THE FUR FARMER'S TRIUMPH--CONCLUSION
While all this talk was going on, the man had of course listened. What
he had just heard Roland say about forgiving his scheming cousin must
have encouraged the fellow more or less; for surely if they meant to let
the chief conspirator go scot-free, it would hardly be fitting to take
it out on the poor hired tool.
"I hope you include me in that general amnesty order, young fellows," he
now hastened to say, with a wishful look on his face. "Since the fat is
in the fire I'm ready to tell anything you want of me. Course my name
isn't Jake Storms; though it isn't necessary for me to inform you what
it might be, because that doesn't concern anybody around here. I needed
money pretty badly, and the gent tempted me beyond my limit, so I agreed
to help him steal the fox cubs. I was to have all they'd fetch when
sold, and so I came along. But if you just cut these cords, and tell me
to clear out, I'll vamose the ranch instanter."
Max nodded his head in the affirmative.
"You might as well make an early start," he remarked, drily. "Since
things have turned out the way they have, we couldn't make any use of
you. But before you go, understand one thing, my friend."
"What might that be, young fellow?" asked the other, though looking very
much pleased at hearing he would be set free.
"Don't get it into your head that it's going to be an easy snap to come
back here and rob this fox farm. You'd be a fool to try it for many
reasons. In the first place, silver blacks are so few in number that any
one selling a cub or a pelt can be tracked, and made to prove ownership.
There's also an association forming that will insure these costly
animals, and chase a thief across the continent until they eventually
get him; just as the bankers' association does. Understand that?"
"Oh! don't bother about me," the man hastened to tell them. "I'm through
with this sort of risky game. I can make a living at something that
brings in easier returns; only set me free and I'll never come back here
again, never, on your life."
"There'll be a guard here while we're gone," continued Max, sternly, "a
man who can hit a silver quarter with his rifle as far as he can see it
through the telescopic globe sight. It wouldn't be safe for prowlers to
show up here. Besides, they could never find the foxes, hidden deep down
in their burrows, during the night time. Steve, set him free, please."
The boys felt that they could afford to be magnanimous, since things had
taken such a glorious turn in their favor. So they not only gave the
so-called Jake Storms his liberty but filled his pockets with such food
as would serve him until he came to a town. Roland was seen talking with
him just before he left, and Max felt sure the boy must have thrust some
money into the man's hand, for the fellow acted as though greatly
confused, and shook his head while walking hastily away, as though the
kindness of those boys quite overwhelmed, him.
Roland continued his work of making his cousin thoroughly ashamed of his
recent mean actions. He waited on the injured man as though Robert had
always been one of his best friends. If ever a fellow "heaped coals of
fire on the head of his enemy," Roland Chase certainly did during the
three days they continued to linger at the lodge under the pines.
Meanwhile, the signal had been set for Jerry Stocks to come over, and
when he arrived, he turned out to be very much the kind of a man the
boys expected to see, a homely specimen of a woodsman, honest as the day
was long, and "filled to the brim," as Steve aptly expressed it, with an
accurate knowledge of all such things as may prove of value to one who
roams the wilderness.
He was to be left in charge during the absence of the young fur farmer.
Roland had long ago won the sincere admiration of the rugged woodsman,
who stood ready to do anything to show his regard. Besides, he would be
well paid for all his trouble, and his family might even come over to
visit him occasionally.
During the balance of their stay under the sheltering roof of the
wonderful little lodge under the whispering pines, the boys made use of
every hour in order to enjoy their limited holiday. Since success had
crowned their efforts to find the missing one, they were in constant
high spirits. It always produces a feeling of exultation to know that
the goal has been attained for which a start was made; and the four
chums were only human.
They certainly had a great time of it, visiting all sorts of strange
nooks under the guidance of either Roland or Jerry. Max found a number
of opportunities to add to his interesting collection of flashlight
pictures. He made a specialty of the fox farm, and with the assistance
of the young owner, managed to snap off the timid occupants of the
enclosures in the act of feeding, as well as under various other equally
instructive conditions; all of which would give a pretty good idea of
how progressive fur farmers manage their outfit.
The wounded man grew better, so that when it was time for them to leave,
he could take his part in the procession; though the others declined to
let him burden himself with any of the duffle, since he was still weak.
