Witches Cove

  CHAPTER V THREE GRAY WITCHES

  The next afternoon Pearl Bracket went fishing. She felt the need of anopportunity for quiet thought. The events of the past few days hadstirred her to the very depths. A quiet, dreamy girl, she was given tositting across the prow of her brother's fishing boat or the stern of herancient dory as it drifted on a placid bay. But this day only WitchesCove would do.

  To this imaginative girl Witches Cove had ever been a haunting place ofmany mysteries. A deep dark pool on three sides by the darkest of firsand hemlocks, on the north of the island where no sunbeams ever fell, ithad always cast a spell of enchantment about her.

  There, when the tide was coming in, water rushed over half submergedrocks to go booming against the granite wall, then to return murmuringand whispering of many things.

  Pearl sat in the stern of her dory on this particular afternoon andrecalled all the strange tales that had been woven about the cove.

  At one time, so the story ran, it had been a smugglers' cove. Here in thedays of long ago, dark gray, low lying crafts came to anchor at dead ofnight to bring ashore cargoes of rich silks, tea, coffee and spices.

  Still farther back it had been a pirates' retreat. Even the renownedCaptain Kidd had been associated with the place.

  "On a very still day," Uncle Jermy Trott had told her once in deepestsecrecy, "you can still see a spar lyin' amongst the rocks. That sparcame from a Spanish Gallion. I've seen it. I know. An' I've always heldthat a treasure chest were lashed to it an' that it were left there as amarkin' thing, like skulls and cross-bones were on land."

  Pearl had never seen the spar. But more than once her fish-hook hadsnagged on something down there that was soft like wood and she had lostthe hook and part of her line.

  To-day, however, she thought little of the spar at the bottom of thecove. She thought instead of the strange doings aboard the _Black Gull_and of Ruth's face in the fire.

  "I'm going back to the old fort," she told herself stoutly. "There's moreto that than we think."

  "And still," she thought, as she dragged a larger cunner from the water,"that's Ruth's discovery. It's only fair to let her go to the bottom ofit. Nothing important ever happens to me. I--"

  She paused to look at the cunner she had caught. Its coloring wascurious, all red, blue, green and purple.

  "Like he'd been dipped in burning sulphur," she told herself. "Nothing inWitches Cove is the same as anywhere else. They say it's the three graywitches. Tom McTag saw 'em once, three gray witches coming up out of thewater behind the fog. Boo! It's spooky here even in daytime. Seems likeeyes were peering at you. Seems--"

  Her glance strayed to the bank. Then she did receive a shock. Eyes werestaring at her, two pairs of glaring red eyes.

  For a full moment she sat there petrified. Then, as her senses returnedto her, she made out the figures of two huge black cats half hidden inthe green shrubs that capped the rocky wall of Witches Cove.

  "They're not real," she told herself. "They're witches' cats."

  To prove this, she caught up the blue, green, purple cunner and sent itflying toward the cats.

  That settled it. Growling, snarling, sending fur flying, they were uponthe fish and at one another, tooth and nail in an instant.

  "Here, you greedy things!" she exclaimed. "Stop that! Here's another andyet another!" Two cunners followed the first.

  It was just as the cats settled down to their feast that her ear caught amovement farther up the bank and a quick look showed her a very smallman, wearing great horn rimmed glasses. Squatting there on the steepbank, he was staring at her, then at the cats. For a moment he remainedthere. The next he turned and disappeared.

  "Someone living in the old Hornaby Place," she told herself with a quickintake of breath. "Must be. Cats wouldn't be here. Nobody's been therefor more than six years, and it's the only place on the island. Iwonder--"

  She wondered many things before she was through. And in the meantime shecaught some fish; not the sort she had hoped to catch, however. Pearl, ashas been said, was a dreamer. One often dreams of bigger and betterthings. It was so with her fishing.

  Then, of a sudden, she caught her breath and set her teeth hard as shetugged at the stout codfish line.

  "It's a big one," she told herself as the look of determination on herround freckled face deepened. "A big cod, or maybe a chicken halibut. Ifonly I can land him!"

  Two fathoms of line shot through her fingers, cutting them till theybled.

  "Can't hold him--but I've got to!" she told herself as, wrapping the lineabout her hands, she braced herself against the gunwale, tipping her doryto a rakish angle.

  "I'll land him," she avowed through tight set teeth. "Don won't laugh atme to-night."

