A secret of the sea

Front matter

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Chapter I

“The island lies nine leagues away Along its solitary shore,

Of craggy rock and sandy beach,

No sound but ocean’s roar,

Save where the bold wild sea bird makes her home,

Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.”

“What a fearful night it is, father! I have been listening to the howling of the wind and the beating of the waves on the rocks, — until every thought of sleep has fled.”

The words were softly spoken by a fair-haired girl of about seventeen ; she was reclining on a lounge, which stood in one corner of the little sitting-room.

Captain Burton, for such was the father’s name, was a large, squarely built man of medium height. PI is piercing gra}^ eyes and thick overhanging brows, from under which he looked out into the world, gave him somewhat a sinister expression. His hair was iron -gray, and a short stubby beard gave squareness to the terraced chin. His mouth

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was large, the corners somewhat drawn down. One would be apt to remark that the man never smiled.

He had been reading ; the fingers of his right hand, which by the way, were encased in a black kid glove, were partially hidden between the pages of the book. As his daughter spoke, he glanced out into the night. No word fell from his lips, but as the howling of the wind increased, an uneasy mournful expression passed over his features.

“ Mother used to say,” the girl continued, “ that the roar of the waves beating on the rocks soothed and rested her. I wish I could feel as she did, that they brought messages from far away lands, where winter is unknown. Ah ! father, if it could only be summer always.”

At the mention of the sainted mother’s name, the old man moved restlessly, rubbing his left hand up and down the polished arm of the easy chair; he sighed.

“ Your mother always did see beauty in everythin’. Hers was a rare nature, Theo. I never half knew her worth till she was taken from me. Aye ! Aye ! child,” he added, musingly, “ you’re like her in feature. Sometimes when I look in yer eyes it seems as if my Cicily had come back to me.”

A tear rolled down the wrinkled cheek, which

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he hastily brushed away with the back of his left hand.

“ She never answered back when I spoke rough to her— and I often did that. I’m glad she’s safe up aloft. Cicily always kept her eyes open for the danger signals. She said we was none of us safe here below, the seas was always so rough and strong. We must pray to be kept from temptations, and never stop prayin’. 1 didn't heed her words, Theo. Your old father ain’t the man he’d ought to be, after havin’ such a sainted example always before him these many years.”

“ Do you remember the lines mother was so fond of repeating, dear father ? ”

“ Yes, Theo, say ’em over for me.”

“ ‘Be patient, keep your spirits still, for storms Are all about you, and you can not say,

Even to the highest of them, * Peace, be still ! ’

The skilful pilot can control the barque But not the breeze, the rock defies the gale Unmoved, but can not soothe it into calm.

Faith walks in night, yet is not of the night.

And Hope her fellow, looks into the east,

Where, marking the long cloud -bars, all of gold —

It says our day is up, behold the sun !

“ ‘ Maturity of ill as well as good God waiteth for*

For unripe evil, just, as unripe good

He will not pluck ; ’tis ripeness that He deals with.

The language of the lips is loud and hollow,

The language of the heart is deep and low ,’ 11

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Silence fell on both as the young girl finished the recital of the verses.

The sitting-room was not large, but there was an air of comfort that pervaded the home. The logs on the hearth sent up a cheerful blaze, and the flickering flames cast strange shadows on the most remote objects. On the centre of the mantelshelf stood a quaint old fashioned timepiece, which solemnly ticked out the hours, and on either side there were two pieces of rose coral. In one corner of the room stood a bookcase with glass doors, through which could be seen rows of plainly bound volumes, by poet, novelist and historian. A small table, holding upon its polished surface a glass case, under which were two stuffed birds with gorgeous plumage, stood in another corner, and near it a larger table, with an oil lamp, by which sat Captain Burton. Three straight backed chairs in two stiff rows were placed on either side of the fireplace. These with the easy chair, and low couch on which Theo was reclining, formed the only furniture of the apartment.

Long after she had ceased speaking, the girl’s blue eyes remained fixed upon her father’s face. Her red lips would now and then tremble as a thought from out of the happy past rose to her mind, and her eyes had a far away look in them. At last the face grew composed, the lines of thought softened, her regular breathing kept time

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with the ticking of the clock. She had fallen asleep.

An hour passed. Roused from his revery by the violence of the wind, which seemed to shake the house at its very foundations, the!* captain walked to the side of the lounge, and lifting his daughter in his strong arms, carried the sleeping girl through the dark entry up the stairway to her chamber. Here he laid her tenderly down on the little white bed, carefully spreading a shawl over her.

