Evenings at Simeon's Store

AFTER several days of strong easterly wind with rain and sleet, it had fallen nearly calm, and a dense, dripping fog settled over Killick Cove as night came on early with dungeon-like blackness. Across the rain-soaked pastures sounded loudly the hollow rote of the sea, broken periodically by the foghorn’s sepulchral note and the mournful clang of the bell buoy on the Hue and Cry.

Clad in oilskins and rubber boots, certain faithful pilgrims to the store, who had wallowed up through the mud and darkness from the Lower Neck, reported it as “breakin’ a clean torch ” on every ledge outside, and bewailed the probable loss of lobster traps and trawls.

Surely a more fitting night on which to consider witchcraft, forerunners, and like subjects could not have been chosen, and Cap’n Job Gaskett’s black eyes snapped excitedly as he once more declared his firm belief that witches still practiced their art in the vicinity, though possibly in a less open manner than in the old days when Sarah Kentall and Hetty Moye “hove ” their dreaded bridles at will, or in the much more recent times when Aunt Polly Belknap exacted tribute from mariners about to sail.

As the most recent occurrence upholding him in his well-known belief, Cap’n Job related the following singular experience of his wife : —

“My woman, ” said he, “she sot out one time las’ fall to drive way up back here a-visitin’ of her cousin to Lyndon Corners. ’T was some consid’ble time sence she ’d been over the ro’d, you un’stan’, an’ bimeby she come to a place where she kind o’ got off’n her course altogether ; she lost her reck’nin’ you might say, an’ could n’t see ary ‘ marks, ’ nor git ary soundin’s,nary one o’ the two.

“Wal, fin’lly she see a woman out waterin’ plants down by the gate in front of a little, small ole red house there was, so she let the mare come to, passed the time o’ day ’long o’ the woman, an’ asked her ’bout which was the right ways to take. Wal, this here woman she made off ’s ef she was ter’ble perlite an’ ’commodatin’ like, an’ went to work right away an’ pricked off a new course for my woman to run, plain ’s could be, but she kep’ up a stiddy clatter o’ talk same’s ef she hadn’t seen nary soul for a fortni’t, an’ fin’lly nothin’ would n’t do but my woman should turn to an’ have a dish o’ tea ’long o’ her, seein’ how it was hard on to noontime a’ready. Wal, when my woman come to leave, she follered her chock down to the gate ag’in, a-makin’ off to be ter’ble anxious for fear ’t would storm ’fore ever my woman got to the Corners.

“Oh, she done her little act up in complete shape, I tell ye, but what I ’m comin’ at ’s, when my woman took holt o’ them reins to start, that ’ere mare couldn’t make out to raise a huff off’n the groun’, no ways she could fix it. My woman ’lows she done her dingdes’ a-tryin’ to git a move on to that hoss ag’in, but’t wa’n’t a part’cle o’ use, an’ fin’lly it come acrosst her all of a suddin jes’ what was to pay.

“She jes’ took an’ unhitched a blame’ great shawl-pin she had on to her by good luck, an’ ’fore ever this here set-fired ole witch knowed what she was up to, my woman reached out’n that wagon an’ fetched a kind o’ rakin’ jab like with that pin, chock down the length o’ the creetur’s bare arm, so ’s to start the blood a-squirtin’ in good shape, I tell ye, an’ jes’ the very minute she done so, the mare started off down the ro’d same’s a bullet out’n a gun, an’ left that air ole witch a-hoppin’ roun’ there, screechin’ fit to stund ye.

“She ’d went to work an’ teched that ’ere mare, ye see; she ’d jes’ up an’ hove a spell acrosst the whole d—n bus’niss, an’ nothin’ only blood would n’t break it.”

After some few remarks in commendation of Mrs. Gaskett’s sagacity on this occasion, Simeon inquired from his high perch behind the desk whether Cap’n Job had heard anything from his oil-can recently, and as it proved there were several present unfamiliar with the facts in this strange case, Cap’n Gaskett obligingly furnished them again as follows : —

“When I painted my house an’ outbuildin’s eight year ago come springtime, there was a four-gallon oil-can lef ’ kickin’ ’bout the yard, an’ fin’lly I took an’ I hove her into the barn to be red on her. Wal, she laid there up in one corner all quiet ’nough for a spell; month or more I guess ’t was she laid there into that krawm-heap, till one time I was out there grindin’ up my axe, an’ all to once I heerd a set-fired funny thumpin’ soun’ — ker-chunk ! kerplunk ! Sup’n that ways she ’peared to soun’, but six on ’em to a lick, allus.

