Witches Cove

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER III IN THE DUNGEON

  "Please," said Ruth, "I--I--" She choked as she looked into the manypairs of eyes around the table in the _Black Gull's_ cabin, andstammered, "We thought you were,--no, we didn't think. We knew you werenot real pirates, but we thought you--were--were going to stea-steal the_Black Gull_. And we--we thought we could stop you."

  No laugh followed these stammered remarks. Each man sat at attention asCaptain Munson asked in a kindly tone:

  "And why did you wish to save the _Black Gull_?"

  "Because she stands for something wonderful!" The girl's tones wereringing now. "Because she tells the story of Maine, our grand andglorious state we all love so well."

  "Boys,"--the pirate chieftain's dark eyes glistened--"I propose threecheers for Ruth and her dauntless companion."

  Never did the walls of that cabin ring with lustier shouts than whenthose men ended with, "Ra, Ra, Ra! Ruth, Ruth, Ruth! Betty! Betty!Betty!"

  "And now for the feast!" exclaimed the Chief. "Fourteen men on a deadman's chest. Buckets of blood! There never was a pirate crew but likedtheir victuals. Ho! You scullions, hove to with the viands!"

  All this talk made Betty shudder, but Ruth only sat and stared.

  They were hungry enough after the long row across the bay and withoutasking further questions they accepted the cold chicken, coffee,doughnuts and huge wedges of pie and did full justice to all.

  A half hour later, as the pirate crew joined ringing notes of a piratechanty ending with a rousing, "Heave ho, Ladies, Heave ho!" the girlspushed their punt away from the towering hull of the _Black Gull_ andwent rowing away into the night.

  Ruth's arms had swung in rhythmic motion for a full ten minutes beforeshe spoke. Then dropping her oars, she said in a deep, low tone,

  "Of all the things I ever heard of, that beats 'em."

  "I thought," said Betty, solemnly, "that I had seen strange things, butthat beats them all."

  "And somehow," Ruth said, still more soberly, "I have a feeling that thisis the beginning of something very big and mysterious, and perhapsawfully dangerous."

  "That is just the way I feel about it," said Betty, with a shudder.

  After that they lapsed into silence, and Ruth renewed her silent rowing.

  The hour was late. Betty's head began to nod. Ruth, alone with herthoughts, was swinging her oars in strong, sweeping strokes when acurious thing struck her eye. They were passing the ancient abandonedfort on House Island, a massive pile of solid granite, when through anarrow space where cannon had frowned in the long ago, a light appeared.One instant it shone there clear and bright, the next it was gone.

  "How strange!" she thought. "No one is ever there." At once sheregistered a resolve to visit the fort to have a look into this newmystery.

  Once more she thought of the ancient wood-carrying schooner, of the boltsof silk cloth in her hold, and of the dory that had passed them in thenight.

  "It's astonishing," she told herself, "the way events connect themselvesup, woven together in a pattern like a rug. But you have to trace themout one by one before the pattern comes out clear and strong."

  The moon was out. The stars were shining when their punt touched thesandy beach of the island that had always been Ruth's home.

  A half hour later that same moon, looking down upon a brown andweather-beaten fisherman's cottage, beamed through narrow panes of glassupon two girls sleeping side by side. One was large and strong and ruddy.Her arms, thrown clear of the covers, showed the muscular lines of anathlete. Endless miles of rowing, clam digging in the early morning,hauling away at the float line of lobster traps, had done this. There wasabout the girl's whole make-up a suggestion of perfect physicalwell-being which is found oftener than anywhere else in a seacoastvillage.

  The other girl, as you will know, was slim, active and with nerves tightas fiddle strings. Her life had been lived in the city. A few monthsbefore she had gone with her father to live at a school by the side ofLake Michigan. Now, for the summer, she was staying with a wealthy youngmarried woman in her summer cottage on the island. She was with Ruth forbut this one night.

  As one looked at Betty lying there in repose, he read in her face andfigure signs of strength. The slender arms and limbs were not withouttheir suggestion of power. Her strength was the quick, nervous strengthof a squirrel; useful enough for all that. One might be sure that shewould leap into action while others searched their troubled minds for away out.

  Strangely matched as they might be, these girls were destined to spendmuch of their summer together and to come to know in a few brief weekshow much of mystery, adventure and romance the rugged coast of Maine hasto offer those who come there to seek.

  "Betty," said Ruth as she sprang out of bed next morning, "do you knowwhat day this is?"

  "Wouldn't need two guesses if I didn't know," said Betty. "Listen to theboom of cannons. It's the Glorious Fourth of July."

  "To-day," said Ruth, "we must do something exciting."

  "What shall it be?" Betty's tone was eager.

  "Listen!" said Ruth, seized with a sudden inspiration, "I've got adollar."

  "So have I."

  "We'll spend them all for Roman candles."

  "Roman can--"

  Ruth held up a hand. "We'll get Pearl Bracket to go along. We'll row overto House Island in the evening and eat a picnic lunch on the grass beforethe fort that overlooks the bay. The sunset is wonderful from there.

  "Then when it's getting dark, we'll go into the old fort and have a shambattle with Roman candles."

  "Sham battle?"

  "Sure! The boys did that last year, Don and Dewey, Chet and Dill and someothers. They said it was no end of fun. They're all going up the bay forfireworks this year, so we'll have the fort all to ourselves. We'll getPearl Bracket to go along.

  "It's something of an adventure, just going into that old fort at night.Secret passages and dungeons with rusty old handcuffs chained to thewall, and all that. Quite a place."

  "I should think so. Is it very old?"

  "The fort? Almost a hundred years, I guess. Used to be cannons there.They're gone now. No one's been there for years and years. Just big andempty and sort of lonesome."

  "But how do you play sham battle in there?"

  "All scatter out with tallow candles in tin cans, just a little light.Each one has an armful of Roman candles. When you hear something move youknow it is an enemy who has broken into the fort, and you shoot a candleat him, shoot low at his feet. Be dangerous if you didn't.

  "But think what fun!" she enthused. "You're creeping along between stonewalls, all damp and old. Just a little light. Dark all around. All of asudden down the long passage a little stir, and like a flash your fusesputters. Bang-pop-pop-pop-bang! Red, blue, green, yellow, orange, fiveballs of fire leap away at the enemy and he is shot, defeated, routedinto wild retreat."

  "I should think he might be," said Betty. "But it should be great sport.I'm for it. Any jolly thing on the Fourth of July."