Max had been studying Robert, and reached the conclusion that the young
man was heartily ashamed of his miserable plotting. He hoped it would
be a good lesson calculated to serve Robert the rest of his life; and if
this turned out to be so, then that stumble of his, unfortunate as it
may have seemed to him at the time, was the best thing that had ever
happened to him.
The two marketable fox pups were placed securely in the cage that had
been secured for this very purpose by Roland when last in the city. It
weighed very little, and could be easily transported like an ordinary
pack on the back. Roland himself meant to carry it, but of course the
others insisted on "spelling" him from time to time.
Really, when the fateful morning hour came, and they turned back to give
a last fond look at the little lodge under the green pines, Max and his
three chums were conscious of a strange feeling of keen regret around
the region of their hearts; which proved how the woods home of Roland
had grown upon them.
"I certainly do hope those pictures will turn out to be daisies, Max."
Steve was heard to say, most earnestly; "because I'll take a heap of
satisfaction in recalling many of the pleasant things that have happened
to us up here, where the breeze is always telling tales to the pinetops;
and it's nice to be able to see what your mind is centered on."
"But look here," said Roland, delighted to hear Steve talk in that
strain; "you mustn't think that even if I do succeed to that jolly
little fortune left by my real uncle, and not one of the Grimeses, that
I'm meaning to drop this fox farm business. By now it's got a deep hold
on me, and I'm more bent than ever on making it a big success. Yes, and
I'm also counting on you fellows paying me another visit some other
time, the sooner the better."
They assured him it would please them beyond measure to contemplate
spending part of their next summer vacation with him, when they could
investigate still further the many delightful mysteries of the
Adirondack wilderness.
So the lovely nook was lost sight of, and for some little time a silence
seemed to fall upon all the members of the group, as they continued to
trudge along the trail that eventually would fetch them to a road, and
after that to a village.
Of course our story nears its end, now that we have seen Max and his
chums accomplish the object of their search. They meant to continue
along in the company of Roland, and see that the pair of beautiful
glossy silver black fox pups were safely delivered to the purchaser, who
intended to start a fur farm of his own in some other part of the
country, possibly away up in the Canadian Northwest, and had taken a
great fancy for the particular strain of animal Roland was propagating.
In due time they arrived at the city where this rich gentleman lived. He
had, it appeared, seen and admired the fox pups while fishing in the
neighborhood of the fur farm, and made a contract with Roland for the
delivery of the pair at a certain time, binding the bargain with a cash
payment.
It all turned out as planned, and when the boy received the balance of
the stipulated amount in a handsome check he felt that he had a right to
feel proud of his accomplishment.
Robert had long before then took his leave, and in doing so he squeezed
the hand of his younger cousin, and assuring Roland that he meant to see
more of him in the future. So far as Max could observe, the man appeared
to have turned over a new leaf, and from that time forward was likely to
show what was really in him besides his former desire to loaf and spend
money.
And so in the fullness of time, the five boys turned up in Carson, where
a certain good woman whom Roland claimed as his aunt was wonderfully
well pleased to find his arms about her wrinkled neck, and his boyish
kiss pressed upon her cheek. She assured Roland the first thing, that
there was no need of his worrying about the future, because she had
determined to make him her heir, regardless of whether he ever came into
the money left under such exacting conditions by his deceased uncle.
Naturally, Roland was proud to tell his aunt that while he appreciated
her fresh interest in his career, and would be only too glad to respond
to her affection, at the same time she must know he had not made a
failure, and that even now he was about to call upon the trustees of
the will, to show them he had faithfully carried out all the provisions
upon the fulfillment of which his legacy depended.
It all came out as planned; indeed, those same old trustees of the
estate, living in another town, had the greatest surprise of their lives
when that troop of boys called upon them, and the whole story was told;
for of course Max and the other trio eagerly snapped at Roland's warm
invitation to accompany him on this momentous occasion, so as to witness
his crowning triumph, and add their testimony, if needed, as witnesses
to the successful outcome of his plans.
Roland had taken pains to gather all necessary documents showing how he
invested the greater part of his two thousand dollars, and how he was to
draw half the proceeds on any sales. He also had the contract for the
delivery of the first of the silver black fox pups, and after could, in
addition, show the fat check covering that particular sale.