“There wa’n’t nary soul into that barn but me, I knowed that all right, but to make a dead sure thing, I up an’ ransacked that buildin’ high an’ low, but it didn’t ’mount to nothin’ ’t all, for I foun’ them thumps come direc’ out’n that ole oil-can, an’ nowheres else. ’S I say, at the fus’ send-off, there was allus jes’ six on ’em to a time, an’ I knowed they was a forerunner, fas’ ’nough, but ’t was some few days ’fore ever I ketched on to jes’ what ’t was they meant, till one af’noon I was a-settin’ out there kind o’ studyin’ of it over, an’ I see all to once that them six thumps was a sign that Sister Jane was goin’ to stop roun’ here ’long on us jes’ six more months, an’ no longer. She’d jes’ barely commenced to be sickly ’bout that time, you rec’lee’.

“Wal sir, that ole can kep’ right on thumpin’ out six clips to a time for jes’ one month, an’ then she let up on one thump, an’ slacked down to five. I use’ to git so aggravated ’long o’ the dodblasted ole thing, I ’d up an’ kick her all round the barn floor chock out into the henyard, but’t wa’n’t no manner o’ use, an’ never made a mite o’ diff ’rence, not a mite.

“ Soon ’s ever I ’d come to git through kickin’ of her, she ’d jes’ up an’ give out them same ole thumps same ’s she ’d been doin’ of, so fin’lly I never paid no more ’tention to her, an’ she kep’ right on thumpin’ whenever she got good an’ ready, hut I took pertik’ler notice ev’ry month she let up on one thump, an’ Sister Jane she kep’ right on failin’ stiddy all the time. Wal sir, them thumps fin’lly come down to one, an’ that one kep’ on dwindlin’ away fainter an’ fainter, till bimeby Jane she died. The ole can sets up there into the barn yit, but nary yip has come out’n her sence.”

A pause followed this narrative of Cap’n Job’s, during which his listeners chewed their quids reflectively, while the clucking of Cap’n Roundturn’s false teeth became painfully noticeable.

“Them kind o’ things is sing’lar, an’ there ’s no rubbin’ of it out, neither,” continued Job in a few minutes. “I cal’late there won’t never be no def’nition to ’em. Now there was one o’ them drummer fellers put up to my house over night one time, an’ I was tellin’ him ’bout that air scrape o’ my woman’s when the ole witch teched the mare, same’s I was jes’ now speakin’ of. Wal sir, this here drummer he was an extry smart ’pearin’ sort o’ chap, an’ I ’lowed he was posted on mos’ ev’rything chock to the handle. Why, he had a head on to him same ’s a wooden god; bigger ’n what Dan’l Webster’s ever dared to be, so’s ’t I cal’lated you could n’t stick him on nothin’ in reason, but be dinged ef he did n’t own up that three or four o’ them yarns I give him that night was reg’lar ole clinchers, an’ no mistake!

“Said they jes’ knocked him silly, they did, so’s ’t he wouldn’t preten’ to give no why an’ wherefore to ’em, but he ’lowed how he see in his paper one time where a lot o’ them rich college fellers up to the west’ard there had turned to an’ j’ined a sort o’ club like, or some sich thing, to hol’ reg’lar meetin’s an’ overhaul jes’ sich works as I was tellin’ ’bout, so ’s to see ef they couldn’t git the true bearin’s on ’em some ways or ’nother.