“Poor tired child,” he said to himself; “I’m glad she sleeps. Bad dreams can’t disturb my pure Theo’s sweet repose. The gale grows a bit worse every moment. God have mercy on any vessel that plows the waves to-night ! ”

He passed his black gloved hand thoughtfully across his brow. Then shrugging his shoulders as if he longed in like manner to throw off the thing that troubled him, he made his way down the stairs, and reentered the little sitting-room. Here the captain remained standing for a few moments, as if buried in thought. He crossed the room to the bookcase, fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a brass key, fitted it into the lock of a lower drawer, turned it, and slowly drew the drawer out.

It was filled with curios of all kinds, which had evidently been brough^ from many foreign shores.

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After handling several of the rings, Captain Burton seemed at last to find that for which he was searching. It was a ring containing two opals and one large diamond in the centre, the setting of which was somewhat antique. He advanced to the larger table and held the trinket up to the light — the opals glowed like fire. He turned it in his fingers and glanced at the inner side of the narrow band. There were two initials engraved on the gold ; they were B. and A., and with many little flourishes and curves were intertwined. The face of the man worked convulsively — his hand shook — the ring fell on the soft carpeted floor, making no sound.

“ Oh, m} r God ! must I bear this agony always, always ! ” he cried. “ They haunt me, her eyes — they follow me ! ” The old clock ticked in reply, “ Always, always, always — they will follow you.”

“ Not always ! I can not,” he stopped. “ I must! My Theo, I must live for her.”

Great beads of perspiration rested on his forehead, as with clenched hands he stood — a man

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alone with God — with a conscience that would not be silenced. The past ever before him — the sin that nothing could shut out from his view — no nothing — he must live on and bear the consequences.

With a weary sigh Captain Burton stooped down, picked up the ring and laid it in the drawer, which he locked, slipping the key into his pocket.

Again, a strange shadow passed over the face of the man. He had lifted the oil lamp, but remained quite motionless, holding it in his hands.

“ I must have some extra change,” he muttered, “Joe ’ll soon be returnin’.”

He passed out of the room. The wind howled, a stray gust blew so strongly down the chimney, that a loosened brick fell with a dull thud on the hearth amid a shower of soot. He turned, but did not retrace his steps, and entered the kitchen which was on the other side of the little hallway. The cupboard doors were closed. Captain Burton opened them and took from one of the neatly papered shelves, a loaf of white bread. From this he cut three or four slices and buttered them. He then made a cup of tea, placed the bread on a tin platter, on which were some salted herrings, and carried the eatables into the woodshed, returning to the kitchen for the lamp which he placed on an old oaken chest in the corner. “ I came

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near forgettin’ the poor creature. Joe seems to think she looks to be in a better condition each time he sees her.”

The back part of the shed appeared to be partitioned off. There was a door leading into the enclosure ; this the captain unlocked, carefully pushed in the tin platter and the cup of tea, remarking as he did so :

“ I guess the creature is sleepin’. It must be pretty late.”

He closed the door quietly, locked it, and dropped the key into his deep jacket pocket. On one side of the shed piled up on the floor were a number of logs ready to be sawn, and near by a smaller heap of wood neatly split up into pieces of uniform length for the winter supply.

No ax or saw were to be seen. A door from this room led to another extension, in which fish and meats were salted and dried, here also the process of dunning* was gone through with year after year.

After a few minutes, Captain Burton passed into the smokehouse, and soon reappeared with a rusty iron pick. He then began slowly to pry up three of the boards from the floor. As these were lifted from their places a rocky surface was

* Dunning was carried on by the fishermen of the Shoals for many years. A dunfish is a handsome creature. It is cut in transparent stripes, the color of brown sherry wine. The process is a tedious one.

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exposed — the cottage evidently rested on a strong foundation. The old man satisfied with the result of his labor, rose slowly to his feet, passed to a corner of the room and took down from a nail a lantern which he lighted. Again he stooped and carefully examined the rocky surface, holding the lantern over the opening. The light fell upon an iron ring large enough to admit of a man’s three fingers ; this was fastened to a circular piece of wood. Raising this, the opening revealed a short flight of steps cut out of the solid rock. Descending these, he reached a cave, the rocky roof of which was high enough to permit a person to stand upright. The lantern burnt dimly. In the Egyptian darkness nothing at first could be distinguished. Captain Burton was evidently not a stranger in the subterranean chamber. The rocks were worn away in places, showing that the sea had in some past age been there as well. The walls were damp and black.

