Harvey Barth seemed to be exceedingly well satisfied with himself after he had finished the writing of his diary up to date. Possibly the fact that he had not completed his account of the wreck of the Waldo had troubled him, as any work left unfinished troubles a progressive or conscientious man. But whether or not he had been disturbed about his diary, he was happier than usual after he had completed the task. His physical condition had been greatly improved under the careful nursing of Mrs. Bennington. In the course of the afternoon not less than half a dozen persons called to see him, and remained from five minutes to half an hour, one of whom was connected with a newspaper in a city on the bay, who was anxious to obtain a full and correct account of[Pg 68] the loss of the brig, which Harvey had not yet been able to furnish, even verbally; but he promised to write out a full narrative for the applicant, in preference to giving it by word of mouth.

Others who called upon him were friends of those lost in the Waldo, and desired to obtain further particulars in regard to the catastrophe. But the majority of those who visited the steward came only from mere curiosity, or at best from motives of sympathy.

Harvey Barth, as the only survivor of that terrible disaster, was quite a hero in Rockhaven. He had been mentioned in all the newspapers on the coast, in connection with the wreck, and many people had a curiosity to see him, especially the visitors at Rockhaven, who had nothing to do but to amuse themselves.

The wreck had been talked about for over a week, and for several days after the disaster High Rock and its vicinity had been visited by a great number of boats. Not a single body of those who perished in the wreck was washed ashore, though diligent search had been made on all the islands in the neighborhood.[Pg 69]

The visit of the newspaper man had given Harvey Barth a new sensation, for the steward was particularly pleased with the idea of writing an account of the wreck of the Waldo for publication; and he thought over, during the rest of the day, the satisfaction it would give him to carry fifty or a hundred copies of the paper containing it to his native town in "York State," and distribute them among his relatives and friends. Indeed, the idea was so exciting, that, when night came, he could not sleep till a late hour for thinking of it. And when he did go to sleep he dreamed of it; and it seemed to him that a "printer's devil" came to him in his chamber to ask for "more copy" of the important narrative. The imp disturbed him, and he awoke to find a man in his room; but it was only a half-tipsy "drummer" from the city, who had got into the wrong chamber when he went to bed.

It took Harvey some time to convince the interloper that he had made a mistake; and the stranger had some difficulty in finding his way out. The invalid heard him groping about the chamber for a long time before the door closed[Pg 70] behind him. The steward quieted his excited nerves as well as he was able, and in thinking over the great composition upon which he intended to commence the next morning, he went to sleep again.

Leopold Bennington had slept at least five hours before the sick man was finally "wrapt in slumber," as he intended to express himself in the great composition; and in two hours more he had slept all he could afford to sleep when number one mackerel were waiting to be caught. At three o'clock in the morning he awoke and dressed himself, the latter operation occupying not more than twenty seconds, for his toilet consisted only in putting on his trousers, shoes and hat. He went down stairs, and, as boys of his age are always hungry, his first objective point was the pantry, between the dining-room and kitchen, where he found and ate an abundance of cold roast beef, biscuits, and apple pie. Being a provident youth, he transferred a considerable quantity of these eatables to the large basket in which he had brought home his fish the day before, so that he could "have a bite" himself, even if the[Pg 71] mackerel failed to favor him in this direction.

Though he stopped to fill himself with cold roast beef, biscuit, and apple pie, and even to fill his basket after he had filled himself, Leopold was very much excited in regard to the mackerel catch of that day. He hoped to find the number ones where he had fallen in with them the day before; and he could hardly expect to catch more than one more fare before the fact that the mackerel were in the bay became generally known. The mackerel fleet itself, consisting of between two and three hundred sail, might be in the vicinity before the sun set again. He realized the necessity of making hay while the sun shines. But mackerel are very uncertain, so far as their location and inclination to bite are concerned; so that there was not more than an even chance for him to catch a single fish. The result was doubtful enough to make the game exciting; and Leopold felt very much as an unprofessional gambler does when he goes to the table to risk his money. It seemed to be altogether a question of luck.