“I tol’ him, ’s I, they can’t never tell nothin’ ’bout ’em, for the reason it wa’n’t never cal’lated we should git holt on ’t. It ’ll be jes’ time an’ money hove clean away, ’s I, an’ that’s all it ’ll ’mount to. ”

“That ’s true ’s preachin’! ” assented Cap’n Roundturn. “ What ever them pore half fools kin make out’n it won’t ’mount to a row o’ pins, but Godfrey mighty! Them fellers’ time don’t come very high, by no manner o’ means, an’ somebody may git a dollar out’n ’em, some ways! I sh’d say bes’ give ’em plenty o’ slack line, an’ tell ’em to go it, full tilt.”

“Wal, yas, ” said Cap’n Gaskett, “I s’pose they might ’s well mull the thing over amongst ’em. ’Twon’t do no great hurt, ef it don’t do no good, as the feller said when he went to work an’ leggo his anchor without no cable bent on to it! But ef them fellers lacks mateeril for to try their headpieces on to, I ’ll bate a hat I kin deal out ’nough on ’t so ’s to keep ’em guessin’ for the nex’ twelvemonth, an’ resk it.

“Now you take the time they fetched Cap’n Thaddy Kentall ashore from his vess’l here to this Cove. You rec’lect it, Cap’n Roundturn ? ’T was the time I retopped the ole Fair Wind up there to your shore, much ’s thirty-five year sence, I guess. That air ole crooked apple tree that stan’s cluss to the eastern end o’ the Kentall place was all chocka-block with blossoms when they fetched Cap’n Thaddy up there that spring, but soon ’s ever he was to bed in good shape, be jiggered ef them blossoms did n’t commence a-fallin’ off’n her!

“They pretended to say ’long the fus’ send-off how Cap’n Thaddy had ketched a fever, but it turned out sup’n ailed his liver; that’s what it was the matter on him, — his liver kep’ shrinkin’ away stiddy, an’ them set-fired blossoms kep’ on droppin’ an’ droppin’ jes’ so stiddy. Bimeby, when they ’d ev’ry dod-blasted one fell offen that tree, be dinged ef the leaves didn’t commence a-dreepin’ off’n her too!

“That’s a fac’! I’m givin’ of it to ye straight’s a gun bar’l. I was right to home here through the hull on ’t, repairin’ up my vess’l, an’ was knowin’ to all the pertik’lers jes’ like a book. The way ’twas, Cap’n Thaddy’s liver fin’lly come to git completely eat up, or else she dried up, or run out, I can’t rightly say fer certain now jes’ what it was ailed her,but any ways, I know Cap’n Thaddy lost his liver clip an’ clean,an’ time she was all gone, that air apple tree was stripped chock down to bare poles ; yes sir, jes’ naked ’s ever she was in winter time!

“ Wal, ole Doctor Windseye he started in to grow a bran’-noo liver into Cap’n Thaddy, but it ’peared ’s though he could n’t make out to git no great headway on ’long the fus’ on ’t, an’ I know ’t was kind o’ hinted roun’ on the sly that ole Doc had went to work an’ bit off more ’n what he could chaw.

“Any ways, Cap’n Thaddy he jes’ laid there to bed for weeks so blame sick he didn’t give a tinker’s d—n ef school kep’ or not, but bimeby, though, ole Doc he fin’lly made out to git a noo liver sprouted in good shape, an’ jes’ soon’s ever he done so, set-fire ef them apple-tree leaves didn’t commence to bud out ag’in, an’ time the Cap’n’s noo liver had got a real good holt on to him, that air tree was all bloomed out ag’in solid full o’ blossoms, same’s she was when they fetched him ashore. Yas sir, she was, an’ now let them club fellers up there to the west’ard jes’ shove that air into their pipes an’ smoke it a spell!

“Way ’t was in them days, folks round here kind o’ ’lowed how ole Doc done a big job for Cap’n Thaddy, but gracious evers! You take it this day o’ the world, an’ them hospittle fellers grows noo livers right ’long; ’t aint the fus’ bit o’ put-out to ’em now’days, they tell me.”