The light fell upon three well filled canvas bags, and two old chests, such as seamen would be likely to use— these stood in one corner of the cave.

The captain placed the lantern on the floor, and with some difficulty, began to untie a cord which bound the neck of one of the bags. Opening it he lifted the lantern high up, the light fell upon hundreds of gold coins of various sizes. Some of

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them glistened, while others appeared green and mouldy, but all bore a foreign impress.

For a moment the old man remained lost in thought. He took several of the coins, one by one, in his fingers and carefully examined each in turn.

“’Tis lucky I’ve enough to last me all my days. Theo shall never want ; she need know nothin’ about the history ! ” He stopped. “ Cicily was that curious always as to how I got so much money, and where I kept it, but I never told her. She believed in me, and the little one’s like her, she’ll believe too.”

He took a large leathern pouch from his pocket and filled it with as many of the gold pieces as it would comfortably hold, counting them one by one as he did so. Now and then he would look behind him as if expecting some mysterious presence to snatch them from his grasp. Retying the bag, he placed it beside the others, and dropped the pouch into his pocket. Then picking up the lantern, he made his way up the stone steps to the opening in the floor, replaced the boards, blew out the light, and passed with the lamp into the kitchen, locking the door behind him.

As the captain entered the sitting-room, his eyes fell upon the brass face of the clock ; the ivory hands pointed to two. “ ’Tis growin’ late — I must go aloft and turn in for the night,” he muttered.

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Chapter II

“ The first hour of the morning is the rudder of the day.”

It was a morning late in September. The mists rose slowly into the western sky — great towers and columns of mist — pure and white, their tops touched by Aurora’s rosy finger. A slight breeze caused rifts here and there in the wonderful fleecy structure, tearing into shreds some of the largest clouds, which floated away to various parts of the heavens, revealing between great stretches of blue. The sun in all his glory burst forth, shining on the stretch of purple waters beyond, where the New Hampshire coast line could be clearly traced, then glimpses of the white beach, a few scattered houses, and beyond a background of forest lands.

The Isles of Shoals in the early morning light, looked gray and rugged. Nine miles of the scintillating Atlantic stretched between them and the nearest shores of New Hampshire, while to the northwest twenty >one miles away could be seen the outlines of Cape Ann in Massachusetts, and sixteen miles to the southeast, Cape Neddock in Maine.

The group received its name, not because of

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the ragged bluffs or reefs, but on account of the 41 schoaling ” or “ schooling ” of fish about them in the mackerel and herring season. At low tide six islands can be seen, while at high tide, eight or even nine. A breakwater connects two of them. Appledore or Hog Island is the largest of the group, so called from its resemblance to a hog’s back. It has about four hundred acres, and a narrow valley divides the land into two unequal parts. Next in the chain is Holey’s Island or “ Smutty Nose ” ; at low tide Cedar and Malaga are connected with it. “ Anderson’s Rock,” off the southeast corner is not far removed. One quarter of a mile away, lies Star Island with its one hundred and fifty acres, on which can be seen the houses of the little village of Gosport, with a tiny church appearing on one of the highest rocks. Then comes White Island, the most picturesque of all, with its warning light. This is connected with Seaveys’, and at low water both cover an area of twenty acres. The most westerly of the group is “ Londoner’s,” with its beautiful shell beach. Toward the west, “ Round Rock ” adds to the picturesqueness of this island. There are two others in the group, which are much dreaded by seamen, as they lie below the surface of the sea. These are “ Devil’s Rock,” off White Island, and “ Old Harry ” four miles east of Appledore.

Duck Island, the scene of our story, is the

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r.iOst remote, and is situated about two miles northeast of Appledore. Its treacherous ledges run toward the west and north — beneath the surface of the water, one of them being half a mile long. At the east and south, the shore is bolder. Shag and Mingo, two large rocks over which the sea breaks with great violence, are separated from the main island by a narrow channel.

On this particular morning, the purple asters could be seen among the rocks, while clusters of golden rod waved their plumes, standing as heralds to announce the coming autumn. The cry of the curlew and the plover are heard, and white winged sea gulls skim the surface of the waves, or lighting on the long black ledges, softened the hard outlines, making them look as if covered by newly fallen snow. Nestled among the rocks stood the little gray cottage of Captain Burton, undiscernible* save for the honeysuckled embowered porch, and the curling smoke which rose from the chimney, while behind and at one side lay the trim garden fairly ablaze with color. There were marigolds, larkspurs, sweetpeas of various hues, fragrant mignonette and scarlet poppies. The flowers, however, looked blown and torn, having lived through the last night’s storm. They were standing with bent heads, waiting for the sunshine to dry their tears. Beside them looking like a sweet rose herself stood Theo. Her 2

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golden hair, blown back from her white brow by the sea breeze, formed a halo of little curls around her head. A pair of deep blue eyes shadowed by their long dark lashes, looked sadly down upon the flowers she so loved. They were her best friends and knew she cared for them.