But Leopold was hopeful, and felt that the[Pg 72] chances were rather in his favor. He had been saving all the money he could earn for months for a particular purpose; and he was not excited by the simple prospect of obtaining the lucre for the purpose of hoarding it, so that he could feel that he possessed a certain sum. He had been a little afraid that, when his gains amounted to so large a sum as thirty-two dollars and forty cents, his father would take possession of his receipts; but the landlord of the Cliff House adhered to his policy of allowing his son to retain the proceeds of his own labor. With a pea-jacket on his arm and the basket in his hand, he left the hotel while the stars were still shining in the few patches of blue sky that were not hidden by the clouds. But he did not proceed immediately to the boat. He crossed the street, and, concealing his basket in the bushes by the side of the path which led down to the river, he hastened up the next street beyond the hotel till he came to a small cottage, at the gate of which he halted, and gave three prolonged whistles.

"Hallo, Le!" shouted a voice from the open window in the gable end of the cottage.[Pg 73]

Of course no sane boy of sixteen would think of pronouncing the three syllables of the name of one of his cronies; and Leopold, in his undignified intercourse with his companions, was known only by the abbreviated name of "Le."

"Come, Stumpy, tumble out," replied Leopold. "Bear a hand, lively, and don't wait for your breakfast. I have grub enough to keep us for a week."

"I'm all ready," replied Stumpy; "I was up when you whistled."

Early as it was in the morning, Stumpy seemed to be very cheerful, perhaps made so by the remark about "grub" which Leopold had used, for the boy of the cottage knew by experience that the provender which came from the hotel was superior to that of the larder of his own dwelling.

The two "early birds" walked rapidly towards the river, not because they were in a hurry, but because they were excited. The excursion upon which they had now embarked had been duly talked over the night before, and Stumpy, though his interest in the venture was small compared with that of his companion, was hardly less hopeful.[Pg 74]

They descended the steep path on the bank of the river, and in a few moments more the dingy old boat with the patched and ragged sail was standing out towards the open bay. The wind in the river was very light, and the old craft was a heavy sailor, so that her progress was very slow; but the tongues of the two boys moved fast enough to make up for the deficiencies of the boat. Their conversation was about the prospect of catching a fare of mackerel, though Harvey Barth and his diary came in for some comments.

Stumpy was Leopold's dearest friend and most intimate companion. The friendship had commenced in school, which both of them continued to attend in the winter. It had its origin in no especial event, for neither had conferred any particular favor on the other. Like many another intimacy, it grew out of the fancy of the friends. Both of them were "good fellows," and they liked each other. This is all the explanation which their friendship requires. Stumpy was the oldest son of a widow, who managed with his assistance, to support her family of three children. Socially there was no difference in[Pg 75] their standing. If the landlord of the Cliff House was a person of some consequence, on the one hand, Stumpy's grandfather, on the other, was one of the wealthiest and most distinguished citizens of Rockhaven, and the boy would probably inherit a portion of his property when he died. But it ought to be added that Stumpy did not hold his head any higher because of his family connections. In fact, he hardly ever alluded to his relationship to the wealthy and distinguished man. To use his own words, he, "did not take much stock in his grandfather;" and in his confidential conversations with Leopold he did not scruple to say that the old gentleman was the meanest man in Rockhaven.

This grandfather was Moses Wormbury, Esq.; he was a Justice of the peace, and had been a member of the legislature. It was said that he had a mortgage on every other house in Rockhaven; but this was doubtless an exaggeration, though he loaned out a great deal of money on good security. Squire Wormbury had had two sons and several daughters, all the latter being married and settled in Rockhaven or elsewhere.[Pg 76] The elder son, Joel, was the father of Stumpy. The younger son, Ethan, kept the Island Hotel, a small establishment of not half the size even of the Cliff House, which had less than twenty rooms. In some respects the two hotels were rivals, though the Cliff House had all the better business. Ethan Wormbury did his best to fill up his small house, and was not always careful to be fair and honorable in his competition; but Mr. Bennington was good-natured, and only laughed when bad stories about his house came from the Island Hotel.

