Part 7

They found the woods here precisely like those of the other island. Fir, and spruce, and maple grew densely together, and beneath all there was a thick underbrush, with fallen trees, and ferns, and moss. Progress, under such circumstances, was exceedingly difficult; but they knew that the island was quite small, and so they kept on their way. The grounds continually ascended for a long distance, and this, of course, added somewhat to the difficulty of the journey; but at last the ascent ceased, and they knew that they were on the summit of the island. Nothing could be seen, however. So thick was the forest, that it shut out all the view; nor was it of any use to climb a tree, ‘for all were of nearly equal size, and if they were to climb up as far as they could, they would only find the view obstructed by the tops of trees growing around. So they kept on their way, and found the ground descending continuously in an easy slope. The wood was as dense as ever, and no living thing appeared. They had started with vague ideas of meeting with hares or wild fowl, but thus far nothing had been visible except the gulls overhead. They began to think that there was nothing but gulls on the island. Bart, however, assured them that they could not judge as yet, and expressed his unshaken confidence that he would start a rabbit before the day was done. He had his pistol in his belt, and he was determined to use it before going home, even if he had to shoot a gull. So they kept on down the descent, expecting every moment to come in sight of the bay.

At last the woods grew thinner, and before them they saw the sky through the trees. Moving farther forward, the trees grew more scattered, and in a short time they found themselves at the top of a long, open ground, which sloped to the bay, and was overgrown with moss and low brushwood. At the farther end of the open, a small eminence arose, with some bushes on the summit. Before them the waters of the bay spread out, with the distant horizon skirted by a range of hills.

“Here’s the place for rabbits,” said Bart, “if there are any.”

“If there are any! Of course,” said Bruce; “that’s the point.”

They walked on through the brush-wood, and at length, reaching a mossy knoll, they sat down to rest. After a time, Bart started off alone to pursue his investigations. He had not gone far before he stopped, and shrunk back. Then he looked around with a triumphant expression. Then he moved forward in a stealthy manner.

“I wonder what’s up now,” said Bruce.

“Bart’s found something at last,” said Arthur.

“A hare, perhaps,” said Tom.

The three boys started after Bart. Scarcely had they moved a half dozen paces, when Bart took aim and fired. A loud cry was heard, a large white bird was seen jumping in the air, and falling to the ground, and then Bart ran forward and secured his prize.

The other boys hurried up to him. As they came, he turned to meet them, with a face flushed with triumph, and holding the large white bird by the legs.

“What is it?” they cried.

“A wild goose,” said Bart.

“A wild goose!” cried Bruce, who had reached him by that time. “A tame one you mean.”

“No it isn’t, either. How can it be a tame one? It’s a wild one.”

“No, Bart,” said Arthur, “it’s a tame goose--as tame as I am.”

“You’re a tame goose yourself,” said Bart. “Do you call that a tame goose? Why, it’s a wild one, of course. Look at its wings.”

“What about its wings? They’re tame enough. No, Bart, it’s the real original domestic goose of the civilized farm-yard.”

“Nonsense! as though I don’t know a tame goose when I see one.”

“Well, you see one now.”

“No, I don’t.”

“This is one.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“It is.”

“Pooh!”

“Bart,” said Bruce, “did you ever see a live wild goose?”

“No, I never did.”

“Aha! How do you know anything about them, then?”

“Why, I’ve seen pictures,--lots of thorn,--and they look just like this.”

“But I’ve seen wild geese living and flying,--and dead, too, lots of times,--and this isn’t one.”

“O, this is a kind that you are not acquainted with. Why, there are ever so many kinds of wild geese.”

But at this moment the boys were rudely interrupted.

“Aha! ye thafes of the wurruld, ye!” cried a loud voice close beside them. “Ye villains, ye. What are ye doin’,--a murdherin’ and slaughterin’ a poor man’s property. Ye blackgyards, ye! What d’ye mane by comin’ here and shootin’ my geese?”

Thunderstruck at this unexpected interruption, the boys turned, and found themselves face to face with an old, grizzled, red-faced little Irishman, whose furious gestures and angry eyes were directed menacingly toward them.

“Which af ye’s shot my goose?” he roared.

“1 did,” said Bart, quietly.