Although this striking story was perfectly well known throughout the village, Cap’n Job’s hearers listened attentively to the end, partly because he was recognized as high authority upon the subject in hand, and partly because repetition of stories was a privilege shared by all frequenters of the store. At this point in the proceedings Sheriff Windseye said to a man reclining upon a pile of meal bags: —

“Le’ ’s see, John Ed, wa’n’t it you that run acrosst ole Skipper Nate Perkins out here in the Bay, one time ? ”

“Yas sir! ” promptly answered this individual. “I see him, an’ passed the time o’ day ’long on him, sure’s ever you ’re settin’ where you be. ’T was more ’n a dozen years after he was los’, but he let on jes’ who he was, though I should hev knowed his v’ice all right ef he hadn’t hev tol’ me.”

“He’d took the shape of a hagdon, hadn’t he, John Ed?” interrupted ’Cap’n Gaskett. “The mos’ o’ them ole fellers doos, I ’ve allus took notice.”

“Yas,” replied John Ed, as he straightened up, and tapped the ashes from his cob pipe. “Yas sir, that’s jes’ the very shape he showed himself to me in — jes’ one o’ these common hagdons, or mack’rel gulls, I b’lieve some folks calls ’em.

“The way ’t was that time was like this. When I sot out that mornin’, ’t was thick o’ fog, an’ pooty nigh stark calm, too. I had to row my hooker more ’n two mile outside ’fore ever I struck ary breeze at all. Then I took jes’ an air o’ win’ out here to the south’ard, an’ made out to fan Tong for a spell,but’t was dretful mod’rit,an’ part the time there wa’n’t scursely steerage-way on to her. My gear was all sot out on Betty Moody’s Ten Acre Lot that time, but ’t was so master thick I could n’t see nary marks, an’ I mus’ have fooled away ’nother hour ’fore ever I sighted my gear.

“Wal, I commenced under-runnin’ the fus’ trawl, an’ pooty quick I see this here hagdon a-roostin’ right a-top o’ my weather trawl buoy. ’T was gittin’ on ’long toe-wards noontime then, an’ there fin’lly come quite a scale, so ’s ’t the sun pooty nigh come out, an’ I see this here feller settin’ there cockin’ of his blame head at me, plain’s could be, a-top o’ that kag.

“Wal, thinks I to myself, dinged ef you don’t make out to be some tame, you! Wonder how nigh I kin git to ye, ’fore ever ye ’ll up an’ skip! Wal, I kep’ on under-runnin’ that trawl sort o’ easy like, an’ gainin’ up on to him all the time, till I ’ll bate I wa’n’t two bo’t’s lengths off’n him, when he up an’ says jes’ nat’ral ’s life, ‘Good-mornin’, John Ed,’ ’s he. Wal, now, it gimme a master start, that did, there’s no rubbin’ that out, though’s a gin’ral thing sich works don’t jar me not for a cent, but this here come on to me so dod-blowed suddin, ye see!

“I knowed right away jes’ who ’t was,* though, soon’s ever he yipped, an’ ’s I, ‘ This here’s Skipper Nate Perkins, ain’t it ? ’

“‘That’s jes’ who ’t is! ’ ’s he.

‘ How ’s all the folks there to the Cove ? ’ ’s he.

“Wal sir, by that time I was all tanto ag’in, an’ cool’s a cowcumber, so I turned to an’ give him a kind o’ gin’ral av’rage how things was workin’ ashore here, an’ sot out to try an’ pump him a grain ’bout himself, but he would n’t gimme no more chance.

“‘Give ’em all my bes’ respec’s to hum there, ’ ’s he, an’ off he went ’bout eas’suth’eas’, I jedged, jes’ though the devil kicked him on end.

“Course, I ’d allus hearn the ole folks tell ’bout hagdons bein’ them that’s dead, an’ ’specially them that’s been los’ to sea, but I never give the thing no great thought till I come to see it proved this way.”

“Oh, wal, there now! ” put in Cap’n Job. “For the matter o’ that, it don’t need no provin’, not at this day o’ the world, it don’t. It’s gospel truth, an’ I ’ve knowed it ever sence I was the bigness of a b’layin’ pin. Skipper Nate Perkins, the one you was talkin’ ’long on, was los’ into the ole Harvester,in the fall o’ ’71. I know ole Enoch Windseye over to the Neck here, he was shipped to go cook ’long o’ him, an’ come down to the w’arft where the vess’l was layin’ the night afore they was to sail, cal’latin’ to stow his dunnage aboard, but he see a rat run ashore on a line from the vess’l, an’ he jes’ shifted his mind on the spot, an’ ’lowed he would n’t go no how, so Skipper Nate he shipped one o’ them Kunkett Blakeleys to go cook in the room on him, an’ in jes’ two weeks’ time to a day they was ev’ry soul on ’em drownded. You kin bate high rats ain’t cal’latin’ to skin out’n a vess’l that way for nothin’, an’ never was!