Connected with Joel Wormbury, the father of Stumpy, there was a sad leaf of family history. At the age of twenty-three he had married a poor girl, who became a most excellent woman. Before this event he had been to sea, and had made several fishing trips to the Banks. After his marriage, he worked at "coopering" when he could obtain this employment, and went a fishing when he could not. When his first boy was born, he named him after the master of a bark with whom he had made a voyage up the Mediterranean, and who had been very kind to him during a severe illness at Palermo. Joel's[Pg 77] father, uncles, and brother had all received Scripture names; and perhaps it would have been better if Joel himself had been equally scriptural in choosing names for his offspring, for the master of the bark was Captain Stumpfield, and the boy, Stumpfield Wormbury, was doomed to be called Stumpy from the day he first went to school till he lost it in the dignity of manhood, though, even then, the unfortunate cognomen was applied to him by his old cronies.

Joel Wormbury was an industrious and prudent man, but his usual earnings were no more than sufficient to enable him to support his family; for, prudent as he was, it was impossible for him to be as mean as his father, who always insisted that Joel was extravagant.

Seven years before we introduce his son to the reader, the father made a trip to George's Bank. The vessel was lucky, and the "high liner's" share—eight hundred and fifty odd dollars—came to Joel. But he had been out of work for some time, and was in debt; yet he honestly paid off every dollar he owed, and had over six hundred dollars left. With this he felt[Pg 78] rich, and his wife thought their home ought to be more comfortably furnished. It was a hired house; and when two hundred dollars had been expended in furniture, Squire Moses declared that Joel had "lost his senses." But the tenement was made very comfortable and pleasant; and still Joel had four hundred dollars in cash. While he was thinking what he should do with this money, his father reproached him for his extravagance, and told him he ought to have built a house, instead of fooling away his money on "fancy tables and chairs," as he insisted upon calling the plain articles which his son had purchased.

The idea made a strong impression upon Joel, and he immediately paid a hundred dollars for half an acre of land in what was then an outskirt of the village. He wanted to build at once, and his father was finally induced to lend him seven hundred dollars, taking a mortgage on the land and buildings for security. The house was built, and the new furniture appeared to advantage in it. Joel was happy now, and did his best to earn money to pay off the mortgage. He made two more trips to the Georges,[Pg 79] with only moderate success. All he could do for the next two years was to pay his interest and support his family.

Unfortunately, about this time, Joel "took to drinking;" not in a beastly way, though he was often "excited by liquor." He was not regarded as a drunkard, for he attended to his work and took good care of his family. There were, unhappily, several rum-shops in Rockhaven; and in one of these, one night, after Joel had been imbibing rather more freely than usual, he got into a dispute with Mike Manahan, an Irish quarryman, who was also warmed up with whiskey. Mike was full of Donnybrook pluck, and insisted upon settling the dispute with a fight, and struck his opponent a heavy blow in the face. Joel was a peaceable man, and perhaps, if he had been entirely sober, he would have been killed by his belligerent foe. As it was, he defended himself with a bottle from the counter of the saloon, which he smashed on the head of his furious assailant.

The blow with the bottle, which was a long and heavy one, felled Mike to the floor. He dropped senseless with the blood oozing from[Pg 80] his head upon the sanded boards. Joel was appalled at what he had done; but he was sobered as well, and when some of the wounded man's friends attacked him in revenge, he fled from the saloon. But he went for the doctor, and sent him to Mike's aid. He was terribly alarmed as he considered the probable consequences of his rash deed. He dared not go home, lest the constable should be there to arrest him. Later in the evening he crept cautiously to the doctor's office, to ascertain the condition of his victim. The physician had caused Mike to be conveyed to his boarding-place, and had done all he could for him. In reply to Joel's anxious inquiries, he shook his head, and feared the patient would die. He could not speak with confidence till the next day, but the worst was to be anticipated. Joel was stunned by this intelligence. A charge for murder or manslaughter would be preferred against him, and the penalty for either was fearful to contemplate. He dared not go home to comfort his wife—if there could be any comfort under such circumstances.