“Ye young villain! I’ll make ye pay for it,--and dear, too,--as sure as me name’s Denny O’Rafferty. What’r ye’s doin’ here, any how? What d’ye mane by shootin’ my goose? D’ye think I’m goin’ to be robbed be a gang of black-gyards? Be the powers! if ye think that same, ye’ll find ye’re mistaken, bad scran till ye!”

“Mr. O’Rafferty,” said Bart, “you’re quite mistaken. We’re honest boys, and came here by accident.”

“What did ye shoot the goose for, then, ye imp of mischief?”

“It was a mistake,” said Bart, coolly. “Of course I didn’t know it was yours,--in fact, I wasn’t aware that anybody was living here. I will be happy to pay you whatever you think it’s worth,-and am sorry for the mistake.”

At this speech O’Rafferty’s face and manner underwent a complete change.

“Ach, be the powers! if that’s all,” said he, good humoredly, “then we won’t say any more about it. But how did ye’s get here? I didn’t see any boat. Where did ye land, then?”

“Why, the fact is, we were brought here,” said Bart, who went on to tell him all about their adventure.

Dennis O’Rafferty listened to every word with intense interest, his face undergoing a perpetual change of expression, that spoke of conflicting emotions.

“Be the powers, then,” he exclaimed, as Bart ceased, “it was a narrow scratch that ye had of it. An’ ye’ve been ashore here two nights. Be jabers, it’s meself that’s ashamed of what I said till ye about the goose. Have ye’s had anything till ate thin, at all?”

“Nothing but lobster.”

“Lobster! Well, thin, let me inforrum ye’s that ye’ll find that a moighty onwholesome diet. An’ you’ve been here all that time wid nothin’ at all to ate. Be jabers, I’m the boy for ye’s. Come along, boys. Ye’ll find old O’Rafferty can give ye a breakfast, at any rate. Come along. Ye’re starvin’, so ye are. Me old woman ‘ll be deloighted to set eyes on ye’s. Never mind the goose; I’ll give ye’s a dozen for nothin’. Lave it lie there; the old woman ’ll come an’ pick it for ye. Come along, boys.”

And the old fellow led the way; while the boys, delighted at the turn which things had taken, followed gayly after.

“And so ye’r Docthor Porther’s boys, are ye’s?” continued Dennis. “Faith it’s himself ’ll be throubled. It’s a long time I’ve knowed the docthor. An’ there isn’t his shuparior in the counthry. Arrah, be me sowl, but it’s meself that’s glad to see ye’s. The sight of yer young, fresh faces does good till me old bones. Come along, boys. And is the docthor with ye’s in the schooner? Come along; ye haven’t fur to go. I’ve got a bit of a house around beyant. Ye’ll see it as soon as iver we turrun the hill.”

On rounding the hill, they saw a clearing of about thirty acres, with a boat drawn up on the shore, while close by them was a small house and a barn. An old woman at the door looked up at them in speechless amazement.

“It’s the owld woman,” said O’Rafferty. “It’s herself that’s dead bate at the sight of ye’s.”

“Lard save us, Dinny, what in the wurruld have ye got there, thin?” cried the old woman, as the party reached the house.

“It’s some of Docthor Porther’s boys, that’s been gettin’ themselves shipwracked on the other side,” said O’Rafferty, “and haven’t had a bite to ate for two days, savin’ an’ exceptin’ a bit of cowld lobster, which isn’t aisy aitin’. An’ however they got ashore on there, widout oars, bates me intirely,--widout countin’ that thim same has been workin’ like slaves a day or more, on impty stomachs, buildin’ a camp and carryin’ fire-wood, which is hard enough work to kill a man, let alone boys like these. And so stir yer stumps, Molly avick, and bring out praties an’ bacon, the best ye have, and a drawin’ of tay, an’ chayse, an’ bread and butter. It’s starvin’ they all are intoirely, or me name’s not Dinny O’Rafferty.”

“Ah, thin,” cried the old woman, “the saints stand betune us and harrum. What’s that ye’r sayin’, Dinny O’Rafferty? Is it shipwracked ye wer’, thin, ye darlin’s of the wurruld? Sure it’s not much an owld woman like me can do for the likes of ye; but I’ll give ye the best I’ve got, so I will. Sure an’.it’s starvin’ ye must be, if ye’ve had nothin’ to ate for so long.”