“But talkin’ ’boutlosin’ vess’ls puts me in mind o’ the time father was los’ in the ole Good Intent, there. I wa’n’t but ’bout ten year ole then, an’ there was six on us young uns to home ’long o’ mother. ’T was a ter’ble ole breeze o’ win’, that one was, an’ you take it down to the Bay Shelore, where father was to, an’ nineteen sail on our ’Merican fishermen was los’. It blowed here right out endways, an’ for the matter o’ that, it swep’ the whole coast clip an’ clean, but what I’m comin’ at ’s this.

“Up to our house there, ’long toewards midnight, they commenced poundin’ an’ bangin’ of her fit to stave her sides an’ ruf in chock to the cellar! Of all the hell-fired rackets ever I hearn yit, that was the wusst one ! It skeered us young uns mos’ to conniptions, but mother she bunched us all together downstairs into the settin’-room, an’ tol’ me an’ brother Sam jes’ what the matter was. You could n’t learn her nothin’ ’bout them kind o’ things, ’cause she ’d been there afore, mother had,an’ she knowed blame well father’s vess’l was a goner, soon ’s ever them hellish works commenced.

“Wal sir, they kep’ up that air bangin’ an’ whangin’ o’ that ole house pooty nigh all night long, without no let-up. Why, them clips they give it sounded for all the world jes’ like somebody was stand in’ off an’ givin’ of it to her with thund’rin’ great mallets an’ top-mauls, so ’s ’t you ’d cal’lated for sure they ’d stove off half the shingles, an’ shook the plasterin’ down ’fore they slacked up! But come nex’ mornin’, an’ there wa’n’t so much’s a scratch to be seen on to that air house from cellar to garret! ”

“Be dod-blowed ef that ain’t ’bout the sing’lares’ thing ever I heerd tell on! ” exclaimed Simeon, removing his spectacles, and gazing earnestly at Job over the desk. “An’ you preten’ to say the ole Good Intent was los’ that same night? ”

“Yas siree, I do! ” replied Cap’n Job decidedly. “She made out to turn turtle on ’em ’bout two o’clock in the mornin’, nigh’s ever we could make out. There wa’n’t but half a dozen sail o’ the whole fleet that clawed out’n the Bay in that breeze o’ win’, an’ four o’ them was ‘pinks.’ Course you know how ’t is down there into that set-fired guzzle-trap; ef you git ketched, you got to crack on sail an’ sock it to a vess’l scan’lous to git sea-room, but this time the fleet was doin’ well fishin’, an’ they hung on too long. I been there times ’nough sence so ’s to know jes’ how it worked. Ef a craf’ won’t lug sail, your name’s mud, that ’s the whole story.

“Ole Skipper Lish Perkins he was to the Bay this time in the ole Paytriot, an’ come out’n it jes’ by the skin o’ his teeth, too, an’ I tell ye when the Paytriot wouldn’t wear a cluss - reefed mains’l an’ the bunnet out’n her jib, it wa’n’t no sense for any the res’ part o’ the fleet to try it on, not a d—n mite, but this time Skip’ Lish ’lowed she wouldn’t so much’s look at it under them sails; allst the creetur ’d do was to lay ri’ down chock to her hatches an’ waller! They blowed away mos’ ev’rythin’ they had aboard in the shape o’ muslin, but fin’lly some ways or ’nother they come out’n it. Skip’ Lish he allus stuck to it he was in comp’ny that night long o’ father into the Good Intent, an’ ’lowed how he see her hove down by a master great holler sea, a reg’lar ole he one, ’twas, so ’s ’t she never got on her legs ag’in. This was somewhere’s nigh two in the mornin’, an’ they never see no sign on her sence, nor her crowd, neither! ”

“But that there bastin’ they give the house that night, Job, that’s what jes’ gits me! ” said Simeon. “Puts me in mind o’ the works the ole folks allus an’ forever use’ to be gossipin’ ’bout when we was youngsters.