Everything had been looked after to a fraction. The old men found it
difficult to believe what at first to their minds seemed so like a fairy
story: but in the end they had to admit that Roland Chase had fully
complied with every one of the conditions imposed on him in the strange
will of his uncle; and as the time limit had not yet expired, he was
fully entitled to his legacy, which in due time was paid over to him.
After that, Roland again departed for the wonderful "farm," where the
most valuable crop ever heard of was being grown successfully. The other
lads heard from him frequently during the winter months, and there was
no discouraging report forthcoming. He now had Jerry with him constantly
as his assistant, the guide having built a cabin near the farm, where he
installed his family. It was nicer for Roland, too, since there were
several children; and he could spend many an evening sociably, having
taken up a phonograph with him, together with a fine supply of all sorts
of records suitable for amusing a mixed company.
Max often allowed his thoughts to bridge the many miles that separated
Carson from that lodge in the wilderness; and it required no magician's
wand to enable him to see in his mind's eye the delightful surroundings
that made the strange fur farm a possible El Dorado, where Fortune was
liable to knock on the door and demand entrance.
It is with more or less regret that the writer finds he has reached the
point where he must say goodbye; and he only does so with the
understanding that just as soon as further stirring events worth
narrating come to pass, it will be his pleasure, as well as duty, to
place them between the covers of another book in this series.
THE END
+THE OBLONG BOX.+
* * * * *
Some years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston, S.C., to the city of
New York, in the fine packet-ship Independence, Captain Hardy. We were
to sail on the fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and,
on the fourteenth, I went on board to arrange some matters in my
stateroom.
I found that we were to have a great many passengers, including a more
than usual number of ladies. On the list were several of my
acquaintances; and among other names, I was rejoiced to see that of Mr.
Cornelius Wyatt, a young artist, for whom I entertained feelings of warm
friendship. He had been with me a fellow-student at C----University,
where we were very much together. He had the ordinary temperament of
genius, and was a compound of misanthropy, sensibility, and enthusiasm.
To these qualities he united the warmest and truest heart which ever
beat in a human bosom.
I observed that his name was carded upon _three_ staterooms; and, upon
again referring to the list of passengers, I found that he had engaged
passage for himself, wife, and two sisters--his own. The staterooms were
sufficiently roomy, and each had two berths, one above the other. These
berths, to be sure, were so exceedingly narrow as to be insufficient for
more than one person; still, I could not comprehend why there were
_three_ staterooms for these four persons. I was, just at this epoch, in
one of those moody frames of mind which make a man abnormally
inquisitive about trifles: and I confess, with shame, that I busied
myself in a variety of ill-bred and preposterous conjectures about this
matter of the supernumerary stateroom. It was no business of mine, to be
sure; but with none the less pertinacity did I occupy myself in attempts
to resolve the enigma. At last! I had not arrived at it before. "It is
a servant, of course," I said; "what a fool I am, not sooner to have
thought of so obvious a solution!" And then I again repaired to the
list--but here I saw distinctly that _no_ servant was to come with the
party; although, in fact, it had been the original design to bring
one--for the words "and servant" had been first written and then
overscored. "Oh, extra baggage to be sure," I now said to
myself--"something he wishes not to be put in the hold--something to be
kept under his own eye--ah, I have it--a painting or so--and this is
what he has been bargaining about with Ficolino, the Italian Jew." This
idea satisfied me, and I dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.
Wyatt's two sisters I knew very well, and most amiable and clever girls
they were. His wife he had newly married, and I had never yet seen her.
He had often talked about her in my presence, however, and in his usual
style of enthusiasm. He described her as of surpassing beauty, wit, and
accomplishment. I was, therefore, quite anxious to make her
acquaintance.
On the day in which I visited the ship (the fourteenth), Wyatt and a
party were also to visit it--so the captain informed me--and I waited on
board an hour longer than I had designed, in hope of being presented to
the bride; but then an apology came. "Mr. W. was a little indisposed,
and would decline coming on board until to-morrow, at the hour of
sailing."