The girl was dressed in a neat cotton gown, which as the wind in eddying gusts swept up from the sea, clung in graceful folds around her trim figure, then blew in and out, in pretty undulating curves. Theo was softly singing to herself some snatches of a song she had learnt, and as she sang, the rosy lips from time to time disclosed rows of white pearls.

She started from her revery on hearing a familiar footstep, and turning her head, met her father’s stern but loving gray eyes.

“ How does yer garden grow, Theo? That gale last night was strong enough to blow yer treasures away altogether. See, the sea even now is breaking over 4 Shag ’ and 4 Mingo ’ like a mad creature,” and Captain Burton pointed with his thumb to the rocks, which were white with foam.

44 My flowers, father, looked so sadly at me, I thought I would sing and cheer them up.”

44 I’d wager we’d have fair weather as the day drags on, the wind hails from the northwest.”

44 Do you think so, father ? I promised Peter when he came here day before yesterday, that if

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in two days the weather proved fair, I would go with him in his dory to Gosport to see old Nabbaye and Bennaye. Nabbaye is far from well, and needs looking after.”

Seeing her father’s lips forming themselves into a no, she continued in a coaxing way, “ Mother was so fond of the old people, dear father.”

“Aye! Aye! I know, but child let’s go to 4 Theo’s Throne,’ and sit there ; while we do a bit of talking.”

The narrow path, bordered on either side by clam shells, led down to a rock with a broad ledge, which nature had fashioned into a comfortable seat. This Captain Burton called “Theo’s Throne,” and would never allow any visitor to tread on the holy ground, or to invade the place. The father and daughter wandered down the little path and took their places on the rock.

Beyond, over a stretch of powdered shells, the eyes of both rested on a small white headstone, which glistened in the sunlight. On its smooth surface they read the inscription:

“ Cicily Burton, beloved wife of Anthony Burton, Aged 45;” and underneath the words, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Such was the brief record of the life of wife and mother. It told its own story. No word was spoken. There were tears in the eyes of both.

“ Theo child, I’ve been thinkin’ it ovei* ? that

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about yer goin’ to Star. Yer may go. ’Tis little enough of the outside world that yer see. I know young blood needs a chang.e now and then. Nabbaye’s all right, I guess, but the fisher folk I’d have you steer clear of. They're a bad lot, the whole of them. Your mother once said the very air of Gosport was poisoned with gossip. The yarns they tell have no begin nin’ and no end to them. They* would try and set yer against your own father. They are not fit for yer ears, Theo, yer that I have guarded and caged like a wee bird. I am no companion for my child in book learnin’ or anythin’ else much. I wish your mother would come back and tell me of the mistakes I keep makin’.”

The old man’s eye rested again on the white headstone. A flock of sea birds hovered above with their snowy wings, and cast strange shadows on the ground, while one flew down and alighted for a moment on the stone.

“Father, do not say such cruel things of yourself. You are so near and dear to me. Mother thought all you did was right, and I think so too.”

The young girl lovingly wound her arms around his neck, and laid her fair head on his shoulder, while she gazed into her father’s face.

“ Thank you for letting me go to Gosport to see Nabbaye. The sea is not as rough as it looks, and I will certainly return before night. These

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September days are so beautiful, and in winter for weeks together you know we- can not leave our island. I must make a purchase, father. Susan Daws sent me word that she had some good woolen cloth for dress goods. I would like to buy a few yards from her, enough for a dress pattern.”

“That means an attack on the captain’s pocket ! Aye, Theo ? ”

Without waiting for her to reply, he laid in his daughter's hands a gold piece, which he took from his leathern pouch.

“ Yes, father, I will need some of the wherewithal, but,” glancing at the coin, “what have you given me ? You are naughty to cheat your little Theo. See, father, it is an old foreign coin.”

Captain Burton’s face fell. “ Nonsense, child, let me take a look at it. I have made a mis* take. Here’s another gold piece with which yer can buy all the ribbons and folderols yer so hanker after.”

“Now father that’s what I call unfair; you know I never spend much on dress ; only for books, they are like real friends.”

