The blow with the bottle, which was a long and heavy one, felled Mike to the floor. He dropped senseless with the blood oozing from his head upon the sanded boards. Joel was appalled at what he had done; but he was sobered as well, and when some of the wounded man's friends attacked him in revenge, he fled from the saloon. But he went for the doctor, and sent him to Mike's aid. He was terribly alarmed as he considered the probable consequences of his rash deed. He dared not go home, lest the constable should be there to arrest him. Later in the evening he crept cautiously to the doctor's office, to ascertain the condition of his victim. The physician had caused Mike to be conveyed to his boarding-place, and had done all he could for him. In reply to Joel's anxious inquiries, he shook his head, and feared the patient would die. He could not speak with confidence till the next day, but the worst was to be anticipated. Joel was stunned by this intelligence. A charge for murder or manslaughter would be preferred against him, and the penalty for either was fearful to contemplate. He dared not go home to comfort his wife—if there could be any comfort under such circumstances.
Stealing down to the river in the gloom of the night, he embarked in a dory he owned, and before morning pulled twelve miles to a city on the other side of the bay, from which he made his way to Gloucester, where he obtained a lay in a fishing-vessel bound to the Georges. When he was ready to sail, he wrote a long letter to his wife, explaining his situation. She had money enough to supply the needs of the family for a time for the purse had always been in her keeping. He asked her to write him in regard to the fate of Mike Manahan, and to inform him of what people said about the quarrel, so that he could get her letters on his return from the Georges, if there should be no opportunity of forwarding them to him.
Mrs. Wormbury was very much distressed at this unfortunate event; but it appeared in a few days that Mike was not fatally injured; and in a week he returned to his work. Mike was a good-hearted fellow, and as soon as he was able he called upon the wife of his late opponent, declaring that it was a fair fight, and that no harm should come to her husband when he returned.
Squire Moses declared that people who were extravagant often "took to drinking," and that he was not much surprised at what had happened. Joel's wife was happy at the turn the affair had taken; and her husband's absence was no more than she had been called upon to endure before. She wrote several letters to him, with "all the news," and confidently expected her husband's return in a few weeks.
Instead of his return came a letter from the captain of the vessel in which he had sailed—a sad letter which shut out all hope for the future. Joel had gone off in a dory to attend to the trawls; a sudden fog had come up, so that he could not find the vessel, and his companions, after a day's search, had been unable to discover him. A storm had followed, and they had given him up for lost. The loss of a man in this way on the Banks was not a very uncommon occurrence.
Months and years passed away, but nothing more was heard of Joel Wormbury. His wife and children believed that he was buried in the depths of the sea.
Mrs. Wormbury knew better than to apply to her hard father-in-law when her money was exhausted; indeed, she used the very last dollar of it to pay him the interest on the mortgage note. She went to work, taking in washing for the rich people of the place and for the summer visitors. Stumpy was old enough by this time to plant and take care of the garden, and to earn a little in other ways. Though the times were always hard at the cottage, the family had enough to eat and to wear, and the widow contrived to save enough to pay the interest on the place, which she dared to hope might one day belong to her children. Squire Moses never did anything for her, declaring that, if she wanted any money, she could sell her "fancy tables and chairs," for the house was better furnished than his own; which was true.
The squire's wealth continued to increase, for he was so mean that he spent only a small fraction of his interest money. He was hard and unfeeling, and not only refused to help his son's fatherless family, but had been heard to say that Joel by his drunken brawl, had disgraced his name and his relations. Ethan, the keeper of the Island Hotel, seemed to be his favorite; and people who knew him declared that he was as mean as his father. Somebody pretended to know that the old man had made a will, giving nearly all his property to Ethan. However this may have been, it was certain that Squire Moses had several times threatened to take possession of the cottage occupied by Joel's family, for the principal of the mortgage note was now due. He had said this to Joel's widow, causing the poor woman the deepest distress, and rousing in Stumpy the strongest indignation. This was why Stumpy "took no stock" in his grandfather.
But while we have been telling all this long story about Leopold's companion, the old boat had reached the vicinity of the wreck. Stumpy had eaten his fill of cold roast beef, biscuit, and apple pie, and was entirely satisfied with himself, and especially with his friend. Leopold threw overboard the ground bait, and soon, with a shout of exultation, he announced the presence of a school of mackerel. The lines were immediately in the water, and the fish bit very sharply. Leopold and Stumpy had nothing to do but pull them in and "slat" them off as fast as they could. The boat was filling up very rapidly; but suddenly, the school, as though called in after recess, sank down and disappeared. Not another bite could be obtained, and the old boat was headed for the river. On the way up, Stumpy counted the mackerel.
"Four hundred and sixty!" exclaimed he, when the task was finished.