempting him with a delicious
bit of soft clam.
Up went her line, down again, away to one side.
“O-o! He got it!” she murmured, drawing in her line. With a deft hand she
replaced her bait with a bit of tougher clam meat. Thirty seconds later a
three-pounder was beating a tattoo in the bottom of her boat.
“That is a good one,” said the stranger. “Can you now afford a moment for
talk?”
“Why?”
“It may be worth your while.”
“Well.” The girl settled back.
The man began to speak. In the twenty minutes that followed, this mystery
man of the rocky isle told the girl things she had never dreamed of. He
had opened up for her a new and quite terrible world. He ended by
startling her with his knowledge of recent events.
“Someone stole your cousin’s punt,” he said quite suddenly, tilting on
his tiptoes above the black waters.
Pearl looked at him in surprise. “Last night.”
“It was loaded with explosives when you got it back.”
Again the girl stared.
“Look out for those men. They’re dangerous. We’ve nearly got them three
times. They escaped us. Can’t find out where they stay.”
Pearl thought of the face-in-the-fire, and old Fort Skammel. Her heart
gave a great bounce, but she said nothing.
“How do you know such things?” she asked after a moment.
He leaned far forward. “I’ll tell you something, but you must not repeat
it.”
“I won’t.”
“Well, then, I’m a Secret Service man.” Her heart bounced again. She had
read books about such men, and they were thrilling and scarey.
“Thanks,” she said. “I won’t tell. And I—I’ll help if I can. It’s my
country.”
“That’s the spirit. Come to me anytime you have a thing to tell.”
A fish took her bait. She pulled him in. When she looked up, the man was
gone.
Late that evening Betty returned from her yachting party. She had had a
glorious time, had traveled aboard the most marvelous yacht, all shining
brass and mahogany, satin cushions and lace curtains. She had had as her
traveling companions such notable people as she had never hoped to know.
A senator, a great yachtsman, a wonderful actress and a real poet had
been in the party. For all this she found herself over and over longing
to be back at the island where she might confide her marvelous secret to
those who had a right to know.
They ran over to Monhegan. When she found that Ruth and Pearl were gone,
her desire to be back increased tenfold.
Hardly had she raced up to the big cottage on the hill to change from
middy and short blue skirt to blouse and knickers than she went tearing
at a perilous rate down the hill toward Ruth’s house.
By great good fortune both Ruth and Pearl were there.
“Oh, girls!” she exclaimed in an excited whisper. “I have a most
beautiful secret! There’s a hole in the floor and it’s all full of the
most marvelous silk things!”
“A hole in the floor!” said Ruth, quite mystified by the girl’s wild
rambling.
“Come down to the beach.” Betty dragged at their arms. “No one will hear
us there. I—I’ll tell you all about it. Oh, girls! We must do something
about it! We truly must!”
Away to the beach they went. There on the golden sand with the dark
waters murmuring at their feet, with the lights of Portland Harbor
winking and blinking at them, and the moon looking down upon them like
some benevolent old grandfather, the two girls listened while Betty
unfolded the story of her two visits to old Fort Skammel.
“A warm room,” she said at the end in a voice that was husky with
excitement, “a warm room, all glowing with a weird yellow light, and full
of silk things, dresses and dresses, all pink and gold, and blue and
green. You never saw any like them.”
“We’ll go over there,” said Ruth, “but not at night.”
“No, not at night.” Betty shuddered.
“When we have all seen it, we’ll tell someone, perhaps Captain O’Connor.
Can’t go to-morrow morning,” Ruth said thoughtfully. “I promised to go
over and lift Don’s lobster traps. Might get back in time to go over in
the afternoon.”
So they left the beach with the Portland lights still winking and
blinking at them, to return home and to their beds.
As Ruth lay once more in her own bed looking out on the harbor, she
caught the slow movement of some great dark bulk, and knew it was the
ancient sailing ship, _Black Gull_. Never before had this ship spoken so
clearly of the glorious past of dear old Maine, of ships and the sea, of
settlement and glorious conquest, and of her brave sons who in every
generation had given their lives for freedom.
Never before had she so longed to see the old ship, with every patched
and time-browned sail set, go gliding out into the free and open sea.
Perhaps this longing was prophetic of that which was shortly to come.