The morrow having arrived, I was going from my hotel to the wharf, when
Captain Hardy met me and said that "owing circumstances" (a stupid but
convenient phrase), "he rather thought the Independence would not sail
for a day or two, and that when all was ready, he would send up and let
me know." This I thought strange, for there was a stiff southerly
breeze; but as "the circumstances" were not forthcoming, although I
pumped for them with much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to
return home and digest my impatience at leisure.
I did not receive the expected message from the captain for nearly a
week. It came at length, however, and I immediately went on board. The
ship was crowded with passengers, and everything was in the bustle
attendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party arrived in about ten minutes
after myself. There were the two sisters, the bride, and the artist--the
latter in one of his customary fits of moody misanthropy. I was too
well used to these, however, to pay them any special attention. He did
not even introduce me to his wife, this courtesy devolving, per force,
upon his sister Marian, a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, in a few
hurried words, made us acquainted.
Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she raised her veil, in
acknowledging my bow, I confess that I was very profoundly astonished. I
should have been much more so, however, had not long experience advised
me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the enthusiastic
descriptions of my friend, the artist, when indulging in comments upon
the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the theme, I well knew with
what facility he soared into the regions of the purely ideal.
The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly
plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly, she was not, I think, very
far from it. She was dressed, however, in exquisite taste--and then I
had no doubt that she had captivated my friend's heart by the more
enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She said very few words, and
passed at once into her stateroom with Mr. W.
My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was _no_ servant--_that_ was
a settled point. I looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After some
delay, a cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was
everything that seemed to be expected. Immediately upon its arrival we
made sail, and in a short time were safely over the bar and standing out
to sea.
The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in
length by two and a half in breadth; I observed it attentively, and like
to be precise. Now this shape was _peculiar_; and no sooner had I seen
it, than I took credit to myself for the accuracy of my guessing. I had
reached the conclusion, it will be remembered, that the extra baggage of
my friend, the artist, would prove to be pictures, or at least a
picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in conference with
Nicolino; and now here was a box which, from its shape, _could_ possibly
contain nothing in the world but a copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper;" and
a copy of this very "Last Supper," done by Rubini the younger at
Florence, I had known, for some time, to be in the possession of
Nicolino. This point, therefore. I considered as sufficiently settled. I
chuckled excessively when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time
I ever known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but
here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle a fine
picture to New York, under my very nose; expecting me to know nothing of
the matter. I resolved to quiz him _well_, now and hereafter.
One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did _not_ go into
the extra stateroom. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too, it
remained, occupying nearly the whole of the floor--no doubt to the
exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife;--this the more
especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in sprawling
capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to _my_ fancy, a
peculiarly disgusting odor. On the lid were painted the words--"_Mrs.
Adelaide Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt, Esq. This
side up. To be handled with care."_
Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany, was the artist's
wife's mother; but then I looked upon the whole address as a
mystification, intended especially for myself. I made up my mind, of
course, that the box and contents would never get farther north than the
studio of my misanthropic friend, in Chambers Street, New York.
For the first three or four days we had fine weather, although the wind
was dead ahead; having chopped round to the northward, immediately upon
our losing sight of the coast. The passengers were, consequently, in
high spirits, and disposed to be social. I _must_ except, however, Wyatt
and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I could not help thinking,
uncourteously to the rest of the party. _Wyatt's_ conduct I did not so
much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual habit--in fact he was
_morose_--but in him I was prepared for eccentricity. For the sisters,
however, I could make no excuse. They secluded themselves in their
staterooms during the greater part of the passage, and absolutely
refused, although I repeatedly urged them, to hold communication with
any person on board.
Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was
_chatty_; and to be chatty is no slight recommendation at sea. She
became _excessively_ intimate with most of the ladies; and, to my
profound astonishment, evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet with
the men. She amused us all very much. I say "_amused_"--and scarcely
know how to explain myself. The truth is, I soon found that Mrs. W. was
far oftener laughed _at_ than _with_. The gentlemen said little about
her; but the ladies, in a little while, pronounced her a "good-hearted
thing, rather indifferent-looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly
vulgar." The great wonder was, how Wyatt had been entrapped into such a
match. Wealth was the general solution--but this I knew to be no
solution at all; for Wyatt had told me that she neither brought him a
dollar nor had any expectations from any source whatever. "He had
married," he said, "for love, and for love only; and his bride was far
more than worthy of his love." When I thought of these expressions, on
the part of my friend, I confess that I felt indescribably puzzled.
