Part 13 (1/2)

”'Well, sir, I'm much obliged for your good will, any how, and after my cousin Johnny McGrath has his bit of a spree, I'll try and leave it off for a while, any way.'

”Johnny McGrath's 'spree,' a fulling-frolic, came off one Sat.u.r.day night, about a fortnight after this; and while the web of strong, coa.r.s.e homespun cloth, which was to furnish Mac and his boys with their year's stock of outer clothing, was being duly lifted, rubbed, banged on a bench, and twisted by the strong hands of about thirty men and women, Jim led the roaring choruses, and manipulated his end of the cloth with a vigor which at once delighted and alarmed the fair weaver thereof.

”In the dancing and whiskey-drinking which followed, Jim was in his element; and it was nearly midnight before the party broke up, and he was left alone with the rest of his relative's household.

”'Well, Johnny,' said he, 'you've done the decent thing this time, and I'm glad my last spree has been at your place, for I'm going to quit grog for a while. Give me a coal for my pipe, Jane, for it's late, and I've a good five miles' of beach atween me an' home.'

”'Is the man mad?' said Jane, good-naturedly. 'Surely, John, you'll not let him out of the house to-night.'

”'No, no, Jim,' said McGrath, getting between him and the door; 'out of this you don't stir to-night; so sit down, have another drop, and tak' a quiet night's rest.'

”'Come, John, don't anger or hinder me, for I feel strangely to-night, and I must go home.'

”'Faith, that's all the more reason I have to keep you here. Come, sit down, you obstinate fellow, and don't be waking the wife up just before daybreak, only to let in a man that must be out walking all night.

Confound it, would you hit me, Jim? Sure, now, you're not angered--are you?'

”'No, I'm not angry; but I'll not be treated like a child, nor lectered, neither. Let me go, I tell you, or there'll be ill blood between us.

Home I'll go, I tell you!' shouted the excited man. 'Home I'm going, _although the devil tried to stop me_;' and flinging his cousin aside as if he were a child, he rushed out of the house, and took a narrow path which led down to the moonlit sea-beach.

”About an hour after, a despairing cry at the door awakened McGrath and his wearied household, and, opening it, they found a bruised, b.l.o.o.d.y, and literally naked man, lying senseless on the threshold. With some difficulty they recognized the features of Mountain, and it was broad daylight before he came to himself. His story was short, but strange.

”'I took the path down to the beach, thinking to wade the narrow run at Eel Pond, and so save a mile or two of road. It was light as day, and I went along well enough, though I felt sad-like, an' as if somethin' were about to happen me.

”'It's an unchancy place there, near the pond, where the great san'-hill blew over the birch grove an' killed the trees; and last night, as I went through them, the tall, white, broken trunks seemed almost alive.

Why, man, I'd have sworn that some of them had a dozen faces grinnin'

and laughin', and I felt all the while as if I was a fool; for, whenever I stopped an' looked close, there was nought but knots, an' bark, an'

gnarly limbs. Still, although I'd been through them a thousan' times, I felt afraid, for it seemed to me as if there was somebody near me _that I couldn't see_.

”'Well, at last I got through the dead grove, an' came to the san'-plain wher' the ribs of the old s.h.i.+p are stannin', an' I got to thinkin' what she might hev' bin, fer none o' us know how many years she lay in the san' before the great gale swept the san' off of her white bones. I looked at her close as I pa.s.sed, an' although I saw nauthin' but her ribs, she made me think o' a 'natomy; an' I looked all around, but saw no one, an' went down into the water, hevin' first ta'en off my shoes.

”'The cool water did feel nice; an' as I stepped ash.o.r.e, I whistled up ”The Devil's Dream,” an' struck out across the beach, when, looking back, I saw, between me an' the stream, a man who made at me with terrible ferceness. I can tell you nauthin' about him, 'cept that his clothes were black an' strange, his face dark an' savage, an' his eyes almost like fire. I had no doubt that he meant me harm, an' as he cam'

up, I struck out wi' all my strenth. Ye mind when I hit big Jack Ready, an' thought I should have to flee the country. Well, I hit _him_ twicet as hard, an' he never stopped, but came in an' clinched. My G.o.d! I'm breathless now wi' the squeezin' I got there. I'm afraid of no man standin' within twenty mile, at ayther Ingin hug, collar an' ilbow, or side-hold, but I was like a child in its grip.

”'Still I fought on, though the san' flew into the air; an' through it, like a fog, I saw the old wrack an' the dead grove, an' the fiery eyes that glared into mine, an' I felt the grasp of a han' that seemed to burn into my hip; an' then I knew I couldn't fight fair wi' _that_. I drew my knife an' opened it, an' three times I thrust it to the hilt into the side o' the black man, or devil, an' he only glared at me fercer, an' took a stronger hold on my hip. Just at this moment I felt the cool water at my feet, an' wi' one tremendous effort, I whirled myself into the stream to fight it out there. A moment I lay on my back in the shallow stream, an' then I rose to my feet. I was alone wi'

nauthin' o' what had happened, save the open knife in my han', the trampled beach, an' my torn an' ruined clawthin'.

”'Then I remembered that old McGregor used to say that nauthin' bad could pa.s.s runnin' water, an' I thought I'd get back to ye if I could. I remember somethin' of tearin' through the lonely beach an' blasted woods, of seein' more faces in the trees, an' hearin' quick footsteps on my track, but I remember nauthin' more. Look at my hip, will you, wi'

the cannle there? It hurts me awfully.'

”The candle fell from Jane's shaking hands, but was caught by her husband before it was extinguished.

”'As G.o.d lives, ye have spoken the truth, for there is the mark o' the devil's grip;' and greatly to the terror of all, there appeared on the hip of the exhausted man the black imprint of a thumb and four fingers.

”My informant told me that, fifty years later, after Mountain had raised a large family of children, and pa.s.sed a life subsequently innocent of his youthful excesses, the same indelible marks were left to tell of the terrible conflict of that memorable night; and none of his neighbors ever doubted the literal truth of his strange story, save one.