Nothing could exceed the kindness and warmth of welcome which O’Rafferty and his wife gave the boys. The old woman bustled about, and kindled a fire, and put on the pot and kettle, and laid the table, occasionally stopping to look at the boys, one after the other, with a peculiar fondness of expression and a low, crooning noise, such as nurses make over children.

“Sure it’s like a breath of fresh air to a captive in a dungeon to look at your swate faces,” she cried. “Niver a boy’s face have I seen since the dark day when my own boy took his swate face from me eyes foriver. An’ that was fifteen year ago. An’ we came here, an’ lived here ever since.”

The old woman gave a long sigh, and sitting down, she held her head in her hands, rocking herself to and fro.

“Ah, well,” she said, getting up and going out to the barn, “it’s not much longer to live we have thin.”

“Fifteen years,” said O’Raflerty, as his wife went out. “It’s fifteen years since we lost the boy. We lived in Parrsboro, an’ had as nice a house and farm as the likes of us could ever wish for. But whin we lost him, we lost all heart for the place. The old woman wud have died if she had staid; an’ so I bought this bit of a place, an’ what with farmin’ an’ fishin’ we manage to grub along, though it’s seldom or niver that we see anybody but our own two selves. Well, well; wud ye like to look at the place?” he continued, rising. “It isn’t much of a place; but it’s not long we have to live, and it’ll do for us.”

They followed the old man about. The place extended over thirty acres, with a nice beach in front for the boat. It was an easy declivity, with pasture lands behind the house. The boat was a large whaler, and nets were spread on the grass to dry. O’Rafferty said that during the summer he had visits sometimes from old friends, and at other times people landed to see about the chances for sporting or getting minerals; but never, since he had been there, had a boy been on shore, and his wife had not seen a boy since she lost her son. He took them all over the place, and finally led them to a little enclosure, not far from the house. Inside was a grave mound, and at the head a white wooden slab, with these words painted upon it:

In Memoriam.

Michael O’Rafferty,

beloved son of

Dennis and Mary O’Rafferty,

born Aug. 2, 1830,

died June 5, 1845.

Requiescat in Pace.

The old man stood in silence, bareheaded, looking at the inscription. The boys removed their hats, and looked in solemn sympathy at the bereaved father, whose love and yearning for his lost boy were still so manifest, that the sight of a boy’s face could renew his grief after fifteen vanished years. Standing thus in silence, and reverencing that grief, they waited till the old man turned away, and then followed him, without a word, back across the field, and into the house.

As they entered, the savory smell of broiled bacon came gratefully to their nostrils. The table was spread with delicious mealy potatoes, brown crusty bread, butter as yellow as gold, and clean, spotless plates.. If they had the power of wishing and gaining, they would have desired nothing better than this.

“Mr. O’Rafferty,” said Bart, suddenly, “I forgot to mention that we left one of our number on the beach. I will take a run across the island, with your permission, and bring him here, for he is as hungry as we are, if not more so.”

“Another one!” cried O’Rafferty. “An’ waitin’ on the beach! Why didn’t ye tell me before?”

“Well, you see we were tired with our scramble, and I wanted to get rested before starting back. But I’ll go now, if you’ve no objection.”

“Deed, thin, an’ I have an objection,” cried O’Rafferty. “D’ye think I’d let ye go starvin’ back agin before ye’d got a bite to ate? or, for that matter, d’ye think I’d let ye go at all? No; I’ll go meself.”

“You? O, no. I won’t allow that,” began Bart. “It’s meself ‘ll go, an’ nobody else,” cried O’Rafferty, positively. “Ye’r all too hungry an’ tired. Besides, ye don’t know a step of the way. Ye came through the woods, an’ a mighty tough job ye found it; but I know an aisier way--it’s a path of me own. Ye said it was at the other end of the island, on the other side.”

“Yes; at a rock with a tree on the edge.”

“I know the place well. My path comes out close by there. I wonder ye didn’t come across it.”

“It is a wonder. We certainly would have noticed anything like a path, if we had found one.”

“Well, it’s all the same now. Ye’ll jist stay here, an’ sit down an’ ate yer breakfasts like Christians, an’ I’ll go an’ bring the boy. Not one of ye shall stir a step--not one step.”