“Sich works ain’t nigh so common roun’ here o’ late years as they was them times. Now you take it ’fore Hetty Moye an’ Aunt Polly lit out, an’ them two jes’ fairly kep’ things a-hummin’ here to this Cove with their setfired pranks an’ works! Blame ef ’t wa’n’t downright horrid the works them two ole critters was into in them days! ”

“Oh, them was jes’ rank pizen, them two was,” observed Cap’n Job, tilting back in his chair against the counter. “You jes’ take an’ let a pore feller once git on the wrong side o’ Aunt Polly, an’ ’twas all day with him, be jiggered ef it wa’n’t, now! She’d d—n quick figger out some ways to git her come-uppance ’long on him, an’ don’t you think for a minute she would n’t! ”

“ Lord sakes! I guess she would some quick! ” cried Simeon. “An’ you come to take Hetty Moye there, you take an’ let her jes’ git that dod-blasted ole bridle o’ hern roun’ a feller’s neck good an’ taut, an’ it’s a chance ef he didn’t wish mos’ damnly he had n’t never been borned ’fore ever she got through ’long on him!

“They allus ’lowed how she driv Cap’n Zachy Condon chock down to Kunkett ole harbor an’ back ag’in the same night on one o’ them hell-fired exhibitions o’ hern, an’ the pore ole creetur was so tuckered an’ beat out he never sot foot out o’ bed for three weeks. I tell ye, it doos jes’ knock tar-water the doin’s an’ goin’s on there was here to this Cove in them days! Blame ef ’t ain’t some sing’lar! Why, I don’t cal’late there was ary skipper to this place but what dassent turn to an’ git his vess’l under way without he ’d been up an’ fixed things all straight ’long o’ Aunt Polly fus’. Lord Harry! What slathers o’ terbacker I ’ve seed backed up to her place there in my time! ”

“That ’s a fac’, Simeon! ” exclaimed Sheriff Windseye. “An’ snuff, too! Any God’s quantity o’ tea an’ snuff she use’ to git, right ’long stiddy. Why, ’t was alius counted a reg’lar temptation o’ Prov’deuce to make a start for the Cape Shore in the spring o’ the year without you ’d been up an’ bought your luck there to Aunt Polly’s in good shape. I take notice I allus done so myself, an’ I guess them that hain’t s plaguy scatt’rin’ here to the Cove, ef they ’ve got any age at all on to ’em. It ’s some sing’lar, though, how them ole witchwomen has died out roun’ this part o’ the country.”

“Died out be jiggered ! ” cried Cap’n Job Gaskett indignantly. “Them style o’ folks ain’t died out by a jugful; not yit awhile, they ain’t! Don’t you go runnin’ ’way ’long o’ no sich idee ’s that air, Cap’n, ’cause ef ye do, ’tween you an’ me an’ the win’lass-bitt, you ’ll git everlastin’ly lef’. I’m tellin’ ye there’s folks right here to this Cove today that’s jes’ as well fittin’ to heave the bridle, an’ tech cream, an’ blas’ crops, an’ upset loads o’ hay, an’ raise gin’ral ructions as ary one o’ them ole style folks was, an’ nothin’ only the sod won’t take it out’n ’em, neither, but the thing on’t is, they ’re more slyer an’ cunninger ’bout gittin’ in their work, now’days, that ’s allst there is to it.”

“Wal, I dunno ’bout that, Cap’n Job,” replied the Sheriff doubtfully.

“Folks roun’ here ’s gittin’ mos’ too posted at this day o’ the worl’ for to take a great sight o’ stock into sich works.”

“’T ain’t a question o’ bein’ posted at all,” Cap’n Job persisted, warming up in defense of his favorite theory. “Forty year ago folks roun’ here was better posted ’n they be now, an’ a d—n sight smarter in ev’ry way, shape, an’ manner. Look a’ the Wes’ Injy bus’niss there was carried on to this Cove; look a’ the master fleet o’ fishermen there was fitted out here ev’ry springtime; thirty odd sail o’ vess’ls owned right here to this one place; look a’ the fish there was made here, an’ the coop’rin’ shops there was here, an’ now look a’ what is there here?