Could it be possible that he was taking leave of his senses? What else
could I think? _He_, so refined, so intellectual, so fastidious, with so
exquisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen an appreciation of the
beautiful! To be sure, the lady seemed especially fond of
_him_--particularly so in his absence--when, she made herself ridiculous
by frequent quotations of what had been said by her "beloved husband,
Mr. Wyatt." The word "husband" seemed forever--to use one of her own
delicate expressions--forever "on the tip of her tongue." In the
meantime, it was observed by all on board, that he avoided _her_ in the
most pointed manner, and, for the most part, shut himself up alone in
his state-room, where, in fact, he might have been said to live
altogether, leaving his wife at full liberty to amuse herself as she
thought best, in the public society of the main cabin.
My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was, that the artist, by some
unaccountable freak of fate, or perhaps in some fit of enthusiastic and
fanciful passion, had been induced to unite himself with a person
altogether beneath him, and that the natural result, entire and speedy
disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart--but could
not, for that reason, quite forgive his incommunicativeness in the
matter of the "Last Supper." For this I resolved to have my revenge.
One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm as had been my wont, I
sauntered with him backward and forward. His gloom, however (which I
considered quite natural under the circumstances), seemed entirely
unabated. He said little, and that moodily, and with evident effort. I
ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening attempt at a smile. Poor
fellow! as I thought of _his wife_, I wondered that he could have heart
to put on even the semblance of mirth. At last I ventured a home-thrust.
I determined to commence a series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes,
about the oblong box--just to let him perceive, gradually that I was
_not_ altogether the butt, or victim, of his little bit of pleasant
mystification. My first observation was by way of opening a masked
battery. I said something about the "peculiar shape of _that_ box;" and,
as I spoke the words, I smiled knowingly, winked, and touched him gently
with my fore-finger in the ribs.
The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless pleasantry convinced
me, at once, that he was mad. At first he stared at me as if he found it
impossible to comprehend the witticism of my remark; but as its point
seemed slowly to make its way into his brain, his eyes, in the same
proportion, seemed protruding from their sockets. Then he grew very
red--then hideously pale--then, as if highly amused with what I had
insinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which, to my
astonishment, he kept up, with gradually increasing vigor, for ten
minutes or more. In conclusion he fell flat and heavily upon the deck.
When I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was _dead_.
I called assistance, and, with much difficulty, we brought him to
himself. Upon reviving he spoke incoherently for some time. At length we
bled him and put him to bed. The next morning he was quite recovered, so
far as regarded his mere bodily health. Of his mind I say nothing, of
course. I avoided him during the rest of the passage, by advice of the
captain, who seemed to coincide with me altogether in my views of his
insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this head to any person on
board.
Several circumstances occurred immediately after this fit of Wyatt's
which contributed to heighten the curiosity with which I was already
possessed. Among other things, this: I had been nervous--drank too much
strong green tea, and slept ill at night--in fact, for two nights I
could not be properly said to sleep at all. Now, my stateroom opened
into the main cabin, or dining-room, as did those of all the single men
on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the after-cabin, which was
separated from the main one by a slight sliding door, never locked even
at night. As we were almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not
a little stiff, the ship heeled to leeward very considerably; and
whenever her starboard side was to leeward, the sliding door between the
cabins slid open, and so remained, nobody taking the trouble to get up
and shut it. But my berth was in such a position, that when my own
stateroom door was open, as well as the sliding door in question (and my
own door was _always_ open on account of the heat), I could see into
the after-cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too,
where were situated the staterooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two nights
(_not_ consecutive) while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about
eleven o'clock each night, steal cautiously from the stateroom of Mr.
W., and enter the extra room, where she remained until daybreak, when
she was called by her husband and went back. That they were virtually
separated was clear. They had separate apartments--no doubt in
contemplation of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all, I
thought, was the mystery of the extra stateroom.