“Well, Mr. O’Rafferty, I’m sure you are putting yourself to too much trouble--”

“Throuble! D’ye call it throuble? Sure an’ isn’t it the brightest day I’ve knowed for iver so long?”

“Deed it is,” chimed in his wife. “Be off wid ye, Dinny dear, and hurry back with the poor boy. Sure I’ll keep the tay hot for him, an’ the praties, an’ the bacon.”

Any further remonstrance or objection was out of the question; so the boys took their seats at the table. The old man started off, and promised to be back in a “jiffy.”

He ascended the slope behind the house, and entered the woods by a pathway which, though but little trodden, was yet easy to traverse. Far different was this from the rough way by which the boys had crossed the island; and in far less time than they had taken, Denny approached the other shore. The pathway led down to the beach, about a hundred yards below the place where they had built their first fire.

As he descended, a singular sight met his eyes.

X.

_New Attempts at Cookery.--Phil on the Lookout.--A Sail! A Sail!--The Signal of the red Shirt.--The Home of the O’Raffertys._

WE left Phil behind, on the beach.

After the others had departed, Phil occupied himself with making arrangements to while away the time. First of all, he set to work to try and make an omelet. After a long search on the beach, he found some clam shells, which he took up to the platform; and then, selecting some flat stones, he threw them into the fire. Then he mixed some eggs in one of the shells, and tried to beat them with his jackknife. His success was not exactly dazzling; but he was satisfied to a certain extent, and intensely interested. At length, drawing forth one of the stones, which, by this time, was red hot, he poured the mixture on its surface. There was a fizzle, a steam, a hiss, and then a horrible smell of burnt egg. Phil made an awful face, and giving the stone a kick, sent it flying down to the beach, omelet and all.

Not at all discouraged, he began again _ab ovo_. Drawing out another stone, he determined to give it time to cool. So he mixed up some more eggs in the shell; and after waiting patiently for a long time for the stone, he at length thought it was cool enough, and poured the mixture upon it. It certainly had grown cool this time in fact, somewhat too cool, as Phil gradually learned, when, after waiting patiently, he found that there was no appearance of any progress whatever in the cookery. So this, too, was a failure, and Phil disdainfully hurled it after its predecessor.

But he was not discouraged even yet. Once more he took his shell and made another mixture, and then drew forth the stone, and carefully watched it, trying it from time to time with the tip of his finger, to see if it was of the proper temperature. Having singed the tips of all his fingers, he concluded that it was time to stop that mode of testing, and run the risk of an actual trial. So he once more poured the mixture on the stone. Aha! this time there was no mistake. A pleasant steam came up, which was grateful to a famished boy. The only trouble was, the lower part was done before the upper was in the least affected; and worse still, it began to burn while the upper part was raw. Phil was not yet disheartened, however; and drawing his knife, he made desperate efforts to insert it under the omelet, so as to turn it over. But these efforts were not successful. He only succeeded in intermixing all together in a mess, and mangling it into a general mush. In trying to taste some of it, he found in his mouth nothing but a very unpleasant mixture of raw and burnt egg. With a sigh he relinquished his experiments, and sent this stone after the others.

He now contented himself with roasting two of them; and having partaken of them, he sauntered up the hill to the signal station. Here he lay down, and looked lazily out at the water.

Scarcely had he done so, than he gave a start. An object was before his eyes which he had not been able to see from the platform. The other end of the island could not be seen from there, because a projecting bank shut it out from view; but from here there was a fair view of the other islands. And there, just coming out from behind Pinnacle Island, was a schooner of the size and rig of the Antelope, and he did not doubt for a moment but that it was their schooner. She was now sailing along, and was not far from that very anchorage where he had seen her last.

With a shout and a wild beating of his heart, he sprang to his feet, and stared, with eager eyes, upon the schooner.

She was coming on very well, with a good breeze, and was coming in his direction. Would she continue on her course? If so, she would soon be there. Would she turn aside, and pass through the channel that separated the islands, or sail away to the main land opposite? The thought was intolerable. He had grown weary of desert life; he longed to leave the island,--or, rather, he longed to get something to eat.

So he rushed away to the pile of brush, and lighting his matches,--a whole card at a time,--he touched up the kindling wood, and in a few moments the blaze was spreading through the mass of dry brush. Soon the flames rose high into the air, bearing with them vast volumes of black smoke.

