Part 21 (1/2)
It spanned a narrow stream, not much more than a creek, running through the marsh. This was the only water which divided Rogers's Island from the mainland.
On the railing of the bridge was tacked another pink poster. This one said:
RICHES FROM NEPTUNE'S h.o.a.rD TREASURE FROM THE BOUNDLESS MAIN WHY TOIL AND SLAVE ALL YOUR LIVES WITH THE MEANS FOR LUXURY AT YOUR DOORS?
GRAND EXCURSIONS TO ROGERS'S ISLAND, JULY 30. STEAMER ”MAY QUEEN” LEAVES LANESPORT AT 8.30 A. M., AND 2 P. M.
THE METROPOLITAN MARINE GOLD COMPANY IS ENDORSED BY THE LEADING FINANCIERS AND SCIENTISTS OF THE WORLD AND BY HON. J. HARVEY BOWDITCH & DEACON ENOCH CHICK LANESPORT
There were some hand-bills blowing around on the bridge, and I picked up one or two of them. They were like the posters,--about the Metropolitan Marine Gold Company, and the excursions to Rogers's Island. At the end of the causeway, where the road went up a little grade, there was a big sign, painted on white cloth, and fixed to some boards:
THE METROPOLITAN MARINE GOLD COMPANY (Limited)
The road wound up the slope, and I followed it and turned the corner. There was a great house, three stories high and as square as a child's block. If it had ever been painted, the paint had worn off, and the wood was almost black. For a hundred years or more the wind and rain and snow had beaten against it,--storms from the ocean, storms from the land, winds from all quarters, for except at one corner it was unprotected by trees. It stood on high ground, and faced the open water of the bay. Gra.s.s had grown rank all around, and there was no sign of anybody either indoors or out. There was an enormous barn behind the house, as well as woodsheds, and hen-houses.
I stood still for a few moments, and then walked up the weed-grown path, and hammered on the front door with the bra.s.s knocker. The knocking echoed all over the house, and the door swung slowly open. It was my knocks which had opened it, however,--there was no one inside, so far as I could see. I looked into an empty hall, dusty and neglected. A broad staircase led upstairs, but the only thing in the hall was a pile of pink hand-bills lying on the floor. I thumped again with my knuckles on one of the panels of the door, and called out: ”Anybody here?” There was no answer, and after hesitating a moment I decided to try the rear of the house.
The driveway at the side was in the same neglected condition as the front path. The only thing about the place which looked at all new was a sort of wooden stand, built out of boards and packing boxes. This was decorated with flags and colored bunting, as if for a band-concert. It stood at one side of the driveway in what had once been a little garden. The barn and other buildings at the rear were shabby and ill-kept.
I pounded at a side-door, and at a door in the back, but there was no answer at either. Then I began to wonder what to do. Evidently Captain Bannister was not here, but why had he said he was coming to such a place? What had made him think he would find the ”Hoppergra.s.s” here? Where were the men about whom the boy on the horse-car had told me?
I strolled to the front of the house again, crossed the road, and looked down the hill toward the bay. There was a little wharf at the foot of the hill, and at the end of it was another of the white cloth signs. It faced out over the water, so I could not read what it said. Some planks, boards, and shavings lay about, as if someone had been working there recently. I thought I would go down and investigate.
As I still had on rubber-soled shoes, I suppose I walked noiselessly. I had not stepped upon the woodwork before I noticed a trap-door near the end of the wharf. I walked over to it and looked down.
It was rather dark below, but I could make out a platform about a foot above the water. Kneeling on this were two men, with a lantern beside them. They were both in their s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, and they seemed to be working over a little, square box. Four or five other boxes like it were lying on the platform in front of them.
I did not know exactly how to begin, but at last I gave a kind of cough, and said: ”Can you tell me--”
But I got no farther than that. Both men looked up as if their heads had been pulled back on wires. One of them sprang to the ladder and came up it like a flash.
”Hullo!” he said, as soon as he reached the top; ”who are you, and what do you want?”
He was a small man, with a clean-shaven face,--a very pale face it was, too. His hat was off, and I noticed that his hair was rather short. As for his age, I could not have told about that,--it might have been twenty-five or fifty, or any age between. He was quick in his movements, but his manner of speaking was pleasant enough.
”I'm looking for a boat,” I said; ”someone told me that it was here,--this is Rogers's Island, isn't it?”
”This is Rogers's Island, all right,” he answered,--”what kind of a boat is it you are looking for?”
”She's a white cat-boat,--the 'Hoppergra.s.s',--or the 'Hannah J.
Pettingell',--it's more likely that's her name.”
He looked at me inquiringly with his quick little eyes. The other man came up through the trap-door. He had put on his coat,--a long, black, ”swallow-tail” coat. He was tall and thin, and dressed all in black, with a white neck-tie. His hair was sandy, and he had reddish side-whiskers,--the kind called ”side-boards.”
I never saw a man with such a solemn face,--nor one with so long a nose. But he smiled as he walked over to me, a kind of painful smile as if he had the face-ache. He leaned over, took one of my hands, and held it in his damp grasp, while he patted me on the shoulder with his other hand.
”Well, my little man,” he said, ”what is your name, and what can I do for you?”
I did not like being called ”my little man,” and I tried to drop his clammy hand. But he held mine still, and smiled his tooth-achy smile.
”What is it we can do for you?” he repeated. He had a smooth voice that somehow made me feel as if I was having warm b.u.t.ter poured over me.
”I'm looking for a boat,” I said, trying again to s.n.a.t.c.h away my hand.