THE PLANK OVER THE CHASM.
A week of indescribable misery to Nathan Fairfield passed away; but no
trace of the robber or the money had been obtained. The constables and
the deputy sheriff had visited the premises, and carefully considered
all the facts, without affording the miserable man a particle of
consolation. He groaned from morning till night, forlorn and desolate,
declaring that he should come to want, and die in the poorhouse.
Probably the money the wretch had lost was not a fifth part of his
fortune, and he was in no more danger of coming to want than the sea
was of being dried up. But he felt as though he had lost all; and if he
had been stripped of everything, he could hardly have suffered more. He
felt poor, and wanted to earn money in some way. The dog-fish season
had opened favorably, and he was actually preparing to go into the
business of catching them. Dock Vincent had promised him the use of a
dory,--for he could not afford to buy one,--and he had taken Levi's old
lines and repaired them for use.
Mr. Fairfield groaned and sighed all day long while he worked upon his
fishing-lines and his trolls. He could not tell who had stolen his
money, and in his hatred of his nephew, he still persisted in
suspecting him. There was no proof, and he could do nothing but believe
that Levi was the thief. It was useless to say anything or do anything,
for Levi was so popular that justice could not be had.
The lines, the troll, and the bait were all ready, and the old man
carried them down to the landing-place where Dock had left the dory.
Along the shore of this part of Cape Ann there is a succession of rocky
peninsulas, extending out into the sea. Between these are the beaches,
stretching in semicircles from bluff to bluff, as they have been
fashioned by the mighty waves which roll in from the open ocean. On
these sandy shores the billows chant their solemn melody all day and
all night long, and break with sharper pitch and fiercer swell upon the
jagged rocks that form the headlands.
On the road, but a few rods from Mr. Fairfield's, and near one of these
peninsulas, was the house of Dock Vincent, where his family had always
lived, even when he was in New York. The end of the headland curved
round so as to leave a portion of the water behind it protected from
the force of the sea, thus forming a sheltered landing-place. Off this
point lay The Starry Flag, and on the rocks where the boatmen usually
embarked were several skiffs, and among them Dock Vincent's dory, which
Mr. Fairfield was to use.
Across the end of the headland, a few rods from the extreme point, was
a natural chasm in the rocks, through which the water flowed at high
tide. It was about ten feet wide, and rather more than this in depth.
Across it a plank had been placed for the convenience of fishermen and
others.
On the next headland, which terminated in Mike's Point, was the new
summer residence of Mr. Watson. He had made a landing-pier, which was
available at half tide; but Levi kept his boat at the old moorings,
because the place was sheltered from the violence of the north-east
winds, and it was less than half a mile across to the house where he
usually took in his passengers.
Mr. Fairfield went down to the dory, and put his fishing-gear on board.
He did it as a man goes to a funeral. He had been a fisherman in his
younger days, but it was a bitter necessity, in his view, which now
compelled him to resume it when he was old and stiff. While he was
stowing the bait and lines in the skiff, Dock Vincent came down to see
him. He had laid aside his suit of black, and now wore a full seaman's
rig.
"Well, Squire Fairfield, have you heard anything from your money yet?"
demanded Dock, as he seated himself on a rock.
"Not a thing; and 'tain't likely I ever shall, nuther," replied Mr.
Fairfield, with a most distressing expression on his face.
"Haven't you any idea what has become of it?"
"Not the leastest grain in the world. It's gone, and that's all I know
about it. I did think Levi took it, and I hain't got done thinkin' so
yet."
"What made you think he took it?" asked Dock, with no little interest
manifested on his ugly face.
"Well, he come to the house when I wan't in, though I was close by and
see him go in. He went up garret and got a little saw-mill he made. I
went up to the house, and was just goin' to see where he was; but I
stopped a minute in the kitchen to tell my wife she was wastin' the
wood, and Levi went out afore I see him. A little while arter, the fire
bruk out, and arter that my money was gone. Levi's most eighteen, and
it stands to reason he don't want no little saw-mill to play with."
"Of course he don't," added Dock, encouragingly.
"He said arterwards that he wanted to show it to the Watson gal. But
what does a city gal like her keer about a saw-mill? and nuther on 'em
hain't been near it sence."
"That shows how much they care about it," said Dock, who was evidently
prepared to indorse the old man's philosophy.
"I can't help thinkin' Levi set the house afire, and then took the
money," continued Mr. Fairfield, ignoring the current explanation of
the cause of the fire. "My wife says 'tain't so, because the boy has
all the money he wants, and don't have no occasion to steal; but Levi
hain't no more idee of the vally of money than he has of flyin', and he
throws it away as reckless as a sailor arter he comes home from a Cape
Horn v'y'ge."
