The Coming Wave; Or, The Hidden Treasure of High Rock, Oliver Optic [story read aloud TXT] 📗

opinion[Pg 198] was just the same as before. The money did not belong to him, and it did belong to somebody else. He could not escape these two conclusions, and whether his father failed or not, he could see no way by which he could honestly bring the twelve hundred dollars in gold to his aid.

Coming events pressed so heavily upon the minds of his father and Stumpy, that neither of them had questioned him very closely in regard to his business on the beach in the storm and the darkness. As he had thus far escaped without telling any direct lies, he decided to keep his own secret for the present; but he intended, the very next time he went to Rockland, to visit the owners of the Waldo, and inquire about the passenger who had perished in the wreck of the brig. Very likely this man had a wife and children, a father, or brothers and sisters, who needed this money. His wife and little children might at that moment be suffering for the want of it. It belonged to them, and they ought to have it. Even if his father failed, and lost all he had, Leopold felt that it would be better for him to do his whole duty.[Pg 199] The secret was with himself alone, and there was no one to applaud his noble decision; nay, if he had told his friends and neighbors, and perhaps even his father, they would probably have laughed at him, called him a fool, declared that he was more nice than wise, and insisted that it was his duty to save the Sea Cliff House from the avaricious grasp of Squire Moses Wormbury.

In spite of his noble conclusion, he was still terribly worried about the financial troubles of his father. The Rosabel was well worth two hundred dollars, and she was almost the only piece of property in the family which was not covered by a mortgage. It was early in the season, when a boat is more salable than later in the year; and before he went to sleep, Leopold had decided to run over to Rockland the next day, if possible, and endeavor to find a purchaser for her, even at three fourths of her value. It would be a happy moment for him if he could put one hundred and fifty dollars into his father's hands, and thus enable him to make up his interest money. There must be some one in Rockland who wanted a boat, and[Pg 200] who would be willing to pay him this price for so fast and stiff a craft as the Rosabel. With this pleasant anticipation in his mind, Leopold went to sleep.

He usually got up between four and five o'clock in the morning; but he did not wake till he heard his father's voice in his chamber. He had been so tired after the hard work he had done on the beach, and lying awake till after midnight, he had overslept himself.

"Come, Leopold; it is after seven o'clock," said Mr. Bennington, in the rather sad and gloomy tones which the misery of his financial trials had imposed upon him.

"Seven o'clock!" exclaimed Leopold, leaping from the bed. "I didn't go to sleep till after midnight, and that's the reason I didn't wake up."

"You needn't get up if you don't feel able to do so," added the landlord.

"O, I'm able enough," protested Leopold, half dressed by this time.

"I should like to have you go down and see if you can get some fish for dinner," added his father.[Pg 201]

"All right. I will get some, if there is any in the sea," answered the young man, as he finished his primitive toilet.

In fifteen minutes more, he had eaten his breakfast, and was descending the steep path to the river, where the Rosabel was moored. The weather was cloudy, and out at sea it looked as if the fog would roll in, within a short time, as it often did during the spring and summer. Indeed, the one bane of this coast, as a pleasure resort, is the prevalence of dense and frequently long-continued fog. Sometimes it shrouds the shores for several days at a time; and it has been known to last for weeks. It is cold, penetrating, and disagreeable to the denizen of the city, seeking ease and comfort in a summer home.

When the sloop passed Light House Point, Leopold saw that the dense fog had settled down upon the bay, and had probably been there all night. But he did not bother his head about the fog, for he knew the sound which the waves made upon every portion of the shore. As one skilled in music knows the note he hears, Leopold identified the swash or the[Pg 202] roar of the sea when it beat upon the rocks and the beaches in the vicinity. By these sounds he knew where he was, and he had a boat-compass on board of the Rosabel, which enabled him to lay his course, whenever he obtained his bearings.

Before the sloop had gone a quarter of a mile she was buried in the fog, and Leopold could see nothing but the little circle of water of which the Rosabel was the centre. With the compass on the floor of the standing-room, he headed the sloop for the ledges, outside of which he expected to find plenty of cod and haddock. The wind was rather light, but it was sufficient to give the Rosabel a good headway, and in half an hour he recognized the roar of the billows upon the ledges. Going near enough to them to bring the white spray of the breaking waves within the narrow circle of his observation, he let off his main sheet, and headed the sloop directly out to sea.

The best fishing ground at this season was about two miles from the ledges; and with the wind free, Leopold calculated that he had made this distance in half an hour. He had cleared[Pg 203] away his cable, and had his anchor ready to throw overboard, when the hoarse croaking of a fog-horn attracted his attention. The sound came from the seaward side of him, and from a point not far distant.

The Rosabel was provided with one of those delectable musical instruments, whose familiar notes came to her skipper's ears. It was rather a necessity to have one, in order to avoid collisions; besides, it is fun for boys to make the most unearthly noises which mortal ear ever listened to.

