The Coming Wave; Or, The Hidden Treasure of High Rock by Oliver Optic (ebook reader for laptop TXT) 📕

[Pg 65]

"Keep it yourself, my boy. You shall have all you make, as long as you don't spend it for candy and nonsense. Now go up and see the sick man. He may want something, and all the folks have been busy this afternoon."

The landlord took the basket of fish and put them on the ice, while Leopold went up to Harvey Barth's chamber. The sick man did not want anything. He was sitting up in the bed, with his diary and a pen in his hands, while the inkstand stood on the little table with the medicine bottles.

"There," said Harvey to Leopold, who had been a frequent attendant during his sickness, "I have just finished writing up this date; and it contains the whole story of the wreck of the Waldo, and all that happened on board of her during the voyage."

"What is it? what are you writing, Mr. Barth?" asked the young man.

Harvey opened the book at the blank leaf in the beginning, and turned it towards his visitor.

"Harvey Barth. His diary," Leopold read. "I see; you keep a diary."

"I do. I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that book, poor as I am," added Harvey, as he closed the volume and laid the pen on the table.[Pg 66]

"Shall I put it away for you?" asked Leopold.

"No; thank you; I'll take care of it myself," he replied as he proceeded to fold the book in its oil-cloth cover.

When Leopold had left the room, Harvey Barth enclosed the book in an old newspaper, and, getting out of bed, thrust the package up the flue of the little fireplace in the room, placing it on some projecting shelf or jamb which he had discovered there. He was very careful of the book, and seemed to be afraid some one might open it while he was asleep. Doubtless the diary contained secrets he was not willing others should discover; and certainly no one would think of looking in the flue of the fireplace for it.

[Pg 67]

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