  Like many another girl born and bred on the rugged coast of Maine, Pearlwas fond of hand-line fishing. Time and again she had begged her bigbrother, Don, to take her deep-sea fishing in his sloop.

  "Why, little girl," he would laugh, "look at you! You're no bigger than afair-sized beefsteak cod yourself. If you got one on a line he'd pull youoverboard. Then we'd have an awful time telling which was you and whichthe fish, one or t'other. You just stay and wash your dishes, sister.We'll catch the fish."

  Pearl did wash her dishes. She did a great many other things besides. Butwhen the work was done and the tide was right, she would dig a pail ofclams for bait and go rowing away to the Witches Cove.

  Usually she returned with a string of cunners and shiny polloks.

  That there were some wary old rock cod hiding away in the secret wateryrecesses at the bottom of Witches Cove she had always known. That ahalibut weighing fifty pounds had once been caught there she knew also.

  So to-night, with hopes high and nerves all a-tingle, she tugged at theline.

  "Tire him out," she told herself grimly. She threw her shoulders back andgave a tremendous tug. Without warning the line went dead slack.

  "Lost him," she all but sobbed.

  "But no." As she reeled rapidly in, there came another tug. Not so strongnow. She had no difficulty pulling the catch toward her.

  "Tangled round some kelp before," she told herself disappointedly. "Onlya small one after all."

  That she was partly wrong, she knew in a moment. A broad spot of whiteappeared in the dark waters beneath her, and a moment later she waslanding a halibut weighing perhaps twenty-five pounds.

  "Oh, you beauty!" she exclaimed. "Now they can't say I'm not afisherman!"

  The two kinds of fish most relished by the coast of Maine people aresword fish and young halibut. Pearl's mother would be delighted. Don andsome of the other boys were off on a long fishing cruise. There had beenno really fine fish in the house for more than a week.

  For some little time, while she regained her poise, Pearl sat admiringher catch.

  "I got you," she said at last.

  Then of a sudden her face clouded. "After all," she told herself, "it'snothing, catching a fish. The grand old times are gone. Nothing everreally happens. If only I'd lived in the days of great, great, greatgrandfather Josia Bracket. Those were the brave days!"

  As she closed her eyes she seemed to see Casco Bay as it had been in thepioneer times when the first Bracket landed there.

  "No houses, no stores, no steamships," she told herself. "No city ofPortland, no summer tourists, no ferry boats. Only a cabin here, anotherthere, woods and water and skulking Indians, and the whole wide world tolive and fight in. What wonderful days!"

  As she opened her eyes she started. As if willing to conform to herwishes, nature had blotted out the present as far as that might be done.A heavy fog drifting silently in from the sea had hidden the wharves andstorage houses in Portland Harbor, and the homes that line the shore ofPeak's Island. Even the cliffs that formed Witches Cove were growingshadowy and unreal.

  A fog, however, be it ever so dense, cannot shut out all signs ofprogress. A moment had passed when the ding-dong of a bell reached h
erears.

  "There!" she exclaimed, shaking her fist at the bell buoy which, howeverinvisible through the fog, kept up its steady ding-dong. "There now!You've gone and spoiled it all. I'd like to tie my sweater about yournoisy tongue!

  "But of course that won't do. The boat from Booth Bay Harbor will bepassing in an hour or two. If this fog keeps up, the pilot will need yournoisy voice to guide him through."

  "Oh, well," she sighed, "what's the use of fussing? Fish a little longer,then go home."

  She settled back in the bow of her light dory, with the prow tilting at arakish angle, baited her hook and cast the line overboard.

  Fishing wasn't likely to be over exciting now. She had made her recordcatch. Never before had she landed one so large and fine. What she wantedmost of all was to sit and dream a while, to dream of the brave deeds oflong ago.

  And such a time to dream! Even the cliffs twenty yards away were lost toher sight now. A ring of white fog, her boat and her own little self,that was all there was to her present world.

  "Indians over there on Peak's Island," she told herself, still dreaming."Indians and some French. Settlers on Portland Head all crowded into thestockade. Going to be a battle. Some soldiers in a big ship anchored farout. They don't know. A message is needed. I'll go in my little dory.

  "Will you please be still!" she exclaimed as the bell buoy clanged louderthan ever as a great swell came sweeping in from the sea.

  The bell did not keep still. _Ding-dong, Ding-dong, Ding-dong_, it spokeof cliffs and shallows and of a channel between that was safe, wide anddeep.