Stealing down to the river in the gloom of[Pg 81] the night, he embarked in a dory he owned, and before morning pulled twelve miles to a city on the other side of the bay, from which he made his way to Gloucester, where he obtained a lay in a fishing-vessel bound to the Georges. When he was ready to sail, he wrote a long letter to his wife, explaining his situation. She had money enough to supply the needs of the family for a time for the purse had always been in her keeping. He asked her to write him in regard to the fate of Mike Manahan, and to inform him of what people said about the quarrel, so that he could get her letters on his return from the Georges, if there should be no opportunity of forwarding them to him.

Mrs. Wormbury was very much distressed at this unfortunate event; but it appeared in a few days that Mike was not fatally injured; and in a week he returned to his work. Mike was a good-hearted fellow, and as soon as he was able he called upon the wife of his late opponent, declaring that it was a fair fight, and that no harm should come to her husband when he returned.[Pg 82]

Squire Moses declared that people who were extravagant often "took to drinking," and that he was not much surprised at what had happened. Joel's wife was happy at the turn the affair had taken; and her husband's absence was no more than she had been called upon to endure before. She wrote several letters to him, with "all the news," and confidently expected her husband's return in a few weeks.

Instead of his return came a letter from the captain of the vessel in which he had sailed—a sad letter which shut out all hope for the future. Joel had gone off in a dory to attend to the trawls; a sudden fog had come up, so that he could not find the vessel, and his companions, after a day's search, had been unable to discover him. A storm had followed, and they had given him up for lost. The loss of a man in this way on the Banks was not a very uncommon occurrence.

Months and years passed away, but nothing more was heard of Joel Wormbury. His wife and children believed that he was buried in the depths of the sea.

Mrs. Wormbury knew better than to apply to[Pg 83] her hard father-in-law when her money was exhausted; indeed, she used the very last dollar of it to pay him the interest on the mortgage note. She went to work, taking in washing for the rich people of the place and for the summer visitors. Stumpy was old enough by this time to plant and take care of the garden, and to earn a little in other ways. Though the times were always hard at the cottage, the family had enough to eat and to wear, and the widow contrived to save enough to pay the interest on the place, which she dared to hope might one day belong to her children. Squire Moses never did anything for her, declaring that, if she wanted any money, she could sell her "fancy tables and chairs," for the house was better furnished than his own; which was true.

The squire's wealth continued to increase, for he was so mean that he spent only a small fraction of his interest money. He was hard and unfeeling, and not only refused to help his son's fatherless family, but had been heard to say that Joel by his drunken brawl, had disgraced his name and his relations. Ethan, the keeper of the Island Hotel, seemed to be his favorite;[Pg 84] and people who knew him declared that he was as mean as his father. Somebody pretended to know that the old man had made a will, giving nearly all his property to Ethan. However this may have been, it was certain that Squire Moses had several times threatened to take possession of the cottage occupied by Joel's family, for the principal of the mortgage note was now due. He had said this to Joel's widow, causing the poor woman the deepest distress, and rousing in Stumpy the strongest indignation. This was why Stumpy "took no stock" in his grandfather.

But while we have been telling all this long story about Leopold's companion, the old boat had reached the vicinity of the wreck. Stumpy had eaten his fill of cold roast beef, biscuit, and apple pie, and was entirely satisfied with himself, and especially with his friend. Leopold threw overboard the ground bait, and soon, with a shout of exultation, he announced the presence of a school of mackerel. The lines were immediately in the water, and the fish bit very sharply. Leopold and Stumpy had nothing to do but pull them in and "slat" them off as fast[Pg 85] as they could. The boat was filling up very rapidly; but suddenly, the school, as though called in after recess, sank down and disappeared. Not another bite could be obtained, and the old boat was headed for the river. On the way up, Stumpy counted the mackerel.

"Four hundred and sixty!" exclaimed he, when the task was finished.

"That isn't bad," added Leopold.

"I threw out all the small ones—about twenty of them."

"We will keep those to eat."

In half an hour more there was a tremendous excitement in and around the fish market, caused by the arrival of the fare of mackerel.