Oh, it was a trick—yes, all a trick, but just marvelous enough to make the men feel very uncomfortable, the circumstance was so weird and strange. In fact, one of the party, a very nervous man, fainted, and when he was brought round the oldest gentleman present and the one who appeared to be most respected said:
“Come, this has gone far enough. Whoever is working this wonderful trick had better explain it.”
The gentleman spoke in dead earnest, but not one of the party volunteered to admit his responsibility, and the gentleman pleaded:
“It is criminal to carry this any further.”
There came no acknowledgment and all the men began to look pretty serious, and to add to the gloom the captain, pointing to a cloud coming in from the sea, said in apprehensive tones:
“It’s just as I feared. We are bound to have a terrible storm. Now if any one has been working a trick let him own it up, or, by George, we’re all goners, that’s all.”
There came the bark of a dog and immediately afterward the terrible moan of an animal, the same as tradition declares is heard just before a death—a howl which in rural districts to-day is heard with a shudder, and looked upon as a death knell.
After the first strange voice our hero had gone into the cabin and had lain down on a cushion in full view of the party and had seemingly gone to sleep. Several times the men had looked at him, but that sleeping boy could not be the fiend who was working on their terrors, for there he slept and was breathing as regularly as an infant lying on its mother’s bosom.
“Who is that boy?” demanded the captain.
“Yes, who is he?” asked the captain’s assistant.