STRANGERS AT ICHABOD'S ISLAND
The friendly squeeze that Doctor Hudson was giving Ichabod's arm as they
advanced toward the group of women heartened the old man mightily. A few
days since, he would have felt that he was being led as a martyr to be
burned at the stake. But now, in the twinkling of an eye, everything was
changed. It is true that he felt a keen embarrassment over this
introduction to feminine society after his isolation from it for twenty
years. Yet his natural courage dominated this embarrassment, so that he
faced the trial bravely enough.
The Doctor explained to him that a formal introduction to the ladies
would be necessary.
"That is," Hudson continued, "to all except one. You are already
acquainted with the one just now coming out of the shack door with your
vinegar bottle in her hand. It's Miss Sarah Porter that I'm referring
to. She has told me that you have talked with her on more than one
occasion about your domestic troubles and your lonely life. She has told
me, too, that she tried her best to give you advice that would be good
for you."
Ichabod replied defensively.
"Wall, I cal'late I've been a-tryin' to take her advice!"
It was even as Doctor Hudson had said. In spite of the sharp eyes and
wagging tongues of the townsfolk, few had known that the old fisherman
occasionally visited Miss Porter in the hostelry managed by her for many
years, and that there he had listened gratefully to her words of kindly
admonition. As a matter of fact, long before the Lee woman entered into
the fisherman's life, he had felt very kindly toward Miss Porter, and
his attentions had been well received by her. It is very possible that
he might have offered himself to her years ago, had it not been for a
conscientious scruple as to his jilted self being unworthy. So, he saw
her only at rare intervals, and then only when he brought fish to sell,
thus making business his excuse. There had been to him a certain comfort
in the fact that this vivacious woman of sixty had never married. He
even dared to wonder sometimes with a thrill of vanity if her feeling
toward him could have been the cause of her spinsterhood. And this was
always followed by an emotion of disgust with himself that he should
ever have found the company of Roxana more to his liking than that of
the pleasant and wholesome Sarah.
When the Captain saw Miss Porter with the vinegar bottle in her hand, he
knew that the visitors were preparing an oyster roast, which, of course,
accounted for the fire of twigs and seaweed. Now, the other women stood
in a row, while Sarah, her face wreathed in smiles, came forward to
greet her old lover. This done, she formally presented Ichabod to the
other guests. The fisherman's increased embarrassment expressed itself
in a sheepish grin, when it suddenly dawned on him that every one of the
women there before him was unmarried. Dr. Hudson remarked afterward that
Ichabod looked to him as if he were convinced that each and every one
was "after him!"
Nevertheless, once the introductions were over, the Captain found
himself at ease in a manner quite surprising. Every one of the visitors
seemed to enter into the spirit of the affair with a whole-hearted
geniality that was infectious, and under this benignant influence the
host was filled with an unaccustomed happiness. He at once began to
assist in the roasting of the oysters, which the women had gathered from
the rocks. He gave them carte blanche to help themselves to plates and
forks and such other things as were needful from the shack.
None was so rude as to refer to Ichabod's reformation. But Sarah Porter,
whenever she caught his eye, gave him a look that spoke as plainly as
words:
"Ichabod Jones, at last I have found you a man, and I am proud of you!"
No doubt she congratulated herself, with justice, on the fact that her
talks with him had had much to do with this change. She was the only one
in the party of mature age; the others were comparatively young and
sprightly maidens. This selection of guests was due to the fine Italian
hand of the Doctor. Evidently, he was hard at work on a plan to make
Ichabod Jones a provider, rather than trying to find him a place as
housekeeper, in accordance with the fisherman's original request.
The hours passed delightfully for all--especially for the host whose
pleasure was edged by the novelty of the situation in which he found
himself. It was not until the moon showed in the east that the visitors
made ready for departure. Just before the party embarked, the boldest of
the maidens kissed the old man's weather-beaten cheek. There was a burst
of laughter from the onlookers. Ichabod could feel himself blushing
furiously, but that blush was invisible under the deep tan. Then the
others thus saluted him, one by one--all save Sarah Porter.
She bestowed herself in the launch while the kissing was going on, and
Ichabod, regarding her furtively with anxious eyes, read in her
expression signs of strong disapproval, which disconcerted him hugely,
and robbed him in great measure of his just due of enjoyment under the
osculatory attack.
Then, it was all over! The old man stood waving his hat mechanically as
the launch glided away. Ichabod watched with unseeing eyes. He was in a
daze, thinking more in sorrow than in anger of "how fer he had let them
minxes go with him--an' Sary a-lookin' on, too!" He shook his head
despondently, as he reflected that the closing incident would have been
more agreeable if "Sary hadn't been a-lookin' on."
Once more, Ichabod Jones burned midnight oil. In the early evening he
brought his easy chair out in front, where he could see the glistening
waters and watch the moon climb high. He smoked pipeful after pipeful of
his strong tobacco. Again he made rings, and thought, and wondered. It
was after ten before he arose and went into the shack, lighted his oil
lamp, laid out his paper and pencil, and proceeded to add more to the
record that he had started. No doubt, after his long reverie in the
moonlight, he had come to the conclusion that the fact of his being
kissed by ten young women and having one more making eyes at him in one
day, the first of his reformation, was of moment enough to be recorded.