There was another circumstance, too, which interested me much. During
the two wakeful nights in question, and immediately after the
disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the extra stateroom, I was attracted by
certain singular, cautious, subdued noises in that of her husband. After
listening to them for some time, with thoughtful attention, I at length
succeeded perfectly in translating their import. They were sounds
occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box, by means of a
chisel and mallet--the latter being muffled, or deadened, by some soft
woollen or cotton substance in which its head was enveloped.
In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the precise moment when he
fairly disengaged the lid--also, that I could determine when he removed
it altogether, and when he deposited it upon the lower berth in his
room; this latter point I knew, for example, by certain slight taps
which the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the berth, as
he endeavored to lay it down _very_ gently--there being no room for it
on the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and I heard nothing
more, upon either occasion, until nearly daybreak; unless, perhaps, I
may mention a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so very much suppressed
as to be nearly inaudible--if, indeed, the whole of this latter noise
were not rather produced by my own imagination. I say it seemed to
_resemble_ sobbing or sighing--but, of course, it could not have been
either. I rather think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no
doubt, according to custom, was merely giving the rein to one of his
hobbies--indulging in one of his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had
opened his oblong box, in order to feast his eyes on the pictorial
treasure within. There was nothing in this, however, to make him _sob_.
I repeat therefore, that it must have been simply a freak of my own
fancy, distempered by good Captain Hardy's green tea. Just before dawn,
on each of the two nights of which I speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt
replace the lid upon the oblong box, and force the nails into their old
places, by means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he issued from
his stateroom, fully dressed, and proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers.
We had been at sea seven days, and were now off Cape Hatteras, when
there came a tremendously heavy blow from the southwest. We were, in a
measure, prepared for it, however, as the weather had been holding out
threats for some time. Everything was made snug, alow and aloft; and as
the wind steadily freshened, we lay to, at length, under spanker and
foretopsail, both double-reefed.
In this trim, we rode safely enough for forty-eight hours--the ship
proving herself an excellent sea boat, in many respects, and shipping no
water of any consequence. At the end of this period, however, the gale
had freshened into a hurricane, and our after-sail split into ribbons,
bringing us so much in the trough of the water that we shipped several
prodigious seas, one immediately after the other. By this accident we
lost three men overboard with the caboose, and nearly the whole of the
larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we recovered our senses, before the
foretopsail went into shreds when we got up a storm stay-sail, and with
this did pretty well for some hours, the ship heading the sea much more
steadily than before.
The gale still held on, however, and we saw no signs of its abating. The
rigging was found to be ill-fitted, and greatly strained; and on the
third day of the blow, about five in the afternoon, our mizzen-mast, in
a heavy lurch to windward, went by the board. For an hour or more, we
tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of the prodigious rolling of
the ship, and, before we had succeeded, the carpenter came aft and
announced four feet water in the hold. To add to our dilemma, we found
the pumps choked and nearly useless.
All was now confusion and despair--but an effort was made to lighten the
ship by throwing overboard as much of her cargo as could be reached, and
by cutting away the two masts that remained. This we at last
accomplished--but we were still unable to do anything at the pumps; and,
in the meantime, the leak gained on us very fast.
At sundown, the gale had sensibly diminished, in and, as the sea went
down with it, we still entertained faint hopes of saving ourselves in
the boats. At eight P.M. the clouds broke away to windward, and we had
the advantage of a full moon--a piece of good fortune which served
wonderfully to cheer our drooping spirits.
After incredible labor we succeeded, at length, in getting the long-boat
over the side without material accident, and into this we crowded the
whole of the crew and most of the passengers. This party made off
immediately, and, after undergoing much suffering, finally arrived, in
safety, at Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day after the wreck.
Fourteen passengers, with the Captain, remained on board, resolving to
trust their fortunes to the jolly-boat at the stern. "We lowered it
without difficulty, although it was only by a miracle that we prevented
it from swamping as it touched the water. It contained, when afloat, the
captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a Mexican officer, wife, four
children, and myself, with a negro valet."
We had no room, of course, for anything except a few positively
necessary instruments, some provision, and the clothes upon our backs.
No one had thought of even attempting to save anything more. What must
have been the astonishment of all then, when, having proceeded a few
fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the stern-sheets, and
coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat should be put back for
the purpose of taking in his oblong box!