“Nothin’. Jes’plain nothin’. Ev’ry dod-blasted thing jes’ deado! Vess’ls all gone, w’arfts all gone, an’ all our smart men gone too, up back o’ the meetin’-house here, but I take pertik’ler notice that when they was livin’, an’ doin’ more bus’niss in a week ’n what you fellers see in a year’s time, they did n’t begredge a dollar for the sake o’ keepin’ on the right side o’ Polly Belknap! You kin claim folks roun’ here is a ter’ble sight better posted now’days, but ef there’s ary man ’live here to this Cove to-day could learn them ole sirs how to git a livin’, I ’ll thank ye to jes’ up an’ p’int him out to me. That’s ev’ry cussed thing I ’ll ask on ye; jes’ up an’ p’int him right out.” And Cap’n Job looked about him at the assemblage defiantly.

“Yas sir,” Cap’n Roundturn replied at length. “There was cert’nly a tremendius smart set o’ men doin’ bus’niss here to this Cove them days, an’ ’twa’n’t no habit o’ our’n to take much chances, neither. I ’ll presume to say there ain’t no case on record where a vess’l ever lef’ this Cove on her fus’ trip in the spring o’ the year without she ’d made a short hitch to the nor’rard fus’ for luck. Mebbe there wa’n’t nothin’ into sich a pro-cess, an’ then ag’in mebbe there was a set-fired heap into it, an’ I allus felt consid’ble easier for doin’ of it, to the las’ o’ my goin’ on the water.”

“So did I, Cap’n! ” cried Job Gaskett; “I allus done so, reg’lar, an’ so I would now ef I wa’n’t lookin’ for trouble, but I cal’late Cap’n Windseye here ’lows how ’t wa’n’t nothin’ but witchery into it.”

“ No sich a thing! ” the Sheriff shouted, at once resenting this slur upon his seamanship. “I allus made a hitch to the nor’rard quick ’s ever my anchor was broke out! I ain’t claimin’ there’s witch-works into no sich custom as that air. We all on us done it, an’ I kin show you them that doos so to-day, but my p’int is that folks roun’ here ain’t so skeered o’ witch-doin’s as they was form’ly.”

“Wal,” retorted Cap’n Job, “ef they hain’t, it’s their own lookout. Them that knows nothin’ fears nothin’, an’ I ain’t s’posed to allus keep an’ eye to wind’ard for ’em. But bein’ ’s we ’re on this tack this evenin’, I kin tell ye another kind o’ sing’lar thing father see one time when he was into the ole Mirandy, boun’ home here with a trip o’ fish from Canso, ’long o’ ole Skip’ Adam Whitten.

“They ’d took a fresh eas’ly breeze, an’ hooped her right ’long in good shape, till father he cal’lated he was well to the west’ard o’ Cape ’Lizbeth, but it had been thick o’ fog all the time cornin’ ’long, so ’s ’t they hadn’t sighted nothin’ ’t all. ’Long in the evenin’ she shet in thicker’n ever; one o’ them reg’lar ole black, dreepin’ fogs same ’s to-night, so’s ’t ye couldn’t even see the win’lass from jes’ beaft the foremas’, an’ father he commenced bimeby to git kind o’ fidgety like at not makin’ nothin’, so fin’lly he goes chock for’rard so ’s t’ listen an’ see ef he could n’t git holt o’ the rote on Boon Islant. This was ’bout nine in the evenin’, ’cordin’ to his tell, an’ the win’ had kind o’ petered out on ’em, but there was a devil of an ole sea heavin’ in, so ’s ’t ev’rything ’long shore was breakin’ a clean torch. Wal, father he was stannin’ there for’rard listenin’ away for allst he was wuth, an’ hopin’ every minute to git bolt o’ sup’n, when all of a suddin there come a bust o’ music right alof’, pooty nigh overhead, an’ bang up ole music she was too, jes’ like one o’ these here ban’s, only there was a singin’ o’ women’s v’ices mixed up into it some ways, so ’s ’t all han’s aboard Towed they never heerd the beat of it.