"I know he does; if he had to earn it, he wouldn't be quite so free
with it."
"Levi hates me, 'f I am his uncle, and never did nothing but take good
keer of his money for him--he hates me like destruction; and that's
what makes me think he done it. He's a bad boy, if he is go'n' to jine
the church. Folks will find him out one of these days, and then they'll
know I told the truth about him."
"Could anybody else have taken the money? That's the p'int."
"Not's I know on--least ways nobody but you and Mat Mogmore."
"You don't think I took it--do you?"
"I hain't been able to think so," replied the miser, looking up into
the face of Dock. "I allers thought you set too much by me to sarve me
sech a trick as that. I've lent you a good deal of money one time 'n
another."
"But I paid you ten per cent. for it. I didn't take your money, and I
know Mat Mogmore didn't. I was with him all the time he was in the
house. We worked together."
"It stands to reason, then, that Levi took it; I can't help thinkin'
so."
"They say he carries a good many things to your house," suggested Dock.
"Kerries a good many things to my house!" repeated the miser with a
sneer. "Mebbe he does. What sort of things does he kerry there?
Chickens and turkeys, and surlines and ribs of beef, and sech truck! He
knows I don't want sech things, and he does it jest to aggravate me. If
he wants to do anything for me, why don't he gim me the money he pays
out for 'em? That's what I want to know."
"I don't think you've hit the nail on the head this time, Mr.
Fairfield," added Dock, who evidently had a theory of his own to
propose. "They say you are worth some thirty or forty thousand dollars,
Mr. Fairfield."
"Bless ye! I ain't wuth no sech money. I've got a little or sunthin,
but I expect to lose it all."
"Well, call it twenty thousand, then."
"I ain't wuth that," added Mr. Fairfield, testily; for, like all
misers, he desired to conceal his possessions, as much to blind the
assessors as to avoid the peril of robbery.
"Well, you are worth something."
"A little or sunthin," answered Mr. Fairfield, conceding this for the
sake of argument.
"Have you made a will, Squire Fairfield?"
"No, I hain't made no will. I hain't got nothin' to leave wuth makin' a
will for."
Dock did not believe this statement, but he took no notice of it.
"You haven't any children, and if you should die, half of your money
would go to Levi, and half to your wife. If you should die, Levi would
make ten or fifteen thousand dollars by it. Don't you see now what he
gives you chickens and turkeys for? He means to keep things smooth till
you step out. If you shouldn't come back, when you go out after
dog-fish to-morrow morning, Levi wouldn't feel half so bad about it as
I should."
This was a disagreeable topic to the miser, and he cut it short; but
the idea that Levi was ready to have him die took fast hold of his
shattered mind. Dock Vincent had produced the impression he desired; he
had added fresh fuel to the flame of the old man's hatred; and he was
content to let the subject drop for the present.
Dock, finding himself a person of no consequence at the Cape, had
already announced his intention to emigrate to Australia with his
family; and he appeared to be waiting only to wreak his vengeance upon
Levi Fairfield, who had defeated his plan to swindle Mr. Watson out of
twenty thousand dollars. The young man had exposed and ruined him, in
his estimation--not the crime; and he could not leave the country till
he had "paid him off," though he was not so particular about his honest
debts.
The next morning Dock went down to the landing-place. When he reached
the chasm, he saw Levi coming across the beach. His eyes glowed with
hatred, as they always did when he looked upon the author of his
misfortunes, the one whose testimony had sent him to the state prison.
He did not care to meet him, and it was evident that Levi was coming
for his boat. Stooping down, he adjusted the plank over the chasm in
such a way that his victim would be pitched down upon the sharp rocks
beneath, the instant he stepped upon it. The fall would not kill
him--it would only bruise and maim him. Levi was beneath the rocky
precipice, and could not see him.
There was a smile on the villain's countenance as he retreated to a
place of concealment near the spot, to wait for the disaster that
should lay his victim upon the bed of pain and suffering.
He waited ten minutes for the crash of the falling plank; but it did
not come. Rising from his seat, he moved to a position where, looking
through the chasm, he saw The Starry Flag standing over towards Mr.
Watson's house. Levi had walked on the shelving rocks, and reached the
landing without crossing the bridge. Dock was disappointed, and began
to climb the rocks to readjust the plank. As he ascended, he discovered
Mr. Fairfield, just stepping on the bridge. He shouted, but it was too
late; the end of the plank slipped off, the old man danced upon
nothing, and sank in the abyss below.