  The girl gave her attention to fishing. Cunners took her bait. She caughta small one, but threw him back. A great old cod, red with iodine fromthe kelp, gave her a thrill. He snapped at her bait, snagged on the hook,then shook himself free.

  "Go it!" she exclaimed. "What's cod beside chicken halibut? Wouldn't--"

  She broke short off. The ding-dong of that buoy bell never had sounded sonear before.

  _Ding-dong, Ding-dong._ It seemed to be at her very side. She gave a pullat her anchor line.

  "Fast enough," she told herself. "Not drifting toward the buoy. Besides,wouldn't drift that way. Tide's setting out."

  The big red cod or another of his sort claimed her attention. She teasedhim by bobbing bait up and down. She loaded the hook with juicy clams andtried again. This time it seemed that success must crown her efforts. Thefish was hooked. She began reeling in.

  "A beauty!" she whispered as a great red head appeared close to thesurface. And then, with a last mighty effort, the fish tore himself free.

  "Oh!" she cried, "You--"

  _Ding-dong, Ding-dong._

  She started, looked about, then stood straight up to stare open mouthedat what she saw.

  And at that moment, faint and from far away there came the hoarse hoot ofthe fog horn on the steamer from Booth Bay Harbor.

  "A hundred passengers on that boat," she thought as her heart stoodstill, "perhaps two hundred, three hundred people, men, women andchildren, many little children coming home from a joyous vacation."

  She looked again at the thing she had seen and could scarcely believe hereyes.

  Dim, indistinct but unmistakable, had appeared the outline of a steelframe, and at its center a large bell.

  "Like a ghost," she told herself.

  "But it's no ghost!" Instantly she sprang into action. Cutting her fishline, she allowed it to drift. Dragging up her dripping anchor, shedropped it into the boat. Then, gripping the oars, she put all herstrength into a dozen strokes that brought her with a bump against theside of the steel frame from which the bell hung suspended.

  The next thing she did was strange, indeed. Having removed her heavy woolsweater, she wrapped it tightly about the clapper of the bell, then tiedit securely there with a stout cod line.

  "There now," she said, breathing heavily as she sank to a sittingposition on one of the hollow steel floats that prevented the bell andits frame from sinking. "Now, perhaps you will keep still and let medream.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly attempting to stand up. "The dory's gone!"

  It was true. In her haste to muffle the bell, she had failed to tie herpainter securely. Now it had drifted away into the fog.

  "Time to dream now," she told herself ruefully. "May never do anythingelse."

  To one who knows little of the ways of boats and buoys and other thingsbelonging to the sea, the girl's acts might seem madness.

  They were not. By some mischance, the chain fastened to a huge rock atthe bottom of the channel, which held the bell buoy to its place, hadgiven way. The bell buoy still clanging its message, now a false messageindeed, was drifting out to sea. If the S. S. Standish, the Booth BayHarbor steamer, were guided by this false message catastrophe wouldbefall her. With all on board she would go crashing into a cliff or bepiled upon some rocky shoal.

  Pearl could see it all, just as it would happen. A terrible crash, thenunutterable confusion. Men shouting, children crying, women praying,seamen struggling and the black sea closing down upon a sinking ship.

  "But now, thank God," she said fervently, "it shall not be. Not hearingthe bell, having no sure guide, they will stand away till the fog lifts."

  Then of a sudden her heart went cold and beads of perspiration startedout on her forehead. What was to come of her? With her dory gone, she wasgoing straight out to sea on the frame of a drifting buoy. What chancecould there be?

  A moment of calm thought, a whispered prayer, and she shut the thoughtfrom her mind. She was doing her plain duty. She was in God's care. Thatwas enough.

  The hoot of the steamer's fog horn sounded louder. Nearer and nearer theycame. They had passed the Witch Rock bell in safety. There was need ofPearl's bell buoy now.

  Of a sudden she caught the clang of the bell, the pilot's signal for halfspeed.

  "He's missed the bell. They are safe. They'll lay outside until the foglifts. Thank-thank God!"

  Still she drifted out to sea. But her own peril was lost in great joybecause of the safety of others.

  Another jangling of bells. Quarter speed.

  A thought struck her all of a heap. Hastily unwrapping the bell clapperof the buoy, she struck the bell a sharp tap. Again, again and yet againthis strange signal sounded. It was the pilot's signal for half speed.

  Three times she repeated it. Then came the ship's bell with the samesignal.

  "They heard," she whispered tensely.