That night, as Ichabod finished his entry in the diary and leaned far
back in his chair with chest expanded, his chin with its whift of beard
thrown out at an angle of forty-five degrees, he reminded one of a
cartoon of Uncle Sam when showing a self-satisfied air. The picture he
portrayed at least conveyed the impression that he was monarch of all he
surveyed and even dared once again to place his battle flag of conquest
on the mainland of Cartaret County.
As he put away his writing materials and prepared to retire to his
lonely bunk, he again talked aloud.
"It looks to me, by cracky, as if things was a-movin' jest a leetle too
rapid fer a starter. It reminds me right smart o' a hoss race I saw at
the fish and oyster fair, at New Bern, a spell back. The animal that I
cal'lated would win, he jest started off like a steam engine, an' when
he got half way around he was clean ahead o' the bunch. But by the time
he reached the home-stretch, he was a swettin' like a mad bull an'
puffin' like a grampus--an' every other hoss got in fust. Here I am now,
kissed by ten o' the prettiest gals in Beaufort jest as the sun is
a-settin' on my first day o' new manhood. I'm startin' too almighty
fast. If I don't tame down I'll lose out on the home-stretch. I opine
Sara didn't like the idea o' that kissin' business. I was particular to
hold my face straight out where she could see it an' not let my lips
tech nary one o' 'em. But I guess it would be safer to go down an' tell
Sara how partic'lar I was, an' how I wanted to tell 'em to stop, but
didn't dar'st not to be polite."
As Captain Ichabod lay in his bunk before falling asleep, he allowed his
mind to dwell upon more serious things. He thought of the wireless
message. What had become of the strange man, of the woman, and of his
rooster, Shrimp? He wondered that there were no reports of their passing
other boats. His heart was sore for that poor woman who had lain so long
unconscious upon his bed. His interest in her was vital, for he had
saved her life. What could the man mean by thus secretly hurrying away?
Ichabod had asked himself this question many times. Now he knew beyond
peradventure of doubt that the fellow was a criminal, a refugee from
justice, with a young woman of gentle birth in his power.
Ichabod's conscience smote him. He was ashamed that he had not
instituted a search immediately after the fellow's disappearance from
the Island. He had had the right to call on the Sheriff of the county
for aid. There had been plain theft. A pair of blankets had been stolen
from him--as also his chanticleer.
The monetary loss from this robbery meant nothing to the fisherman, but
it would have served as an excuse for arresting the man, and thus
rescuing his girl victim.... Ichabod remembered the man chained to the
engine in the sunken yacht. It was doubtless this murderer who now had
the girl in his power. Should it suit his ends, would that desperate man
hesitate to murder even the girl herself--the girl he had saved from
drowning? Ichabod decided that he would fulfill a belated duty by going
to town next day, there to swear out a warrant of arrest against the
abductor of the girl, that thus the Sheriff should have reason to search
the waters of the Sound in the hope of arresting the guilty man and
rescuing his victim....
Despite the thrilling experiences of a day so unaccustomedly feminine,
the sturdy old fisherman, when he was done with his meditations, slept
soundly throughout the night. He was up at cock-crow--though there was
no clarion call from Shrimp to awaken.
It was while he was busy over the preparation of a modest breakfast that
there came the wailing cry of a yacht's siren. It sounded from the
northward, evidently not far away from the Island. Captain Icky shut the
drafts on the stove, pushed the coffee-pot back to a position where it
would keep hot without boiling. Then he stepped outside the shack to
watch the incoming vessel pass over the bar into the waters of the
Inlet. He was impressed at first glance by the beautiful lines of the
little vessel, which was evidently of light draft so she might cruise
safely in shallow waters, while capable of weathering a storm-tossed
sea.
It was a new thing that a yacht of such size should come to anchor off
the Island. Ichabod watched curiously as the vessel slackened heavily
and then let a light anchor drop from the starboard side of the bow.
Presently, he saw a small boat put off from the yacht, rowed by two
sailors, and carrying two passengers in the stern. When he made sure
that a landing was intended, Ichabod went down to the point to greet the
unexpected visitors.
As the boat touched the landing, the two men stepped ashore and advanced
toward Ichabod, who greeted them hospitably.
"Howdy, men! Ye are welcome to Ichabod's Island. But it's a leetle
unusual to have a call from boats o' your class.... Jones is my
name--Captain Ichabod Jones, at your service!"
The shorter man stepped forward, and introduced himself as Jack Scott.
He presented his companion as his friend, Roy Morton.
"Captain Jones," the stranger began, "we are now, I take it, just at the
entrance to the Beaufort Inlet."
"Yes, yender is the Inlet," Ichabod replied.
The other spoke with curt incisiveness.
"We're in a hurry. We'd like to ask you a few questions. It's plain no
craft of any size could pass your Island without attracting notice.
We're looking for a yacht stolen from her anchorage in the North River.
She has now been missing for several days. The last report we've been
able to get is that she was seen passing out of Pamlico into Core Sound.
Do you know the whereabouts of any such boat? Her name was _The
Isabel_."
"_The Isabel!_" Ichabod answered. "Thar she lays!"
The two men followed the direction of the horny hand--and saw! Roy
Morton felt a sick dizziness crash upon him. In that moment of agony, he
believed that the girl he loved was forever lost.