“EELIN’ OFF GOOSE P’INT.”
BY SCOTT CAMPBELL.
A LARGE dory, old and weather-beaten—as weather-beaten as the sunburned faces of the three fishermen who sat motionless upon the thwarts—it was a mud-stained, patched old hulk, battered by hard knocks, scraped by harder rocks, beaten by harsh waves. Three men sat silent, thoughtful, absorbed, with grim countenances portraying sombre reflections; a little child—a boy of scarcely ten years—seated alone in the bow, his small brown hand clutching the rail on either side; a child with a round, rosy face, and great dilating blue eyes, opened wide, and a timid, awe-impressed look—all floating upon a wide creek of placid water, unruffled by a breath. All slowly, silently drifted on the ebbing tide, out toward the broader waters of the distant bay, down toward a long, low, narrow point of mainland—Goose Point—which stretched out into the sea like a huge index finger directing attention to the thin silver crescent of the new moon, hovering for one last moment on the western horizon.
The tide had well-nigh ebbed; the dusk of the early evening was fast fading into darkness; the cooling dampness of the summer atmosphere had begun to gather in the form of dew.
Almost motionless the cumbrous boat floated upon the surface of the sluggish and devious waters; from the unplied oars, extended to either side, silver drops now and then fell to disappear into the darker depths below. A solemn silence reigned—a silence unbroken save by the faint, dull, far-away note of the frogs from the distant meadows, or the cry of some night-bird wafted over the marsh-land.
The moon slowly sank from the view of the silent sitters; the narrow line of quivering, silvery light disappeared from the surface of the waters; one by one the stars came out in the cloudless heavens. The child in the bow of the boat, awed by his sombre surroundings, awed by the death-like silence, awed by the faces before him, gazed mutely aloft at the star-lit dome above him.
At length the impressive silence was broken.
The child started quickly, and his eyes were turned from the heavens to gaze at the grizzled, wrinkled neck and broad back of the speaker.
“So thet wear the vardict, wear it, Nathan?” The tone was solemn—as solemn as the expression upon the aged face of him who asked the question; and the hands which held the oars were raised till the broad, dripping blades again parted the dark waters.