“Wal sir, while they was all han’s on ’em stannin’ roun’ on deck there takin’ of it in, wha’ ’d that air ole fogbank do but scale in a big hole right direc’ over the vess’l, an’ the stars come out jes’ bright’s ever you see ’em the pooties’ night ever growed, but all roun’ ev’rywheres else, without ’t was right in this hole, the fog was thick as ma’sh mud, so ’s ’t you could slice it up in chunks with a knife.

“Course, it give ’em all han’s a consid’ble start, an’ they all ’lowed ’t was a sign, but father he couldn’t ’pear to git over it all the way home, no how. He kep’ cal’latin’ to find somebody dead for cert’n, soon ’s ever he got ashore, but nothin’ ever come out’n it without ’t was at jes’ twenty minutes pas’ nine o’clock that same evenin’ me an’ brother Sam was borned! ”

“Sho ! ” exclaimed Sheriff Windseye. “I don’t doubt but that the ole man was glad to find it wa’n’t no wuss. Wal, I mas’ be gittin’ ’long up the ro’d. Goin’ up my way, Eph ? ”

“Hold on a minute ’fore you fill away, Cap’n,” said Job. “There’s jes’ one thing I sh’d like to ask ye ’bout ’fore this settin’ ’s closed. P’raps you ’ll preten’ to say it don’t make no diff’rence with the pork ef you stick a hog on the flood tide or on the ebb ? ”

“Wal,” said the Sheriff after a moment’s reflection, “ I ain’t prepared to give no ’pinion on that ’ere jes’ yit. I ’ve allus heerd tell how it done so, o’ course, but I ain’t never made no pertik’ler test on myself.”

“Oh, you hain’t! ” cried Job. “Wal, now, I jes’ hev! I ’ve took an’ tested of it right chock to the handle, an’ you ’ll find pork that’s killed on the ebb ’ll shrink away one quarter part ev’ry dog-gone time! Now there was ole Skip’ Ben Kentall up on the milldam ro’d there, he was called a master han’ to stick pigs, an’ done ’bout the whole o’ sich jobs up round there after he come to quit goin’. Them folks up there use’ to ’low Skip’ Benknowed jes’ the bearin’s o’ the creetur’s jug’lar, so ’s ’t he could allus fetch it the very fust swipe o’ the knife, an’ you take him, an’ he was allus jes’ so keerful to make dead sure the tide had n’t pinched off a grain ’fore ever he commenced. He knowed blame well jes’ how the thing worked, an’ so doos mos’ the whole o’ them ole farmers up back here, now’days.”

“You turn to an’ frog it up on the Kunkett ro’d there an’ ask ole Jeff Blakeley how ’t is ’bout it. You take an’ go up to his place there, an’ tell him to his face you got your doubts ’bout it, an’ see how quick he ’ll go into the air! I cal’late he ’d up an’ take a stick o’ cord-wood to a feller ef he sh’d go up there an’ hang it out there wa’n’t nothin’ into it. But there! what ’s the good talkin’ ? It ’s the truth all right, an’ soon ’s ever you come to look at it, there ain’t a thing onraytionable ’bout it, not a thing. You can’t deny but that the ebb tide’s ter’ble drawrin’, kin you? How many sick folks kin you make out to reckon up here to this Cove that ’s died without ’s on the ebb? Guess you ’ll find them that hain’t ’s consid’ble few an’ fur between, now. The ebb tide makes out to jes’ dreen the life right out’n ’em slick’s a whistle!

“Then ag’in, you take an’ go down to the shore here anywheres to fill a bucket o’ salt water to wash anybody with that ’s rheumaticky, an’ you ’ve allus got to fill it on the ebb, so ’s ’t it ’ll be good an’ drawrin’, you know, or ef you don’t, you ’ll be apt to wisht mos’ damnly ye had, for water that’s filled on the flood ’ll drive them gripes an’ rheumatics chock to the vitils, sure ’s ever the sun rises an’ sets! ”

George S. Wasson.