Would they see that signal? They could not help seeing it. Would they understand it? Ah! that was another question. Still it came on in the same direction, without showing any signs of turning either to the right hand or the left. And now it had passed the channel between the islands, and was coming along in a line with the beach below, and not more than half a mile out.

The brush fire was burning briskly, and could last for half an hour without replenishing; but something more was needed. What could he do? At first he thought of running down to the beach and shouting. But then he feared that he might not be seen on the beach, and that his voice might not be heard. So that plan was rejected. One only remained, and that was, to climb the signal-staff. In an instant all this had passed through his mind, and in another instant it was acted upon. He tore off his red shirt, tied the sleeves together loosely, and hung it around his neck, and then, with wonderful agility, climbed the tree till he reached the top. The stumps of the branches, which remained on the trunk of the tree, formed a good foothold, and he was able to stand securely, clasping the tree with one arm, while with the other he took his shirt from around his neck, and waved it to and fro in the air. Below, and about thirty feet on one side, the fire blazed; and there, fifty feet in the air, on that solitary tree, stood the boy, waving, wildly and incessantly, the brilliant scarlet cloth. He felt that he had done the best, and if this would not attract attention, nothing would.

All this time the schooner came on, and at length came nearly opposite. Phil saw the crowd on board. He saw them staring and gesticulating. He was recognized--he was safe! Yes, there was Mr. Long,--he knew that tall figure in black,--and he was going to the stern. What for? Aha! wasn’t that glorious? He had gone and had seized the ropes, and lowered and hoisted the flag again a score of times. Ha, ha, ha! What flag? What flag? Why, their own flag,--the flag of the “B. O. W. C.,”--which had’ evidently been waving there ever since their departure, and now saluted them as it brought them safety.

Phil’s merry laughter rang out loud and clear, as he saw all this, in his excitement and his joy. He saw the schooner head in straight toward the shore, then sweep round; and then down rattled her anchor, her sails fell, and she lay waiting.

Phil gave a final wave and a loud, shout; and then, descending the tree, he scampered down the slope and along the beach, as fast as his little legs would carry him, until at last he reached the verge of the shore opposite the schooner. Here he gave a loud hurrah. His shrill voice reached the schooner, which was only a short distance off, and was responded to by a loud cheer from all on board.

“Where are the other boys?” cried Mr. Long.

“In the woods; they’ll be here soon.”

“Where’s the boat?”

“Up there,” said Phil, pointing to where it lay.

“We can’t get ashore. We’ve got no boat.”

“When the tide gets up, and the boys come back, we can get the boat out,” said Phil.

“How are you all?” cried Mr. Long.

“Very well, but nearly starved.”

Instantly Mr. Long disappeared into the cabin. Returning shortly, he had a bundle in his hand, around which a string was tied. Then taking one end of the string, and whirling it violently around, sling fashion, he hurled it through the air toward the shore. The parcel fell about twenty feet beyond Phil. He ran to it, and, on opening it, found a quantity of sandwiches.

The ravenous way in which he devoured the sandwiches showed to those on board, far more powerfully than words, how famished poor Phil must have been.

“Will the others be back soon?” asked Mr. Long.

“O, yes. They’ve gone across the island to explore.”

“Were you able to sleep?”

“Sleep? O, yes, first rate.”

“How?”

“In the camp up there,” said Phil, with his mouth full of sandwich, waving his hand in the direction of the platform. “We’d have enjoyed it if we’d only had some sandwiches,” he added after a time, as he made a fresh onslaught on the parcel.

It was now about eleven o’clock, and not quite half tide. The tide was rising, however, and in due time would be up to the boat; and then, if the boys did not come, they might get in near enough to throw Phil a line, and from the schooner pul the boat into the water. For the present it was necessary to wait; so Phil ate his sandwiches, and talked with those on board. And this was the scene which met the eyes of Dennis O’Rafferty as he descended to the beach.

Dennis soon understood it all. Ge saw that the schooner had been searching for the boys, and had come here in their absence, and had found this boy. He hurried, without delay, to the beach, and at once told Phil where his friends were, and explained to those on board the schooner what they were doing, and why he had come.

“An’ is the docthor on board?”

“No; he didn’t come.”

“Ah, thin it’s mesilf that’s sorry for that same,” said Dennis.