"Sit down, Mr. Wyatt," replied the Captain, somewhat sternly, "you will
capsize us if you do not sit quite still. Our gunwale is almost in the
water now."
"The box!" vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing--"the box, I say!
Captain Hardy, you cannot, you _will_ not refuse me. Its weight will be
but a trifle--it is nothing--mere nothing. By the mother who bore
you--for the love of Heaven--by your hope of salvation, I _implore_ you
to put back for the box!"
The Captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the earnest appeal of the
artist, but he regained his stern composure, and merely said:
"Mr. Wyatt you are _mad_. I cannot listen to you. Sitdown, I say, or you
will swamp the boat. Stay--hold him--seize him! he is about to spring
overboard! There--I knew it--he is over!"
As the Captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from the boat,
and, as we were yet in the lee of the wreck, succeeded, by almost
superhuman exertion, in getting hold of a rope which hung from the
fore-chains. In another moment he was on board, and rushing frantically
down into the cabin.
In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the ship, and being quite
out of her lee, were at the mercy of the tremendous sea which was still
running. We made a determined effort to put back, but our little boat
was like a feather in the breath of the tempest. We saw at a glance that
the doom of the unfortunate artist was sealed.
As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased, the madman (for as
such only could we regard him) was seen to emerge from the
companion-way, up which, by dint of a strength that appeared gigantic,
he dragged, bodily, the oblong box. While we gazed in the extremity of
astonishment, he passed, rapidly, several turns of a three-inch rope,
first around the box and then around his body. In another instant both
body and box ware in the sea--disappearing suddenly, at once and
forever.
We lingered awhile sadly upon our oars, with our eyes riveted upon the
spot. At length we pulled away. The silence remained unbroken for an
hour. Finally, I hazarded a remark.
"Did you observe, Captain, how suddenly they sank? Was not that an
exceedingly singular thing? I confess that I entertained some feeble
hope of his final deliverance, when I saw him lash himself to the box,
and commit himself to the sea."
"They sank as a matter of course," replied the Captain, "and that like a
shot. They will soon rise again, however--_but not till the salt
melts_."
"The salt!" I ejaculated.
"Hush!" said the Captain, pointing to the wife and sisters of the
deceased. "We must talk of these things at some more appropriate time."
* * * * *
We suffered much, and made a narrow escape; but fortune befriended _us_,
as well as our mates in the long boat. We landed, in fine, more dead
than alive, after four days of intense distress, upon the beach opposite
Roanoke Island. We remained there a week, were not ill-treated by the
wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New York.
About a month after the loss of the Independence, I happened to meet
Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our conversation turned, naturally, upon the
disaster, and especially upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus learned
the following particulars.
The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two sisters, and a
servant. His wife was, indeed, as she had been represented, a most
lovely and most accomplished woman. On the morning of the fourteenth of
June (the day in which I first visited the ship), the lady suddenly
sickened and died. The young husband was frantic with grief--but
circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his voyage to New York.
It was necessary to take to her mother the corpse of his adored wife,
and on the other hand, the universal prejudice which would prevent his
doing so openly, was well known. Nine-tenths of the passengers would
have abandoned the ship rather than take passage with the dead body.
In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse, being first
partially embalmed, and packed, with a large quantity of salt, in a box
of suitable dimensions, should be conveyed on board as merchandise.
Nothing was to be said of the lady's decease; and, as it was well
understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage for his wife, it became
necessary that some person should personate her during the voyage. This
the deceased's lady's maid was easily prevailed on to do. The extra
state-room, originally engaged for this girl during her mistress' life,
was now merely retained. In this state-room the pseudo-wife slept, of
course, every night. In the daytime she performed, to the best of her
ability, the part of her mistress--whose person, it had been carefully
ascertained, was unknown to any of the passengers on board.
My own mistakes arose, naturally enough, through too careless, too
inquisitive, and too impulsive a temperament. But of late, it is a rare
thing that I sleep soundly at night. There is a countenance which haunts
me, turn as I will. There is an hysterical laugh which will forever ring
within my ears.
End of Project Gutenberg's At Whispering Pine Lodge, by Lawrence J. Leslie