Leopold blew his fog-horn, and it was answered by a repetition of the sound to seaward. The craft, whatever it was, from which the music came, was much nearer than when the skipper of the Rosabel first heard the signal. This satisfied him that she was headed to the north-east, and was nearly close-hauled, for the wind was about east; in other words, the craft from which the melody of the fog horn came was standing from the sea directly towards the ledges off High Rock.

Leopold blew his horn again and again, and the responses came nearer and nearer every[Pg 204] time. The craft was evidently bound up the bay, or into the Rockhaven river. If she was going to Rockland, or up the bay, she was very much out of her course. If she was going into the river, she was more likely to strike upon the ledge than to hit her port.

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" came a hoarse voice, apparently pitched from the note of the fog-horn.

The skipper of the Rosabel judged that the craft was not more than an eighth of a mile from him.

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" he shouted in reply, at the top of his voice.

Leopold had hauled down his jib, and thrown the sloop up into the wind, in preparation for anchoring; but he concluded not to do so, in view of the peril of being run down by the stranger. On the contrary he hoisted his jib, and filled away again, so as to be in condition to avoid a collision. Resuming his place at the helm, he stood out towards the fog-hidden vessel. The hail was repeated again and again, and Leopold as often answered it. In a few moments more he discovered what appeared to him to be the jib of a schooner. Her bow was[Pg 205] of shining black, with a richly gilded figure-head under the bowsprit. A moment later he discovered the two masts of the vessel. The mainsail was set, but the foresail was furled, and she was apparently feeling her way with great care into the bay. A sailor in uniform was heaving the lead near the fore rigging.

Leopold saw, as soon as he obtained a full view of the vessel, that she was a yacht of at least a hundred tons and as beautiful a craft as ever gladdened the heart of a sailor. There were a dozen men on her forecastle, and as the Rosabel approached her, a procession of gentlemen, closely muffled in heavy garments and rubber coats, filed up the companion-way, doubtless attracted to the deck by the incident of hailing another craft.

"Schooner, ahoy!" shouted Leopold, as soon as he had made out the vessel.

"On board the sloop!" replied the voice which resembled the tones of the fog-horn.

"Where you bound?" demanded the skipper of the Rosabel.

"Belfast."

"You are a long way off your course, then," added Leopold, with emphasis.[Pg 206]

"Will you come on board?" asked the speaker from the yacht.

"Ay, ay, sir, if you wish it," answered Leopold.

"Hard down the helm!" shouted the hoarse voice, which we may as well say in advance of a nearer introduction, belonged to Captain Bounce, the sailing-master of the yacht.

"What schooner is that?" called Leopold, as the yacht came up into the wind.

"The yacht Orion, of New York," replied Captain Bounce.

The skipper of the Rosabel ran under the lee of the Orion, and came up into the wind all shaking. Leopold threw his painter to the uniformed seamen of the yacht, and then hauled down his jib.

"Where are we?" asked Captain Bounce, rather nervously for an old salt.

"Two miles off the High Rock ledges; you were headed directly for them," replied Leopold, as he let go the halyards of the mainsail.

When he had secured the sail, he ascended the accommodation steps, which the seaman had placed on the side for his use. One of the[Pg 207] hands carried the painter of the Rosabel to the stern of the Orion.

"I don't know where we are now," said Captain Bounce, who was a short, stout man, with grizzly hair and beard, both reeking with moisture from the fog; and he looked like the typical old sea-dog of the drama.

"Do you know where we are, young man?" asked one of the gentlemen who had filed up the companion-way.

Leopold started suddenly when he heard the voice and turned towards the speaker.

"Of course I do, Mr. Hamilton," replied Leopold, briskly. "I reckon you don't know me, sir."

Leopold took off his old hat, and bowed respectfully to the gentleman, who was muffled up in an immense overcoat with a long cape.

"I do not," added the Hon. Mr. Hamilton, with a puzzled expression.

The skipper of the Rosabel thought it was very strange that the honorable gentleman did not recognize him; for he did not consider that he had grown three inches taller himself, and that the distinguished guest of the Cliff House[Pg 208] met a great many people in the course of a year.

"Don't you know my boat, sir?" asked Leopold, laughing as he pointed astern at the sloop.

"I do not."

"Well, sir, that's the Rosabel. You have sailed in her more than once."

"O, this is Leopold, then!" exclaimed Mr. Hamilton. "You ought to know where we are."

"I do, sir; and I know that you were headed for the High Rock ledges. I can prick your position on the chart."

"He knows all about this coast, Captain Bounce," added Mr. Hamilton, turning to the Sailing-master. "He will be a safe pilot for you."

"Well youngster, we are bound to Belfast," said the sailing-master, thrusting his fists deep down into the pockets of his pea-jacket.

"I am not a pilot to Belfast," replied Leopold; "but you must keep her west-half-north for Owl's Head, nine miles from here. There are islands and ledges all around you."[Pg 209]

"We have had enough of this sort of thing," interposed Mr. Hamilton, evidently disgusted with his experience. "We have been feeling our way in this fog for twenty-four hours. I would give a thousand dollars to be in Belfast at this moment."

"I don't believe the best pilot on the