  Then, with a throbbing heart, she sent out in Morse signals the call forhelp, S. O. S.

  There sounded the rattle of chains. They were lowering a boat.

  Moments of silence followed, then from out the fog there came,

  "Ahoy there!"

  Sweeter words were never heard by any girl.

  "Ahoy there!" she called back.

  A moment more, and four astonished seamen stared at a girl riding adrifting buoy.

  * * * * * * * *

  "What you doing on the buoy?" said the kind-hearted and grateful captainas Pearl climbed aboard the steamer and was surrounded by curiouspassengers.

  "Why I--I was fishing. I caught a chicken halibut and----"

  Of a sudden her eyes went wide; her dory and chicken halibut were gone.

  "Yes, yes, go on," said the eager members of the group. She succeeded infinishing her story, but all through the telling there flashed into hermind the picture of her dory and the only chicken halibut she had evercaught, drifting out to sea.

  All up and down the deck, as they waited for the fog to lift, gratefulpassengers and crew repeated the girl's story. And always at the end theyadded, "Lost her fish. Lost her dory. Too bad!"

  "Well, young lady," a gruff Irish voice said as Pearl spun round tolisten, "you seem born to adventure."

  The girl found herself looking into the eyes of Captain Patrick O'Connor,he of the pirate crew of the _Black Gull_.

  "Yes, I do," she replied in uncertain tones.

  "Lay by
this, young lady," the Captain went on, "that buoy chain wascut."

  "Cut?"

  "Certain was. Them buoys are inspected regular. Look! They've brought thebuoy alongside. They're hoistin' her on board. Mark my word, the chain'snot worn much, not enough to cause her to break."

  It was not. As they examined the end of the chain, they found no marks ofhammer, file or hack-saw, but the last link was nearly as perfect as whenfirst forged.

  "Of course, they wouldn't leave the cut link to tell on 'em," O'Connorleaned over to whisper in the girl's ear. "They're told on sure enough,all the same."

  "But-but--" the girl stammered, trying in vain to understand, "if Ihadn't found it, if I hadn't silenced its lying tongue, you'd have goneon the rocks."

  "So we would, young lady. And there's them hidin' away along these herewaters as would have been glad to see it. There's twenty-four men aboardthis ship, that's hated worse than death by some.

  "Come over here in the corner," he bent low to whisper in her ear, "an'I'll tell you a few things. You're old enough to know 'em, old enough andwise enough to help some, I'll be bound."

  The story he told her was one of smugglers uncaught, of goods brought inwithout duty, and of men refused right of entry into the United Stateswho, nevertheless, were here.

  "They land from somewhere, somehow, in Portland Harbor, or in Casco Bay,"he added. "It's our duty, the duty of every good American, to find outhow and where they come from.

  "I suppose your cousin Ruth told you about seeing us pirates the othernight?" he said, leaning close.

  "Yes." The girl's heart leaped. Was a secret to be told? Yes, here itcame.

  "We wasn't real pirates; you guessed that. It was only a blind, amasquerade party, but a party with as firm a purpose as ever Americanpatriot ever held. We're bound together, us twenty-four, in a solemn vowto rid Casco Bay of this menace to our land. And you can help, for a girlsees things sometimes that men never get near."

  "Yes," said Pearl.

  She wanted to tell of the bolts of cloth on the wood schooner, of thedory in the night and the face in the fire. "But those," she toldherself, "are more Ruth's secrets than mine. I'll wait and ask herfirst."

  Meanwhile the fog was clearing. The rocks of Cushing's Island and theshore line of Peak's Island were showing through. Very soon they weremoving slowly forward. Before Pearl knew it, they were at the dock inPortland Harbor.

  "Young lady," said the Captain of the _Standish_, "we'd like a few factsto enter in our log. Will you please come to my cabin?"

  Very much confused at being the guest of so great a man, Pearl found ithard to answer questions intelligently.

  When at last the ordeal was over, the Captain led her to the steamer'sside.

  "Look down there," he said, smiling.

  "A new dory, all green and red!" said Pearl.

  "And a halibut," said the Captain. "You lost a halibut, didn't you say?"

  "Why yes, I----"

  "The dory and fish are yours," he said gruffly. "Present from passengersand crew. Little token of--of--Oh, hang it, girl! Climb down and show usyou can row her."

  Pearl went down a rope ladder like a monkey. A moment later, waving ajoyous, tearful farewell to her new friends, she turned the shiningdory's prow toward home and rowed away.