“I only wanted to tease yer, Theo. No one would ever say my girl was extravagant or vain. Only beware of the yarn spinners, and return before sunset.”

“ I think I’ll take the poor old creature some of

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my jelly. I made it only yesterday. Peter will not come for me until after dinner, so I will have plenty of time to put the house to rights. Father, I must dally no longer out here in the garden.”

Suiting the action to the words, Theo ran lightly down the walk. The captain stood watching her slight sylph-like figure, shading his eyes with one hand until she disappeared in the porch. He hurriedly drew his rough coat sleeve across his eyes, for he was thinking of his Cicily, when she came as a bride to her island-home.

Captain Burton had married late in life, and Cicily Parker, a New Hampshire woman, had been the object of his choice. She was an orphan, her parents having died while she was quite young. Brought up by an aged uncle, she met by chance one day, the retired seaman, Captain Anthony Burton. He had come from his island, to bu}^ some fishing tackle of her uncle. Cicily was then in her nineteenth year, and very beautiful. It proved to be the story of love at first sight. The young girl remained with her uncle until his death, and then there being no other tie to bind her to the mainland, she accepted the love and devotion of the old bachelor, promising to be to him a faithful wife, and this promise was lovingly kept.

As the years rolled on, the husband, once rough, became greatly softened by the loving example of his dear one.

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The young wife never knew what it was to see many strange faces, but she was very happy in her husband’s love. When the little baby girl came to brighten the lives of both, the father said she should be named Theodosia. He liked it. Cicily never asked the why or wherefore, but sweetly acquiesced, and thus the child bore the quaint old-fashioned Christian name which was shortened to Theo.

The little one had a very sunny nature, and was from her very earliest years a great comfort to her mother, from the time when she lay cradled in her arms. No schoolmaster had influenced the life of little Theo, only the mother’s watchful eye and loving heart had guided the child’s education. Her smile of approval had helped the young student to persevere on the road of knowledge. Cicily Burton, having in her youth received a good education, was amply fitted to transmit it to her daughter.

Nature had also been a good schoolmistress to Theo. She had talked to her through the waves, through the sunshine and the storm. Theo’s was a romantic soul, and the young girl learnt to live in two distinct worlds. As a child, after her tasks were finished, she would sit on the shelly shore and play With the blue and purple mussel shells, and striped cockles, which she would imagine little boats deserted by the sea fairies, and would send

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them sailing away on the waves. She loved also to look for bits of transparent quartz, white or rosy, or pieces of dull purple porphyry, all wet and clear, as they were washed to her feet by the incoming foam. The child built tiny houses of these, and the wet gravel, inviting a few of the gray army of sand-hoppers, to come and live in them. These she would chase from their home under some bit of seaweed at the high water line, and gleefully clap her hands, as they hopped away in disgust, looking like tiny kangaroos. Or she would, while sitting on the rocks, cut out of the slippery varnished kelps, ridiculous figures of little old men, or queer shaped birds and animals, which the wind would wither up, and then carry away. The child would search for sea anemones, which hid themselves among the rocks, opening their lovely flowers to the waters ; or hanging in clusters like amber-colored fruit against the ledges as the waves receded. Then the tiny pools, forgotten by the ocean, left in the hollow of some rock, reflecting the blue of the heavens, spoke to Theo of God’s love. All through the long summer days, she talked with the blackberry blossoms, or the crowfoot, or the blue purple beach pea, or the pimpernel and wild roses. As the child grew older, there were days when the dreams grew more real. After storms she would find washed up on the rocks, the bodies of drowned butterflies and

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pretty birds with bits of driftwood, a broken oar, pieces of spar, or a water worn buoy. One day the body of a man was found, the face swollen and livid, the eyes sunken. Then Theo realized what life meant, it was all she knew of death. After this, the waves spoke to her as they had never before done in her childhood. When they moaned, it was as if some human soul suffered ; when they sang it was of the sunshine, and of the God who made them. Then came the crushing blow when she found herself motherless. Her father she knew loved her deeply, but Captain Burton was a stern, morose man, and the sympathy the young girl needed came to her through her God and the fair world He had made.

From her earliest years, the mother had taught her daughter to love and study the Bible. It had always been her own guide and counsellor, and she fully obeyed its holy precepts. There had existed but little sympathy in matters pertaining to religious things, between the captain and his wife ; thus the mother and daughter were drawn even more closely together. Theo’s soul was as pure and white as the wing of a sea bird, or the foam on the crest of the wave as it dashed upon the rocks.